CHAPTER XIII
WHENCE, AND WHEREFORE?
At the rectory, too, ere the end of that week, there was no littleshaking of heads almost as wise as Zebedee Tugwell's. Mrs. Twemlow,though nearly sixty years of age, and acquainted with many a sorrow, wasas lively and busy and notable as ever, and even more determined tobe the mistress of the house. For by this time her daughter Eliza,beginning to be twenty-five years old--a job which takes some years infinishing--began at the same time to approve her birth by a vigorous aimat the mastery. For, as everybody said, Miss Eliza was a Carne inblood and breed and fibre. There was little of the Twemlow stock abouther--for the Twemlows were mild and humorous--but plenty of the strengthand dash and wildness and contemptuous spirit of the ancient Carnes.
Carne a carne, as Mr. Twemlow said, when his wife was inclined to bemasterful--a derivation confirmed by the family motto, "Carne noncaret carne." In the case, however, of Mrs. Twemlow, age, affliction,experience, affection, and perhaps above all her good husband's largerbenevolence and placidity, had wrought a great change for the better,and made a nice old lady of her. She was tall and straight and slenderstill; and knew how to make the most, by grave attire and gracefulattitude, of the bodily excellence entailed for ages on the lineageof Carne. Of moral goodness there had not been an equally strictsettlement, at least in male heredity. So that Mrs. Twemlow's thoughtsabout her kith and kindred were rather sad than proud, unless someignorance was shown about them.
"Poor as I am," said Mr. Twemlow, now consulting with her, "and poor asevery beneficed clergyman must be, if this war returns, I would ratherhave lost a hundred pounds than have heard what you tell me, Maria."
"My dear, I cannot quite see that," his wife made thoughtful answer;"if he only had money to keep up the place, and clear off those nastyincumbrances, I should rejoice at his coming back to live where we havebeen for centuries."
"My dear, you are too poetical, though the feeling is a fine one. Withinthe old walls there can scarcely be a room that has a sound floor toit. And as for the roof, when that thunder-storm was, and I took shelterwith my pony--well, you know the state I came home in, and all my bestclothes on for the Visitation. Luckily there seems to be no rheumatismin your family, Maria; and perhaps he is too young as yet to pay out forit till he gets older. But if he comes for business, and to see to therelics of his property, surely he might have a bedroom here, and comeand go at his liking. After all his foreign fanglements, a course ofquiet English life and the tone of English principles might be of thegreatest use to him. He would never wish to see the Continent again."
"It is not to be thought of," said Mrs. Twemlow. "I would not have himto live in this house for fifty thousand pounds a year. You are agreat deal wiser than I am, Joshua; but of his nature you know nothing,whereas I know it from his childhood. And Eliza is so strong-willedand stubborn--you dislike, of course, to hear me say it, but it is thefact--it is, my dear. And I would rather stand by our daughter's gravethan see her fall in love with Caryl Carne. You know what a handsomeyoung man he must be now, and full of French style and frippery. I amsure it is most kind of you to desire to help my poor family; but youwould rue the day, my dear, that brought him beneath our quiet roof.I have lost my only son, as it seems, by the will of the Lord, whoafflicts us. But I will not lose my only daughter, by any such folly ofmy own."
Tears rolled down Mrs. Twemlow's cheeks as she spoke of her mysteriousaffliction; and her husband, who knew that she was not weak-minded,consoled her by sharing her sorrow.
"It shall be exactly as you like," he said, after a quiet interval. "Yousay that no answer is needed; and there is no address to send one to. Weshall hear of it, of course, when he takes possession, if, indeed, he isallowed to do so."
"Who is to prevent him from coming, if he chooses, to live in the homeof his ancestors? The estates are all mortgaged, and the park is gone,turned into a pound for Scotch cattle-breeding. But the poor old castlebelongs to us still, because no one would take the expense of it."
"And because of the stories concerning it, Maria. Your nephew Caryl isa brave young fellow if he means to live there all alone, and I fear hecan afford himself no company. You understand him so much better: whatdo you suppose his motive is?"
