Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XXIV_

  It was the most unlucky moment for the weather to change, being themiddle of July, and as near as possible to St Swithin's Day; but theseason had been so delightful up to that time that nobody in Carlingfordat least had any reason to complain. So far as Miss Marjoribanks wasconcerned, she was rather glad, on the whole, that the next day was wet,and that she could not go out all the morning, nor was likely to beinterrupted by visitors. She had all her plans to settle and mature forthe great enterprise which she had taken in hand. By this time, so farfrom feeling any personal interest in the Archdeacon, or consideringherself injured by his sudden desertion, that little episode had goneout of Lucilla's mind as completely as if it had never been. In onepoint, however, Miss Marjoribanks's conviction remained firm; it wasimpressed upon her mind that Carlingford would not be made into abishopric, or, if made into a bishopric, that it was not Mr Beverley whowould be chosen to occupy the new see. It was one of those instinctivecertainties which are not capable of explanation, which was thus bornein upon her spirit, and she could not have felt more sure of it had sheseen it under the Queen's own hand and seal. While she went about herusual morning occupations, her mind was full of her great and novelundertaking. Mr Beverley was not a man to be revolutionised in a moment;and many people would have shrunk from the attempt to work in a few daysor weeks, with no better arms than those of acquaintance, a change whichthe influence of love had not been able to do in so many years. But itwas not in Lucilla's nature to be daunted by a difficulty sounimportant. There was, thank Heaven, some difference between herselfand the widow, who, in a strait, could think of nothing better to do,poor soul! than to faint; and Miss Marjoribanks had the advantage ofnever as yet having been beaten, whereas Mrs Mortimer had undergonenumberless defeats.

  The hardest matter in the whole business, however, was theidentification of the Mr Kavan whom the Archdeacon thought he had seenin Carlingford, and was not afraid to speak of as a clever rascal andadventurer. Mr Beverley had never seen the fellow again, as he had toldLucilla not many days back, and Miss Marjoribanks had been unfeignedlyglad to hear it; but now matters had changed. In the course of herreflections, she decided that it would now be best that these two men,if possible, should meet and recognise each other, and that the businessshould once for all be definitively settled. If all the offence he hadcommitted against society was to have had a large sum of money left himby a childless old man, Lucilla saw no reason why this mysteriousculprit should conceal himself; and even if he had taken a littleliberty with his name, that was not a crime--his name was his ownsurely, if anything was his own. At the same time, Miss Marjoribankstook pains to impress upon herself, as it is to be hoped a friendlyaudience will also have the goodness to do, that she had no _realfoundation_ for her suspicions as to the identity of this personage, andmight turn out to be completely mistaken. He might have made no changewhatever on his name; he might be flourishing in some other quarter ofEngland or the world, with all his antecedents perfectly well known, andunconscious of anything to be ashamed about; which, to tell the truth,was, as Lucilla confessed to herself, a much more likely hypothesis thanthe supposition which had taken such possession of her mind. But thenMiss Marjoribanks had a just faith in her instincts, and in those briefbut telling pieces of evidence which supported her conclusion. She wasthinking over this important branch of the subject with the greatestcare and devotion, when, looking out by chance into the rain, she sawthe Archdeacon crossing the garden. Perhaps it was just as well that shethus had warning and a moment to prepare for his visit; not that Lucillawas a person to be taken at disadvantage; but still, in a matter sopractical and pressing, it was always better to be prepared.

  Mr Beverley came in with an air and expression so different from thatwhich he had borne in their intercourse no further gone than yesterday,that, notwithstanding the corresponding revolution in her own mind, MissMarjoribanks could not but regard him with mingled admiration andsurprise. She judged him as the general world so often judged herself,and gave him credit for skill and courage in assuming such an attitude,when the fact was he was only preoccupied and natural, and did not thinkof his attitude at all. It did not occur to the Archdeacon that he hadsinned towards Lucilla. He thought it right to explain to her hisextreme surprise at the sight of Mrs Mortimer, and possibly to make heraware, at the same time, of his grievances, in so far as Mrs Mortimerwas concerned; but perhaps Mr Beverley was, on the whole, innocent ofthose intentions which Mrs Chiley had attributed to him, and which evenLucilla, more clear-sighted, had seen dawning in their last interview;for, to be sure, this is one of the questions which the female intellectis apt to judge in a different light from that in which it is regardedby a man. The Archdeacon, accordingly, came in preoccupied, with a cloudon his brow, but without the smallest appearance of penitence ordeprecation; by which demeanour he gained, without deserving it, therespect, and to a certain extent the admiration, of Lucilla. Hisexpression was not that of a man repentant, but of a man aggrieved. Hehad a cloud upon his countenance, and a certain air of offence andtemper; and when he sat down, he breathed a short impatient sigh.

