Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XVIII_

  But the anticipations of Rose Lake were trifling matters in comparisonwith the universal interest and even excitement which attended theArchdeacon's first appearance in Carlingford. What might be called hisfirst public appearance took place at Dr Marjoribanks's table, althoughhe had previously dined at the Rectory, and also at Sir John Richmond's,besides that there had been somebody to dinner at Colonel Chiley'salmost every day; but then there were only county people at Sir John's,and Mr Bury's guests naturally counted for very little in GrangeLane;--indeed, it was confidently reported that the Rector had invitedMr Tufton of Salem Chapel to meet the Archdeacon, and that, but for theDissenting minister having more sense and knowing his place, thatunseemly conjunction would have taken place, to the horror of allright-thinking people. So that Dr Marjoribanks's was in reality thefirst house where he had any chance of seeing society. It would perhapsbe using too strong a word to say that Miss Marjoribanks was anxiousabout the success of her arrangements for this particular evening; but,at the same time, it must be admitted that the circumstances were suchas to justify a little anxiety. Mr Cavendish was gone, who, to do himjustice, was always agreeable, and his departure disturbed the habitualparty; and Mrs Woodburn had lost all her powers, as it seemed, and satat Dr Marjoribanks's left hand, looking just like other people, andevidently not to be in the least depended on; and Lucilla was aware thatBarbara was not coming, which made, if nothing else, a change in theprogramme. No music, nobody to do the flirting, nor to supply thedramatic by-play to which Grange Lane had become accustomed; and a newman to be made use of, and to be done honour to, and introduced insociety. A young woman of powers inferior to those of Miss Marjoribankswould have sunk under such a weight of responsibility, and there was nodoubt that Lucilla was a little excited. She felt that everythingdepended upon her courage and self-possession. If she but lost her headfor a moment and lost command of affairs, everything might have beenlost; but then fortunately she knew herself and what she could do, andhad a modest confidence that she would not lose her head; and thus shecould still eat her dinner with the composure of genius, though it wouldbe wrong to deny that Lucilla was a little pale.

  And then, as if all these things had not been enough to discourage thelady of the house, another discordant element was added by the presenceof Mr Bury and his sister, whom it had been necessary to ask to meet theArchdeacon. The Rector, though he was very Low-Church, has no particularobjections to a good dinner--but he made a principle of talking of thatimportant daily necessity in a disparaging, or at best in a patronisingway, which roused Dr Marjoribanks's temper; and sometimes the Doctorwould launch a shaft of medical wit at his spiritual guide, which MrBury had no means of parrying. Nor was this the only danger to which thepeace of the party was exposed. For the Rector, at the same time,regarded Mr Beverley with a certain critical suspiciousness, such as isseldom to be encountered except among clergymen. He did not know muchabout his clerical superior, who had only recently been appointed to hisarchdeaconry; but there was something in his air, his looks, anddemeanour, which indicated what Mr Bury considered a loose way ofthinking. When the Archdeacon made any remark the Rector would pause andlook up from his plate to listen to it, with his fork suspended in theair the while--and then he would exchange glances with his sister, whowas on the other side of the table. All this, it may be supposed, was alittle discomposing for Lucilla, who had the responsibility ofeverything, and who could now look for no assistance among the ordinarymembers of her father's party, who were, as a general rule, much moreoccupied with the dinner than with anything else that was going on. Insuch a state of affairs, it was a great relief to Miss Marjoribanks whenthe Archdeacon, who occupied the post of honour by her side, made alively new beginning in the conversation. It had not to call _flagged_before--not precisely flagged--but still there were indications ofapproaching exhaustion, such as can always be perceived half a mile offby anybody who has any experience in society, and when the Archdeacontook up the ball with all the liveliness of a man who is interested in aspecial question, it will not be difficult to any lady who has ever beenin such circumstances to realise to herself Miss Marjoribanks's sense ofgratitude and relief.

