Marion Fay: A Novel

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XVII.

  AT GORSE HALL.

  Hampstead, when he was turned out into Paradise Row, walked once ortwice up the street, thinking what he might best do next, regardlessof the eyes at No. 10 and No. 15;--knowing that No. 11 was absent,where alone he could have found assistance had the inhabitant beenthere. As far as he could remember he had never seen a woman faintbefore. The way in which she had fallen through from his arms onto the sofa when he had tried to sustain her, had been dreadful tohim; and almost more dreadful the idea that the stout old woman withwhom he had left her should be more powerful than he to help her.He walked once or twice up and down, thinking what he had best nowdo, while Clara Demijohn was lost in wonder as to what could havehappened at No. 17. It was quite intelligible to her that the lovershould come in the father's absence and be entertained,--for a wholeafternoon if it might be so; though she was scandalized by theaudacity of the girl who had required no screen of darkness underthe protection of which her lover's presence might be hidden fromthe inquiries of neighbours. All that, however, would have beenintelligible. There is so much honour in having a lord to courtone that perhaps it is well to have him seen. But why was the lordwalking up and down the street with that demented air?

  It was now four o'clock, and Hampstead had heard the Quaker say thathe never left his office till five. It would take him nearly an hourto come down in an omnibus from the City. Nevertheless Hampsteadcould not go till he had spoken to Marion's father. There was the"Duchess of Edinburgh," and he could no doubt find shelter there.But to get through two hours at the "Duchess of Edinburgh" would, hethought, be beyond his powers. To consume the time with walking mightbe better. He started off, therefore, and tramped along the roadtill he came nearly to Finchley, and then back again. It was dark ashe returned, and he fancied that he could wait about without beingperceived. "There he is again," said Clara, who had in the mean timegone over to Mrs. Duffer. "What can it all mean?"

  "It's my belief he's quarrelled with her," said Mrs. Duffer.

  "Then he'd never wander about the place in that way. There's oldZachary just come round the corner. Now we shall see what he does."

  "Fainted, has she?" said Zachary, as they walked together up to thehouse. "I never knew my girl do that before. Some of them can faintjust as they please; but that's not the way with Marion." Hampsteadprotested that there had been no affectation on this occasion; thatMarion had been so ill as to frighten him, and that, though hehad gone out of the house at the woman's bidding, he had found itimpossible to leave the neighbourhood till he should have learntsomething as to her condition. "Thou shalt hear all I can tell thee,my friend," said the Quaker, as they entered the house together.

  Hampstead was shown into the little parlour, while the Quaker went upto inquire after the state of his daughter. "No; thou canst not wellsee her," said he, returning, "as she has taken herself to her bed.That she should have been excited by what passed between you is nomore than natural. I cannot tell thee now when thou mayst come again;but I will write thee word from my office to-morrow." Upon this LordHampstead would have promised to call himself at King's Court on thenext day, had not the Quaker declared himself in favour of writingrather than of speaking. The post, he said, was very punctual; and onthe next evening his lordship would certainly receive tidings as toMarion.

  "Of course I cannot say what we can do about Gorse Hall till I hearfrom Mr. Fay," said Hampstead to his sister when he reached home."Everything must depend on Marion Fay." That his sister should havepacked all her things in vain seemed to him to be nothing whileMarion's health was in question; but when the Quaker's letter arrivedthe matter was at once settled. They would start for Gorse Hall onthe following day, the Quaker's letter having been as follows;--

  MY LORD,--

  I trust I may be justified in telling thee that there is not much to ail my girl. She was up to-day, and about the house before I left her, and assured me with many protestations that I need not take any special steps for her comfort or recovery. Nor indeed could I see in her face anything which could cause me to do so. Of course I mentioned thy name to her, and it was natural that the colour should come and go over her cheeks as I did so. I think she partly told me what had passed between you two, but only in part. As to the future, when I spoke of it, she told me that there was no need of any arrangement, as everything had been said that needed speech. But I guess that such is not thy reading of the matter; and that after what has passed between thee and me I am bound to offer to thee an opportunity of seeing her again shouldst thou wish to do so. But this must not be at once. It will certainly be better for her and, may be, for thee also that she should rest awhile before she be again asked to see thee. I would suggest, therefore, that thou shouldst leave her to her own thoughts for some weeks to come. If thou will'st write to me and name a day some time early in March I will endeavour to bring her round so far as to see thee when thou comest.

  I am, my lord, Thy very faithful friend,

  ZACHARY FAY.