  "Thank you for receiving me so early," he said. "I called yesterdayafternoon, but found you out. You must have had very particular businessto take you out in that rain," Mr Beverley continued, with subduedexasperation; for naturally, being a clergyman, he was a littleimpatient to find, when it was _he_ who wanted her, any of his femalefriends out of the way.

  "Yes," said Lucilla, who thought it was best to open her battery boldlyand at once. "I was spending the afternoon with poor Mrs Mortimer; poordear, she is so solitary!" and to meet Mr Beverley's ill-temper, MissMarjoribanks put on her most heavenly air of sympathy, and rounded herwords with a soft sigh, as different from his as a flute is from atrumpet. It was with an exclamation of impatience that the Archdeaconreplied.

  "_Poor_ Mrs Mortimer!" he cried; "I don't know whether you are aware howmuch her obstinacy has cost me; and herself, I suppose," he added, in aparenthesis. "Not to depreciate your kindness, or the truly human andChristian way in which you have conducted yourself--fancy what myfeelings naturally must have been to find her an object ofcharity--actually of charity! I don't mean to say," said Mr Beverley,controlling himself, "that it is degrading to accept succour when givenas from man to man--quite the contrary; but you will excuse me fromentering into the general question. She knew perfectly well that if Ihad known where she was--if she had consented to yield to me on onepoint--solely on _one_ point----"

  "And she such an obstinate woman!" said Miss Marjoribanks, with finescorn. "How could you ever think of such a thing? A woman that nevergives in to anybody. If you knew her as well as I do----"

  The Archdeacon glanced up with a momentary intense surprise, as if itwas within the possibilities that such a change might have taken placein the widow's nature; and then he caught Lucilla's eye, and grew redand more aggrieved than ever.

  "Mrs Mortimer happens to be a relative of mine," he said, in hisauthoritative voice. "I have known her from her youth. I am betterinstructed in all her affairs than she can possibly be. When I urge herto any step, however much it may be against her inclinations, she oughtto know that it can only be for her good. I beg your pardon, MissMarjoribanks. It will give me great grief to find that you, upon whosesuperior good sense I have so much calculated, should support her in herfolly. I know how much she owes to you----"

  "Oh, no, she does not owe me anything," said Lucilla. "It was just myluck, you know. I knew she would turn out to be a lady. I don't want tostand up for her if she is wrong; but I have only heard _her_ side. Whenyou tell me about it, I shall be able to form an opinion," MissMarjoribanks added prudently; "for of course everything has two sides."

  "Most things," said Mr Beverley, "but this is precisely one of thethings which have not two sides. Nothing except some sort of infatuationor other--but never mind, you shall hear the facts," said theArchdeacon, once more making an effort upon himself. "Her uncle, MrGarrett, was above eighty.
Why Providence should have let him live tosuch an age to do so much mischief, Heaven alone knows. Some differentrule seems to exist up _there_ about those matters, from what we find toanswer on earth," the Broad-Churchman said, with a certain air ofdisapproval. "He had this young fellow to see him and then to live withhim, and took some sort of idiotic fancy to him; and when the will wasmade, it was found that, with the exception of a small sum to Helen,everything was left to this impostor. No, I can't say I have anypatience with her folly. How could any man have two opinions on thesubject? He was neither related to him, nor connected with him," criedMr Beverley, with a momentary inclination, as Lucilla thought, to getaground among the pronouns, as Mrs Mortimer had done. "I do not suspectmy cousin," the Archdeacon continued, with an air so severe andindignant that it was evident he was contradicting his own sentiments,"of having any partiality for such a person; but certainly her obstinacyand determination are such----"

  "Hush, please," said Lucilla; "you are only laughing when you use suchwords. Now, tell me one thing, and don't be angry if it is a stupidquestion--If there was any one that knew her and you, and perhaps him,and was to try--don't you think it might be arranged?"

  "By money?" said the Archdeacon; and he smiled one of those disagreeablesmiles which youthful writers describe by saying that his lip curledwith scorn. "You seem to take me for Mortimer, who could go into thatsort of compromise. I suppose he did give them money before--before shewas left a widow," said Mr Beverley, grinding his teeth slightly with asavage expression. "No, Miss Marjoribanks. Where everlasting truth andjustice are concerned, I do not understand how things can be arranged."