  "By the bye," said Mr Beverley, "I meant to ask if any one knew a manwhom I am sure I caught a glimpse of the first day I was in Carlingford.Perhaps it was in the morning after I arrived, to be precise. I can'trecollect exactly. If he lives about here, he ought to be known, for heis a clever amusing sort of fellow. I don't know if Carlingford is moreblessed than other country towns with people of that complexion," saidthe Archdeacon, turning to Lucilla with a smile. His smile, as he pausedand turned to Miss Marjoribanks, was such as conveys a kind of challengewhen it is addressed to a young lady, and meant to lead to a livelylittle combat by the way; and yet there was something of keen personalanxiety and animosity in it. As for Lucilla, she was conscious of animmediate thrill of curiosity, but still it was curiosity unmingled withany excitement, and she had no particular objection to respond.

  "Everybody is nice in Carlingford," said Miss Marjoribanks; "some peopleare always finding fault with their neighbours, but I always get on sowell with everybody--I suppose it is my luck." This was not precisely ananswer to the Archdeacon's question; and there was somebody at the tablewho could have fallen upon Lucilla and beaten her for putting off therevelation which trembled on the lips of Mr Beverley, and yet would havegiven anything in the world to silence the Archdeacon, and felt capableof rushing at him like a fury and tearing his tongue out, or suffocatinghim, to stop the next words that he was going to say. But nobody knewanything about this, or could see into the one heart that had begun toflutter and throb with alarm; for outwardly, all the well-dressed,cheerful people at Dr Marjoribanks's table sat eating their dinner, oneprecisely like another, as if there had been no such thing as mystery orterror in the world.

  "You must not expect me to believe in the perfection of human society,"said the Archdeacon, going on in the same strain; "I would much ratherpin my faith to the amiable dispositions of one young lady who alwaysfinds her neighbours agreeable--and I hope she makes no exception to therule," said the Broad-Churchman in a parenthesis, with a smile and abow--and then he raised his voice a little: "The man I speak of isreally a very amusing fellow, and very well got up, and calculated toimpose upon ordinary observers. It is quite a curious story; he was ason of a trainer or something of that sort about Newmarket. Old LordMonmouth took an extraordinary fancy to him, and had him constantlyabout his place--at one time, indeed, he half brought him up along withhis grandson, you know. He always was a handsome fellow, and picked up alittle polish; and really, for people not quite used to the real thing,was as nearly like a gentleman----"

  "Come, now, I don't put any faith in that," said Mr Woodburn. "I don'tpretend to be much of a one for fine company myself, but I know agentleman when I see him; a snob always overdoes it, you know----"

  "I never said this man was a snob," said the Archdeacon, with a refinedexpression of disgust at the interruption flitting over his features;"on the contrary, if he had only been honest, he would have been reallya very nice fellow----"

  "My dear sir," said Mr Bury, "excuse me for breaking in--perhaps I amold-fashioned, but don't you think it's a pity to treat the question ofhonesty so lightly? A dishonest person has a precious soul to be saved,and may be a most deeply interesting character; but to speak of him as avery nice fellow, is--pardon me--I think it's a pity; especially inmixed society, where it is so important for a clergyman to be guarded inhis expressions," said the Rector. When Mr Bury began to speak,everybody else at table ceased talking, and gave serious attention towhat was going on, for the prospect of a passage of arms between the twoclergymen was an opportunity too captivating to be lost.

  "I hope Mr Bury's dishonest friends will pardon me," said theArchdeacon; "I mean no harm to their superior claims. Does anybody knowthe man here, I wonder? He had changed his name when I knew him, andthere is no telling what he may call himself n
ow. I assure you he was avery good-looking fellow--dark, good features, nearly six feet high----"

  "Oh, please don't say any more," said Miss Marjoribanks, and she couldnot quite have explained why she interrupted these personal details; "ifyou tell me what he is like, I shall fancy everybody I meet is him; MrCentum is dark, and has good features, and is nearly six feet high.Never mind what he is like; you gentlemen can never describeanybody--you always keep to _generals_; tell us what he has done."