  It cannot be said that Lord Hampstead was by any means satisfied withthe arrangement which had been made for him, but he was forced toacknowledge to himself that he could not do better than accede to it.He could of course write to the Quaker, and write also to Marion; buthe could not well show himself in Paradise Row before the time fixed,unless unexpected circumstances should arise. He did send threeloving words to Marion--"his own, own, dearest Marion," and sent themunder cover to her father, to whom he wrote, saying that he would beguided by the Quaker's counsels. "I will write to you on the first ofMarch," he said, "but I do trust that if in the mean time anythingshould happen,--if, for instance, Marion should be ill,--you willtell me at once as being one as much concerned in her health as youare yourself."

  He was nervous and ill-at-ease, but not thoroughly unhappy. She hadtold him how dear he was to her, and he would not have been a man hadhe not been gratified. And there had been no word of objection raisedon any matter beyond that one absurd objection as to which he thoughthimself entitled to demand that his wishes should be allowed toprevail. She had been very determined; how absolutely determined hewas not probably himself aware. She had, however, made him understandthat her conviction was very strong. But this had been as to a pointon which he did not doubt that he was right, and as to which herown father was altogether on his side. After hearing the strongprotestation of her affection he could not think that she would befinally obdurate when the reasons for her obduracy were so utterlyvalueless. But still there were vague fears about her health. Whyhad she fainted and fallen through his arms? Whence had come thatpeculiar brightness of complexion which would have charmed himhad it not frightened him? A dim dread of something that was notintelligible to him pervaded him, and robbed him of a portion of thetriumph which had come to him from her avowal.

  * * * * * *

  As the days went on at Gorse Hall his triumph became strongerthan his fears, and the time did not pass unpleasantly with him.Young Lord Hautboy came to hunt with him, bringing his sister LadyAmaldina, and after a few days Vivian found them. The conduct ofLady Frances in reference to George Roden was no doubt very muchblamed, but the disgrace did not loom so large in the eyes of LadyPersiflage as in those of her sister the Marchioness. Amaldina was,therefore, suffered to amuse herself, even as the guest of her wickedfriend;--even though the host were himself nearly equally wicked.It suited young Hautboy very well to have free stables for hishorses, and occasionally an extra mount when his own two steeds wereinsufficient for the necessary amount of hunting to be performed.Vivian, who had the liberal allowance of a private secretary to aCabinet Minister to fall back upon, had three horses of his own. Sothat among them they got a great deal of hunting,--in which LadyAmaldina would have taken a conspicuous part had not Lord Llwddythlwentertained strong opinions as to the expediency of ladies ridingto hounds. "He is so absurdly strict, you know," she said to LadyFrances.

  "
I think he is quite right," said the other. "I don't believe ingirls trying to do all the things that men do."

  "But what is the difference in jumping just over a hedge or two? Icall it downright tyranny. Would you do anything Mr. Roden told you?"

  "Anything on earth,--except jump over the hedges. But our temptationsare not likely to be in that way."

  "I think it very hard because I almost never see Llwddythlw."

  "But you will when you are married."

  "I don't believe I shall;--unless I go and look at him from behindthe grating in the House of Commons. You know we have settled uponAugust."

  "I had not heard it."

  "Oh yes. I nailed him at last. But then I had to get David. You don'tknow David?"

  "No special modern David."

  "Our David is not very modern. He is Lord David Powell, and mybrother that is to be. I had to persuade him to do something insteadof his brother, and I had to swear that we couldn't ever be marriedunless he would consent. I suppose Mr. Roden could get married anyday he pleased." Nevertheless Lady Amaldina was better than nobody tomake the hours pass when the men are away hunting.

  But at last there came a grand day, on which the man of businesswas to come out hunting himself. Lord Llwddythlw had come intothe neighbourhood, and was determined to have a day's pleasure.Gorse Hall was full, and Hautboy, though his sister was very eagerin beseeching him, refused to give way to his future magnificentbrother-in-law. "Do him all the good in the world," said Hautboy, "toput up at the pot-house. He'll find out all about whiskey and beerand gin, and know exactly how many beds the landlady makes up." LordLlwddythlw, therefore, slept at a neighbouring hotel, and no doubtdid turn his spare moments to some profit.

  Lord Llwddythlw was a man who had always horses, though he veryrarely hunted; who had guns, though he never fired them; andfishing-rods, though nobody knew where they were. He kept up agreat establishment, regretting nothing in regard to it exceptthe necessity of being sometimes present at the festivities forwhich it was used. On the present occasion he had been enticedinto Northamptonshire no doubt with the purpose of laying somefirst bricks, or opening some completed institution, or eating somedinner,--on any one of which occasions he would be able to tell theneighbours something as to the constitution of their country. Thenthe presence of his lady-love seemed to make this a fitting occasionfor, perhaps, the one day's sport of the year. He came to Gorse Hallto breakfast, and then rode to the meet along with the open carriagein which the two ladies were sitting. "Llwddythlw," said hislady-love, "I do hope you mean to ride."

  "Being on horseback, Amy, I shall have no other alternative."