  After such a truculent statement, what was the peacemaker to do? Sheleft the fire to blaze out by itself for a minute or two, and then shecame down upon the enemy on another wind.

  "I am sure I am very sorry," said Lucilla softly, "to think you shouldbe so fond of her and she so fond of you, and nothing but this standingin the way; and then she is too good for this world, and never thinks ofherself. I often think, if anything was to happen to me--and my life isno safer than other people's lives," said Miss Marjoribanks, with asigh--"what would become of her, poor dear! I am sure, if I knew of anyway----As for obstinate, you know it is not in her to be obstinate. Shethinks she is right, and you think you are right; and I suppose neitherof you will give in," cried Lucilla. "What is anybody to do?"

  "If any one gives in, it should be she," said the Archdeacon. "For mypart, I will never stand by and consent to such a robbery,--never. Inthese matters, at least, a man must be a better judge than a woman. Ifyou are her friend you will persuade her of her duty," Mr Beverleyadded; and he did not show so much as a symptom of yielding. To say thatMiss Marjoribanks was not discouraged would be more than the truth; butshe was still at the beginning of her forces, and no thought of givingin was in her courageous soul.

  "I will tell you what occurs to me," said Lucilla frankly. "Let us findout something about him. Do you know anything about him? If she were tohear that he was, as you say, an impostor, you know, and avillain?--What is his name?--Where does he live?--Is he a very, verywicked man?" said Miss Marjoribanks, and she looked up with thatingenuous look of appeal, which was always so touching in her, to theArchdeacon's face.

  As for Mr Beverley, in his haste and excitement, he gave vent to twovery contradictory statements. "She knows all about him. I don't knowanything about him," he said, with some heat. "I mean, she knows as muchas I do, though she draws such a different conclusion. I am sure I sawhim in Carlingford the first day I was here. For anything I can tell,she knows _more_ of him than I do," said the Broad Churchman, with asudden flash of jealousy and anger. It occurred to Lucilla then for thefirst time that she had found the grand clue to the whole.

  "That would be dreadful," said Miss Marjoribanks, "if she knew him, andwas keeping him out of the way till you were gone. I did not think ofthat. If such a thing should be the case, fond as I am of Mrs Mortimer,I never could go near her any more," said Lucilla sadly. "Oh, don't sayyou think so, please. I should have to give her up, and that would bedreadful; for I owe it to papa, when he gives me so much liberty, to bevery careful. Oh, Mr Beverley, don't say you think so," cried Lucilla,deeply moved. She put her handkerchief to her eyes, and yet she keptwatch upon the Archdeacon through one of the corners. He had got up bythis time, and was walking about the room like any other man in trouble.To throw suspicion on the widow, or separate her from so effectual aprotector, was the very last thing he had any inclination to do: for, totell the truth, he made that jealous suggestion only in order to receivean indignant denial, and to be assured that such a thing was impossible.But then Mr Beverley did not know whom he had to deal with, nor that hewas not the first man whom Miss Marjoribanks had reduced to his properplace.

  "If that was the case," said Lucilla, drying her eyes, "dreadful as itis to think of it--oh, Mr Beverley, if such a thing were the case--itwould be far better for her to marry him, and then she would have allthe fortune without going to law. If things have gone so far, though itis miserable to think of it, and to believe that she could be sounkind," said Miss Marjoribanks, with a sob, "and so double-minded, andso deceitful to _me_----"

  "In Heaven's name what are you thinking of?" said the Archdeacon. He hadgrown as pale as he was before red, and came to a dead stop in front ofLucilla, and stood lowering and menacing over her. His shadow was so bigand strong, and stood so directly between her and the window, that MissMarjoribanks's heart gave one bound of something like alarm.

  "Dear Mr Beverley," said Lucilla, "try and compose yourself. It would bea dreadful trial to me, but I should endeavour to bear it. If we loveher, we should, on the contrary, urge her to do it," said the youngmoralist, with solemnity, "however hard it may be to us. It would bebetter than--than dreadful concealment and misery--it would be betterthan knowing and not telling, as you say. Oh, Mr Beverley, if you aresure that is the case, let us both go to her, and beg her to marry him.I could never, never, never see her again," sobbed Lucilla, "but shewould be happy, and that would be the end of all."

  The Archdeacon, though he was not a weakling, was altogether stunned bythis address. He sank into the nearest chair, and drew it closer toLucilla, and looked perfectly flabby and ghastly in his white tie, withhis alarmed countenance. "For the sake of all that is sacred," said MrBeverley, bending forward towards her, "tell me what foundation youhave--tell me all you know."