  Somebody drew a long breath at the table when the Archdeacon obeyed MissMarjoribanks's injunction. More than one person caught the sound, buteven Lucilla's keen eyes could not make out beyond controversy from whomit proceeded. To be sure, Lucilla's mind was in a most curious state oftumult and confusion. She was not one of the people who take a long timeto form their conclusions; but the natural conclusion to which she feltinclined to jump in this case was one so monstrous and incredible thatMiss Marjoribanks felt her only safeguard in the whirl of possibilitieswas to reject it altogether, and make up her mind that it wasimpossible; and then all the correspondences and apparent corroborationsbegan to dance and whirl about her in a bewildering ring till her ownbrain seemed to spin with them. She was as much afraid lest theArchdeacon by some chance should fall upon a really individual featurewhich the world in general could identify, as if she had had any realconcern in the matter. But then, fortunately, there was not much chanceof that; for it was one of Lucilla's principles that men never candescribe each other. She listened, however, with such a curiouscommotion in her mind, that she did not quite make out what he wassaying, and only pieced it up in little bits from memory afterwards. Notthat it was a very dreadful story. It was not a narrative of robbery ormurder, or anything very alarming; but if it could by any possibilityturn out that the man of whom Mr Beverley was speaking had ever beenreceived in society in Carlingford, then it would be a dreadful blow tothe community, and destroy public confidence for ever in the socialleaders. This was what Lucilla was thinking in her sudden turmoil ofamazement and apprehension. And all this time there was another personat table who knew all about it twenty times better than Lucilla, andknew what was coming, and had a still more intense terror lest somepersonal detail might drop from the Archdeacon's lips which the publicin general would recognise. Mr Beverley went on with his story with acurious sort of personal keenness in his way of telling it, but neverdreaming for a moment that anybody that heard him was disturbed orexcited by it. "He has a mark on his face," the Archdeacon said--buthere Miss Marjoribanks gave a little cry, and held up both her hands indismay.

  "Don't tell us what marks he has on his face," said Lucilla. "I knowthat I shall think every man who is dark, and has good features, and issix feet, must be him. I wonder if it could be my cousin Tom; _he_ has alittle mark on his face--and it would be just like his dreadful luck,poor fellow. Would it be right to give up one's own cousin if it shouldturn out to be Tom?" said Miss Marjoribanks. The people who were sittingat her end of the table laughed, but there was no laughing in Lucilla'smind. And this fright and panic were poor preparatives for the evening,which had to be got through creditably with so few resources, and withsuch a total reversal of the ordinary programme. Miss Marjoribanks wasstill tingling with curiosity and alarm when she rose from the table. Ifit should really come to pass that an adventurer had been received intothe best society of Carlingford, and that the best judges had not beenable to discriminate between the false and true, how could any oneexpect that Grange Lane would continue to confide its most importantarrangements to such incompetent hands?

  Such was the dreadful question that occupied all Lucilla's thoughts. Sofar as the adventurer himself was concerned, no doubt he deservedanything that might come upon him; but the judgment which might overtakethe careless shepherds who had admitted the wolf into the fold was muchmore in Miss Marjoribanks's mind than any question of abstract justice.So that it was not entirely with a philanthropical intention that shestopped Mr Beverley and put an end to his dangerous details. Now shecame to think of it, she began to remember that _nobody of heracquaintance_ had any mark on his face; but still it was best not toinquire too closely. It was thus with a preoccupied mind that she wentup to the drawing-room, feeling less in spirits for her work than on anyprevious occasion. It was the first of the unlucky nights, which everywoman of Lucilla's large and public-spirited views must calculate uponas inevitable now and then. There was no moon, and the Richmondsnaturally were absent, and so were the Miss Browns, who were stayingthere on a visit--for it was after the engagement between Lydia[1] andJohn; and Mr Cavendish was away (though perhaps under the circumstancesthat was no disadvantage); and Mrs Woodburn was silenced; and evenBarbara Lake had failed her patroness.