"I make no pretence to understand him, dear, any more than his poorfather could. My dear brother was of headstrong order, and it did himno good to contradict him, and indeed it was dangerous to do so; but hisnature was as simple as a child's almost, to any one accustomed to him.If he had not married that grand French lady, who revelled in everyextravagance, though she knew how we all were impoverished, he mighthave been living and in high position now, though a good many years mysenior. And the worst of it was that he did it at a time when he oughtto have known so much better. However, he paid for it bitterly enough,and his only child was set against him."
"A very sad case altogether," said the rector. "I remember, as if itwere yesterday, how angry poor Montagu was with me. You remember whatwords he used, and his threat of attacking me with his horsewhip. But hebegged my pardon, most humbly, as soon as he saw how thoroughly right Iwas. You are like him in some things, as I often notice, but not quiteso generous in confessing you were wrong."
"Because I don't do it as he did, Joshua. You would never understand meif I did. But of course for a man you can make allowance. My rule is todo it both for men and women, quite as fairly as if one was the other."
"Certainly, Maria--certainly. And therefore you can do it, and havealways done it, even for poor Josephine. No doubt there is much to bepleaded, by a candid and gentle mind, on her behalf."
"What! that dreadful creature who ruined my poor brother, and calledherself the Countess de Lune, or some such nonsense! No, Joshua, no!I have not so entirely lost all English principle as to quite do that.Instead of being largeness, that would be mere looseness."
"There are many things, however, that we never understood, and perhapsnever shall in this world," Mr. Twemlow continued, as if talking tohimself, for reason on that subject would be misaddressed to her; "andnothing is more natural than that young Caryl should side with hismother, who so petted him, against his poor father, who was violent andharsh, especially when he had to pay such bills. But perhaps our goodnephew has amassed some cash, though there seems to be but little on theContinent, after all this devastation. Is there anything, Maria, in hisletter to enable us to hope that he is coming home with money?"
"Not a word, I am afraid," Mrs. Twemlow answered, sadly. "But take it,my dear, and read it to me slowly. You make things so plain, becauseof practice every Sunday. Oh, Joshua, I never can be sure which youare greatest in--the Lessons or the Sermon. But before you begin I willshoot the bolt a little, as if it had caught by accident. Eliza doesrush in upon us sometimes in the most unbecoming, unladylike way. And Inever can get you to reprove her."
"It would be as much as my place is worth, as the maids say whenimagined to have stolen sugar. And I must not read this letter so loudas the Lessons, unless you wish Lizzie to hear every word, for she hasall her mother's quick senses. There is not much of it, and the scrawlseems hasty. We might have had more for three and fourpence. But I amnot the one to grumble about bad measure--as the boy said about oldBusby. Now, Maria, listen, but say nothing; if feminine capacity maycompass it. Why, bless my heart, every word of it is French!" The rectorthrew down his spectacles, and gazed at his wife reproachfully. But shesmiled with superior innocence.
"What else could you expect, after all his years abroad? I cannotmake out the whole of it, for certain. But surely it is not beyond thecompass of masculine capacity."
"Yes, it is, Maria; and you know it well enough. No honest Englishmancan endure a word of French. Latin, or Greek, or even Hebrew--though Itook to that rather late in life. But French is only fit for women, andvery few of them can manage it. Let us hear what this Frenchman says."
"He is not a Frenchman, Joshua. He is an Englishman, and probably a veryfine one. I won't be sure about all of his letter, bec
ause it is so longsince I was at school; and French books are generally unfit to read. Butthe general meaning is something like this:
'MY BELOVED AND HIGHLY VALUED AUNT,--Since I heard from you thereare many years now, but I hope you have held me in memory. I have theintention of returning to the country of England, even in this bad timeof winter, when the climate is most funereal. I shall do my best to callback, if possible, the scattered ruins of the property, and to instituteagain the name which my father made displeasing. In this good work youwill, I have faith, afford me your best assistance, and the influenceof your high connection in the neighbourhood. Accept, dear aunt, theassurance of my highest consideration, of the most sincere and the mostdevoted, and allow me the honour of writing myself your most loving andrespectful nephew,
'CARYL CARNE.'