  Now was the critical moment, and Lucilla felt it. If Mrs Chiley, forexample, had only advised herself to come in then instead ofinterrupting people's proposals, and driving a likely suitor todesperation! But such happy chances do not occur at the real crises oflife. What she wanted was, naturally, not to explain herself, but to letthat arrow rankle in her opponent's heart until it should have servedher purpose. All that she said in answer to Mr Beverley's appeal was tohide her face in her handkerchief, which was the only means thatoccurred to her for the moment of gaining a little time for reflection.

  "It is so hard to have such thoughts put into one's head," said Lucilla,"of a person who has been one's friend. And she always looked so niceand so true! I never thought she would deceive any one. I thought shewas so transparent, you know. Oh, Mr Beverley, it is so dreadful to bedisappointed in one's friends! I wish I had never heard of it--I wishyou had never told me. I almost wish, though it is dreadful to say sucha thing, that you had never come to Carlingford and found it all out."

  "My dear Miss Marjoribanks," said the Archdeacon solemnly, "I imploreyou, as the greatest kindness you can do me, to tell me all you know."

  "Indeed, I don't know what I know," said Lucilla, partially raising herface out of her handkerchief; "I don't think I know anything, for mypart. I always thought if one could rely upon any one, one could relyupon her--for truthfulness, and for yieldingness, and doing what any oneasked her. I did think so; and it is perfectly bewildering to think,after all, that she should be obstinate and deceiving, and yet look sodifferent!" said Lucilla. "But if it has come to that, w
e must be firm,Mr Beverley. If you ask my opinion, I say she should be allowed to marryhim. That would solve everything, you know," Miss Marjoribanks added,with sad decision. "She would get all the fortune without going to law,and she would be settled, and off one's mind. That would be my finaladvice, if everything has happened as you say."

  Mr Beverley was driven as nearly out of his senses by this counsel as itwas possible for a man of ordinary self-control and warm temper to be.He got up again and made a stride to and fro, and wiped the moisturefrom his forehead, which, as Lucilla remarked at the moment, had aLow-Church look, which she would not have expected from him. But, on theother hand, he gave vent to some stifled and unintelligible exclamationswhich, whatever they might be, were not blessings. Then he came tohimself a little, which was what Miss Marjoribanks was most afraid of,and stood over her, large and imposing as before.

  "Tell me, for Heaven's sake, what you mean!" cried the Archdeacon. "Youdo not think, surely, that I for a moment meant to imply that Helenwould waste a thought upon such a miscreant. Good Heavens, marry him!You must be raving. She would as soon think of--going for a soldier,"said Mr Beverley, with a hoarse and perfectly unmirthful laugh, "ordoing anything else that was mad and unnatural. That is how you womenstand up for your friends--always ready to suggest somethinginconceivably horrible and debasing! Happily you always go too far," headded, once more wiping his forehead. It was a very Low-Church, not tosay Dissenterish, sort of thing to do, and it unconsciously reduced heradversary's dignity in Miss Marjoribanks's opinion, besides affording aproof that he was not nearly so much convinced of what he said, as heprofessed to be, in his secret heart.

  "Mr Beverley, I think you forget a little," said Lucilla, with dignity."I know nobody but yourself who has any suspicions of Mrs Mortimer. Ifit had been anybody but you, I should have laughed at them. But toreturn to the question," Miss Marjoribanks added, with calm grace: "Ialways used to be taught at Mount Pleasant that feelings had nothing todo with an abstract subject. I don't see, for my part, now you havementioned it, why she should not marry him. It would arrange the moneymatter without any trouble; and I have always heard he was very nice,"said the bold experimentalist, fixing her eyes calmly upon theArchdeacon's face. "I am sure I should never have thought of it, if ithad been left to me; but speaking calmly, I don't see the objections,now it has been proposed. Oh, it is only the bell for luncheon thatThomas is ringing. Is it actually half-past one? and I expect somepeople," said Lucilla. She got up as she spoke and went to the mirror,and looked at herself with that beautiful simplicity which was one ofMiss Marjoribanks's distinguishing features. "When one has been cryingit always shows," she said, with a little anxiety. As for Mr Beverley,his state of mind, as the newspapers say, could better be imagined thandescribed.