  [Footnote 1: It may be mentioned here that this was an engagement thatnone of the friends approved of, and that it was the greatest possiblecomfort to Miss Marjoribanks's mind that she had nothing to do withit--either one way or another, as she said.]

  "You are not in spirits to-night, Lucilla, my poor dear," said MrsChiley, as they went upstairs; and the kind old lady cast a fierceglance at Mrs Woodburn, who was going before them with Miss Bury, as ifit could be her fault.

  "Dear Mrs Chiley," said Miss Marjoribanks, "I am in perfect spirits; itis only the responsibility, you know. Poor Barbara is ill, and we can'thave any music, and what if people should be bored? When one has realfriends to stand by one it is different," said Lucilla, with anintonation that was not intended for Mrs Chiley, "and I _always_ standby my friends."

  This was the spirit with which Miss Marjoribanks went upstairs. It was asentiment which pervaded her whole life. Even when she had occasion tobe sufficiently displeased with the people who surrounded her, and tofeel that her own loyal friendship met with no adequate response, thiswas the unfailing inspiration of her heart. She did not rush intoopposition because any misguided man or woman failed for the moment toappreciate her efforts, and return, as they ought to have been glad todo, her sentiments of kindness. On the contrary, nothing could have beenmore long-suffering and tolerant and benign than the feelings with whichLucilla regarded the unfortunate persons who mistook or did notappreciate her. She knew herself, which, however superior they might be,was something they could not know; and she could afford to be sorry (fortheir own sakes) for their want of discrimination. If there shouldhappen to be somebody in Grange Lane who had gained admittance intosociety under false pretences, not even such an offence, grievous as itwas, could induce Miss Marjoribanks to condemn the culprit unheard. Itwas at once her settled resolution, and a peculiarity of her character,to stand by her friends; and whatever might be the thoughts in her ownmind, her immediate decision was to shut her ears to every indication ofthe culprit's personality, and to be blind to every suggestion thatcould identify him. People who like to discover the alloy which blendswith all human motives, may suppose that Lucilla felt her own credit asthe leader of society at stake, and would not admit that she had beenduped. But this had in reality but a very small share in the matter. Herinstinct, even when reason suggested that she should be doubtful ofthem, was always to side with her own friends; and though there might bepersons included in that sacred number who were scarcely worthy of thecharacter, yet Lucilla, like every lofty character, could act butaccording to her own nature, and could not forsake any one whom shesupposed to be thus mysteriously and darkly assailed.

  And she had her reward. There are virtues in this world which go withoutany recompense, but there are other virtues upon which a prompt guerdonis bestowed; and Lucilla possessed this happier development. Whether itwas that little speech of hers which touched the mimic's heart, orwhether the effect was produced by some other secret influence, it iscertain that this was the night on which Mrs Woodburn's talent came towhat may be called a sort of apotheosis. She shook off her languor as bya sudden inspiration, and gave such a sketch of the Archdeacon as up tothis day is remembered more clearly in Carlingford than the man himself.She took him off to his very face, and he never found it out, thou
gheverybody else did, and the house shook with restrained laughter. And asif this was not enough, Rose Lake had come with her portfolio, with somesketches of her brother's (who afterwards became so celebrated) in it,which electrified all the people who were fond of art; and by the sideof the young Preraphaelite was Barbara, who had come "to spite Lucilla,"and who remained unwittingly to grace her triumph. She stood by herself,all wan and crumpled, all the night, showing her disappointment and rageand jilted state so clearly in her face, as to afford to all the mammasin her neighbourhood a most startling example of the danger of showingyour feelings, with which to point a moral to the other young peopleabout. She had come because Rose was coming, and she would not beeclipsed by her younger sister. But nobody took any notice of Barbara onthis miserable evening; nobody asked her to sing, or offered her a seat,or even spoke to her, except Lucilla, who in her magnanimity found timeto say a word as she passed. She was carelessly dressed, and her hairwas hastily arranged, and her eyes were red. She had no desire to lookas if she had not been jilted, and had no proper pride, as Rose said;and Mrs Chiley, who was Lucilla's partisan and champion, and who thoughtpoor Barbara deserved it all, seized the opportunity, and delivered alittle lecture on the subject to the first group of girls who came inher way.