Now, Joshua, what do you think of that?"
"Fine words and no substance; like all French stuff. And he never evenmentions me, who gave him a top, when he should have had the whip. Iwill not pretend to understand him, for he always was beyond me. Darkand excitable, moody and capricious, haughty and sarcastic, and devoidof love for animals. You remember his pony, and what he did to it, andthe little dog that crawled upon her stomach towards him. For yoursake I would have put up with him, my dear, and striven to improve hisnature, which is sure to be much worse at six-and-twenty, after so manyyears abroad. But I confess it is a great relief to me that you wiselyprefer not to have him in this house, any more at least than we can helpit. But who comes here? What a hurry we are in! Lizzie, my darling, bepatient."
"Here's this plague of a door barred and bolted again! Am I not to havean atom of breakfast, because I just happened to oversleep myself? Themornings get darker and darker; it is almost impossible to see to dressoneself."
"There is plenty of tinder in the house, Eliza, and plenty of goodtallow candles," Mrs. Twemlow replied, having put away the letter, whileher husband let the complainant in. "For the third time this weekwe have had prayers without you, and the example is shocking for theservants. We shall have to establish the rule you suggest--too late topray for food, too late to get it. But I have kept your help of baconhot, quite hot, by the fire. And the teapot is under the cozy."
"Thank you, dear mother," the young lady answered, careless of words,if deeds were in her favour, and too clever to argue the question. "Isuppose there is no kind of news this morning to reward one for gettingup so early."
"Nothing whatever for you, Miss Lizzie," said her father, as soon as hehad kissed her. "But the paper is full of the prospects of war, and theextent of the preparations. If we are driven to fight again, we shall doit in earnest, and not spare ourselves."
"Nor our enemies either, I do hope with all my heart. How long are we tobe afraid of them? We have always invaded the French till now. And forthem to talk of invading us! There is not a bit of spirit left in thisisland, except in the heart of Lord Nelson."
"What a hot little patriot this child is!" said the father, with a quietsmile at her. "What would she say to an Englishman, who was more Frenchthan English, and would only write French letters? And yet it might bepossible to find such people."
"If such a wretch existed," cried Miss Twemlow, "I should like tocrunch him as I crunch this toast. For a Frenchman I can make all fairallowance, because he cannot help his birth. But for an Englishman toturn Frenchman--"
"However reluctant we may be to allow it," the candid rector argued,"they are the foremost nation in the world, just now, for energy,valour, decision, discipline, and I fear I must add patriotism. Themost wonderful man who has appeared in the world for centuries is theirleader, and by land his success has been almost unbroken. If we musthave war again, as I fear we must, and very speedily, our chief hopemust be that the Lord will support His cause against the scoffer and theinfidel, the libertine and the assassin."
"You see how beautifully your father puts it, Eliza; but he never abusespeople. That is a habit in which, I am sorry to say, you indulge toofreely. You show no good feeling to anybody who differs from you inopinion, and you talk as if Frenchmen had no religion, no principles,and no humanity. And what do you know about them, pray? Have you everspoken to a Frenchman? Have you ever even seen one? Would you know oneif you even set eyes upon him?"
"Well, I am not at all sure that I should," the young lady replied,being thoroughly truthful; "and I have no wish for the opportunity. ButI have seen a French woman, mother; and that is quite enough for me. Ifthey are so, what must the men be?"
"There is a name for this process of feminine reasoning, this cumulativeand syncopetic process of the mind, entirely feminine (but regarded byitself as rational), a name which I used to know well in the days when Ihad the ten Fallacies at my fingers' ends, more tenaciously perhapsthan the Decalogue. Strange to say, the name is gone from my memory;but--but--"
"But then you had better go after it, my dear," his wife suggested withauthority. "If your only impulse when you hear reason is to search afterhard names for it, you are safer outside of its sphere altogether."
"I am struck with the truth of that remark," observed the rector; "andthe more so because I descry a male member of our race approaching, witha hat--at once the emblem and the crown of sound reason. Away with allfallacies; it is Church-warden Cheeseman!"
Springhaven: A Tale of the Great War Page 13