  "I must go away," he said, taking up his hat. "I don't feel capable ofmeeting strangers after this exciting conversation. Miss Marjoribanks,"continued the Archdeacon, taking her hand, and holding it fast over hishat to give emphasis to his address, "at least I can trust to you not tobreathe a word to Mrs Mortimer--not a syllable--of the horriblesuggestion which has got utterance, I don't know how. I may surely trustto your honour," Mr Beverley said, with emphasis; but by this time MissMarjoribanks considered it time to bring the crisis to an end.

  "I wish you would stay to luncheon," she said; "there are only one ortwo of my friends. As for _honour_, you know you gentlemen say that wehave no sense of honour," said Lucilla airily; "and to think that twowomen could be together and not talk of what might perhaps be amarriage----"

  At this moment some one rang the door-bell. Lucilla knew perfectly wellthat it was only the baker, but it could not be expected that theArchdeacon should be similarly initiated into the secrets of the house.He thought, as was natural, that it was the people she expected, andalmost wrung her hand as he let it go. "You will let me see you againfirst," he said, in a tone of entreaty. "Before you see her, you willlet me see you again. For Heaven's sake don't refuse me," cried MrBeverley. If anybody had but heard him! as Lucilla said to herself theminute he was gone. And the truth was that Thomas did hear him, who hadjust opened the door to tell his young mistress that her luncheon waswaiting, and whom the Archdeacon did all but knock downstairs in hissudden and unlooked-for exit. The impression naturally conveyed toThomas by these words was of the clearest and most distinct description.He was even known to say afterwards, "That he never knew a gentleman asspoke more plain." But Mr Beverley rushed downstairs, without thinkingof Thomas, in a most unenviable frame of mind, into the rain. He wasmore afraid of meeting Miss Marjoribanks's friends than a man of hissize and principles should have been afraid of meeting anybody; but thenthere is a vast distinction, as everybody is aware, and no one more thanthe Archdeacon, between physical and moral strength.

  As for Lucilla, her tears and anxieties passed off in a miraculousmanner as soon as her visitor was gone. She went downstairs and ate herluncheon with the serenest brow and a most agreeable ladylike appetite.And it was not a fib, as may perhaps be supposed, that she was expectingpeople--for at that hour Miss Marjoribanks always did expect people,who, to be sure, might be kept back by the rain, but whom she was alwaysjustified in looking for. Perhaps, on the whole, notwithstanding herwarm sense of the duties of hospitality, Lucilla was glad that it rainedso heavily, and that nobody came. She had a great deal to think of asshe took her maidenly and delicate repast. The first step had beentaken, and taken triumphantly. Henceforward, whatever the Archdeacon'sillusions might be, he could no longer stand calm upon his eminence, andconclude that it was he, and he alone, who could raise the widow fromher lowly estate. Lucilla, it is true, knew that no such idea as that ofmarrying her uncle's heir would ever present itself to Mrs Mortimer; andthat--at least so far as Miss Marjoribanks's information went--such athought was equally removed from the mind of the personage unknown, whomMr Beverley denounced as an impostor. But this did not in the leastaffect the value of the suggestion as an instrument to be used againstthe Archdeacon, who was big enough to defend himself, and on whoseaccount the young philanthropist had no compunctions. The first step wasthus taken, and taken successfully, but it was only after this that thereal difficulties began; and Lucilla knew no more as yet how she was tofind and identify, not to say assail and vanquish, the other side, themysterious Mr Kavan, the man whom the Archdeacon abused and the widowdefended, than even the greatest military genius knows at thecommencement of the first campaign how to conduct the second. This waswhat she considered so closely as she sat alone in the dull afternoon.She did not go to Mrs Mortimer, because it was impossible that every daycould be a half-holiday, and because, on the whole, she judged it bestnot to subject herself, in the present undeveloped state of theposition, to much questioning; but she sent her a little note to satisfyher mind, telling her to keep herself easy, and not to let theArchdeacon bully her, and to confide in the devotion of her affectionateLucilla. When she had thus satisfied the immediate demands offriendship, Miss Marjoribanks took her work and sat down to reflect.Nothing could be more exciting than the position in which she foundherself; but the difficulties were only such as stimulated her genius;and then it was not any selfish advantage, but the good of her neighbourin its most sublime manifestation--the good of her neighbour who hadinjured her, and been insensible to her attractions, which, according tothe world in general, is the one thing unpardonable to a woman--whichLucilla sought. And it was not even the scriptural coals of fire she wasthinking of as she pondered her great undertaking in her mind. Theenterprise might not be free from a touch of human vanity, but it wasvanity of a loftier description: the pleasure of exercising a greatfaculty, and the natural confidence of genius in its own powers.