  "A disappointment may happen to any one," said Mrs Chiley; "and so longas they had done nothing unbecoming, nobody could blame them; but, mydears, whatever you do, don't show it like that! It makes me ashamed ofmy sex. And only look at Lucilla!" said the old lady. Lucilla had thebest of it now. Instead of a failure, such as for a moment seemedlikely, she had a triumphant success. She, and she only, said a word ofkindness to her formerly triumphant rival. She drove her chariot overBarbara, and drew an advantage even from her sullen looks and red eyes.And the only thing that dissatisfied Mrs Chiley in the entire course ofthe evening was the trustful confidence with which Miss Marjoribanksleft the Archdeacon, the (possible) new candidate for her favour, besidethe Lakes and their portfolio of drawings. In this, as in all otherthings, Lucilla could not but follow the dictates of her magnanimousnature. And even her own prospects, as her old friend lamented, were asnothing to her in comparison with the good of society. Experience oughtto have taught her better; but then experience rarely does that amountof practical good which is generally attributed to it in the world.Lucilla gave little Rose the fullest opportunity of showing her drawingsto the Archdeacon and awakening his curiosity, and even securing hisaffections, as the jealous observer thought; and everybody knows howlittle is necessary, if a young woman likes to exert herself, to lead apoor man to his undoing; and Mr Beverley, though an archdeacon, was mostprobably, in this respect at least, no wiser than other men. This wasthe painful aspect of the case which Mrs Chiley discussed with herhusband when they got home.

  "He is not like what clergymen were in our day," said the old lady, "butstill he is very nice, and has a nice position, and it would just suitLucilla; but to think of her going and leaving him with these Lakegirls, notwithstanding the lesson she has had! and I have no doubt thelittle one is just as designing and nasty as the other. If it shouldcome to anything, she has only herself to blame," said Mrs Chiley. Asfor the Colonel, he took it more calmly, as a gentleman might beexpected to do.

  "You may trust a parson for that," said the old soldier. "He knows whathe is about. You will never find him make such an ass of himself asyoung Cavendish did." But this only made Mrs Chiley sigh the more.

  "Poor Mr Cavendish!" said the old lady. "I will never blame him, poorfellow. It was all that deceitful thing laying her snares for him. Formy part I never like to have anything to do with those artist kind ofpeople--they are all adventurers," said the Colonel's wife; and she wentto bed with this unchristian persuasion in her mind.

  While every one else regarded the matter with, to some extent, apersonal bias, the only person who looked at it abstractly, andcontemplated not the accidents of an evening, but the work itself, whichwas progressing in the face of all kinds of social difficulties, was themaster-mind which first conceived the grand design of turning thechaotic elements of society in Carlingford into one grand unity. Lucillawas not blind to the dangers that surrounded her, nor indifferent to thepartial disappointment she had undergone; but she saw that, in spite ofall, her great work was making progress. And when we announce that MissMarjoribanks herself was satisfied, there remains little more to say.