  Lady Amaldina turned round to her friend, as though to ask whethershe had ever seen such an absurd creature in her life. "You know whatI mean by riding, Llwddythlw," she said.

  "I suppose I do. You want me to break my neck."

  "Oh, heavens! Indeed I don't."

  "Or, perhaps, only to see me in a ditch."

  "I can't have that pleasure," she said, "because you won't allow meto hunt."

  "I have taken upon myself no such liberty as even to ask you not todo so. I have only suggested that tumbling into ditches, howeversalutary it may be for middle-aged gentlemen like myself, is not abecoming amusement for young ladies."

  "Llwddythlw," said Hautboy, coming up to his future brother-in-law,"that's a tidy animal of yours."

  "I don't quite know what tidy means as applied to a horse, my boy;but if it's complimentary, I am much obliged to you."

  "It means that I should like to have the riding of him for the restof the season."

  "But what shall I do for myself if you take my tidy horse?"

  "You'll be up in Parliament, or down at Quarter Sessions, or doingyour duty somewhere like a Briton."

  "I hope I may do my duty not the less because I intend to keep thetidy horse myself. When I am quite sure that I shall not want him anymore, then I'll let you know."

  There was the usual trotting about from covert to covert, and theusual absence of foxes. The misery of sportsmen on these days issometimes so great that we wonder that any man, having experiencedthe bitterness of hunting disappointment, should ever go out again.On such occasions the huntsman is declared among private friends tobe of no use whatever. The master is an absolute muff. All honour asto preserving has been banished from the country. The gamekeepersdestroy the foxes. The owners of coverts encourage them. "Things havecome to such a pass," says Walker to Watson, "that I mean to give itup. There's no good keeping horses for this sort of thing." All thisis very sad, and the only consolation comes from the evident delightof those who take pleasure in trotting about without having to incurthe labour and peril of riding to hounds.

  At two o'clock on this day the ladies went home, having been drivenabout as long as the coachmen had thought it good for their horses.The men of course went on, knowing that they could not in honourliberate themselves from the toil of the day till the last covertshall have been drawn at half-past three o'clock. It is certainlytrue as to hunting that there are so many hours in which the spiritis vexed by a sense of failure, that the joy when it does come shouldbe very great to compensate the evils endured. It is not simply thatfoxes will not dwell in every spinney, or break as soon as found,or always run when they do break. These are the minor pangs. Butwhen the fox is found, and will break, and does run, when the scentsuffices, and the hounds do their duty, when the best country whichthe Shires afford is open to you, when your best horse is under you,when your nerves are even somewhat above the usual mark,--even thenthere is so much of failure! You are on the wrong side of the wood,and getting a bad start are never with them for a yard; or yourhorse, good as he is, won't have that bit of water; or you lose yourstirrup-leather, or your way; or you don't see the hounds turn, andyou go astray with others as blind as yourself; or, perhaps, whenthere comes the run of the season, on that very day you have taken aliberty with your chosen employment, and have lain in bed. Look backupon your hunting lives, brother sportsmen, and think how few and howfar between the perfect days have been.

  In spite of all that was gone this was one of those perfect days tothose who had the pleasure afterwards of remembering it. "Taking itall in all, I think that Lord Llwddythlw had the best of it fromfirst to last," said Vivian, when they were again talking of it inthe drawing-room after they had come in from their wine.

  "To think that you should be such a hero!" said Lady Amaldina, muchgratified. "I didn't believe you would take so much trouble aboutsuch a thing."

  "It was what Hautboy called the tidiness of the horse."

  "By George, yes; I wish you'd lend him to me. I got my brute inbetween two rails, and it took me half-an-hour to smash a waythrough. I never saw anything of it after that." Poor Hautboy almostcried as he gave this account of his own misfortune.

  "You were the only fellow I saw try them after Crasher," said Vivian."Crasher came on his head, and I should think he must be there still.I don't know where Hampstead got through."

  "I never know where I've been," said Hampstead, who had, in truth,led the way over the double rails which had so confounded Crasher andhad so perplexed Hautboy. But when a man is too forward to be seen,he is always supposed to be somewhere behind.

  Then there was an opinion expressed by Walker that Tolleyboy, thehuntsman, had on that special occasion stuck very well to his hounds,to which Watson gave his cordial assent. Walker and Watson had bothbeen asked to dinner, and during the day had been heard to expressto each other all that adverse criticism as to the affairs of thehunt in general which appeared a few lines back. Walker and Watsonwere very good fellows, popular in the hunt, and of all men the mostunlikely to give it up.

  When that run was talked about afterwards, as it often was, it wasalways admitted that Lord Llwddythlw had been the hero of the day.But no one ever heard him talk of it. Such a trifle was altogetherbeneath his notice.