  As for the Archdeacon, he, as was natural, knew nothing about thematter. He said again, with the natural obtuseness which is so generalamong the gentlemen, that it had been a very pleasant party. "She has afine clear candid nature," said Mr Beverley, which certainly was betterthan pronouncing solemnly that she was a good woman, which was what hesaid of Mrs Chiley and Lady Richmond, in the lump, as it were, withoutconsidering how unlike they were to each other. That was all he, beingonly a man, knew about it. But though Lucilla was satisfied with theevents of the evening, it would be vain to deny that there wereperturbations in her mind as she laid her head upon her maiden pillow.She said to herself again with profounder fervour, that fortunately heraffections had not been engaged; but there were more things thanaffections to be taken into consideration. Could it be possible thatmystery, and perhaps imposture, of one kind or another, had crossed thesacred threshold of Grange Lane; and that people might find out and castin Lucilla's face the dreadful discovery that a man had been received in_her_ house who was not what he appeared to be? When such an ideacrossed her mind, Miss Marjoribanks shivered under her satin quilt. Ofcourse she could not change the nature of the fact one way or another;but, at least, it was her duty to act with great circumspection, so thatif possible it might not be found out--for Lucilla appreciated fully thedifference that exists between wrong and discovery. If any man wasimposing upon his neighbours and telling lies about himself, it was hisown fault; but if a leader of society were to betray the fact of havingreceived and petted such a person, then the responsibility was on _her_shoulders. And softer thoughts mingled with these prudentialconsiderations--that sweet yet stern resolution to stand by her friendswhich Miss Marjoribanks had this evening expressed, and that sense ofpity for everybody who is unfortunate which asserts itself even in thestrongest of female intelligences. On the whole, it was clear thatprudence was the great thing required, and a determination not to givetoo hasty heed to anything, nor to put herself in the wrong by anyalarmist policy. Fortunately the respectability of Dr Marjoribanks'shouse was enough to cover its guests with a shining buckler. ThusLucilla calmed down her own apprehensions, and succeeded in convincingherself that if the impostor whom the Archdeacon had seen had beenreally received in Grange Lane, it was so much the worse for theimpostor; but that, in the meantime, in the lack of evidence it was muchthe best thing to take no notice. If there was any one else inCarlingford who regarded that past danger with a livelier horror and amore distinct fear, certainly Miss Marjoribanks had no way of knowing ofit; and nobody had been remarked as being in a despondent condition, or,indeed, in anything but the highest spirits, in the course of thisThursday, except the ungrateful creature who had begun all the mischief;and tolerant as Lucilla was, it would have been going beyond the limitsof nature to have expected that she could have been profoundly sorry forBarbara Lake.

  At the same time, poor Barbara, though she was not an elevatedcharacter, had gone home in a very sad state of mind. She had takencourage to ask Mrs Woodburn about her brother, and Mrs Woodburn had madethe very briefest and rudest response to her question, and had "takenoff" her woe-begone looks almost to her very face. And no one had shownthe least sympathy for the forsaken one. She had not even been calledfrom her solitude to sing, which might have been something, and it wasRose, as she said to herself, who had attracted all the attention; for,like most selfish people, Barbara, though keenly aware of her ownwrongs, had no eyes to perceive that Rose, who had a proud littlespirit, was anything but satisfied with the evening's entertainment, towhich she had herself so largely contributed. "I feel as if I shouldnever see him more," Barbar
a said, quite subdued and broken down, with aburst of tears, as the two went home; and poor little Rose, who wassoft-hearted, forgot all her disapprobation in sympathy. "Never mindthem, dear; they have no feeling. We must cling together all the closer,and try to be everything to each other," Rose said, with eyes which werefull, but which would not shed any tears. What was passing through herown mind was, that it was not for herself, but for her portfolio and thetalk that arose over it, that Lucilla had asked her; but, at the sametime, she said to herself, that all that was nothing in comparison tothe wound of the heart under which Barbara was suffering. "Dear, nevermind, we will be everything to each other," said poor little romanticRose; and the elder sister, even in the depths of her dejection, couldhave given her a good shake for uttering such an absurd sentiment; for agreat deal of good it would do to be everything to each other--as ifthat could ever replace the orange blossoms and the wedding tour, andthe carriage and handsome house, which were included in the name ofCavendish! "And he was such a dear!" she said to herself in her ownmind, and wept, and made her eyes redder and redder. If Mr Cavendish hadknown all that was going on in Carlingford that night, the chances arethat he would have been most flattered by those tears which Barbara shedfor him under the lamps in Grove Street; but then it is to be hoped hewould not have been insensible either to the just reticence andself-restraint which, mingling with Miss Marjoribanks's suspicions,prevented her, as she herself said, even in the deepest seclusion of herown thoughts, from naming any name.