Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XXV_

  The fruit of Lucilla's long and mature reflection was that next morningbeing fine and all the clouds dispersed, she went out with her usualfirm step and self-possession, and, what was rather unusual with her,except on necessary occasions of ceremony, knocked at Mrs Woodburn'sdoor.

  Mrs Woodburn and Miss Marjoribanks had never, as people say, taken toeach other. They were as different in their ways as it is possible toimagine. The mimic was a little indolent, and would not take the troubleto make any exertions for the good of the community, except in theexercise of her peculiar talent, though she had been known, whenexcited, to go through real fatigue for that; but she had none of thesteady force, the persevering energy--or, to sum up all in one word, thegenius--of Miss Marjoribanks, who, for her part, recognised the _use_ ofsuch an instrument of entertainment as Mrs Woodburn possessed withoutappreciating it in her own person; for Lucilla had no sense of humour,as she candidly admitted, with that consciousness of her own faults, andslight disposition to consider them virtues, which is common to personsof great endowments. It was accordingly with a slight sense of effort onboth sides that they met thus in the familiarity of an early visit, at amoment when people doing their duty to each other in a ceremonial waywould not have thought of calling. She was aware that Mrs Woodburnregarded her, even when she kissed her in the most neighbourly andaffectionate manner, with a look which seemed to say, "What can shewant, coming here so early?" As for Lucilla, she was too wise to pretendthat it was a mere visit of regard. She was too wise, and herinterlocutor was too clever, and prone to catch every touch ofexpression, though Miss Marjoribanks flattered herself she hadsufficient experience to enable her to dismiss, when there was occasionfor it, all expression from her face. But such was not her policy atthis moment. When the two faces had touched each other in that lovingand sisterly salutation, their owners immediately separated, andregarded each other from two opposite chairs, without decidedhostility, it is true, but with the watchful air of two people whom thefates may range on different sides, and whom it behoves to be mutuallywatchful. And Lucilla thought it the most expedient course, under thecircumstances, to begin her investigations at once.

  "I have come to make an inquisition," she said; "I may as well confessit at once, for you would find me out if I didn't. Mrs Woodburn, whereis Mr Cavendish? I am not going to put up with it any longer. He must bewritten to, and had back again. The only man that was to be dependedupon in Carlingford!" said Lucilla; "and to think he should disappearlike this and never say a word!"

  Mrs Woodburn fairly gasped in her companion's face. She could no moretell what this meant, than if she had been a person utterly unacquaintedwith human motives and ways of working; and, indeed, it was only thetricks of the surface for which she had any real insight. "My brother!"she exclaimed, with something between an impulse of defence and denial,and a quite opposite instinct of confidence. Had he proposed, after all,without telling his sister? Had Lucilla a right to ask the question sheuttered so frankly? Had he been prudent for once in his life, andsecured this sensible alliance and prop to his position? All thesequestions rushed at lightning-speed through Mrs Woodburn's mind; but shewas not so prompt as Miss Marjoribanks would have been under thecircumstances, and all she did was to open her eyes wide, and give astart on her chair, and say, "My brother?" with a voice which trembled,and was half extinguished by surprise.

  "Yes; Mr Cavendish," said Lucilla. "Do tell me his address. There is nota man in Carlingford who is good for anything, now that he is gone. Youmust see that as well as I do. As for flirting, I have always said hewas the only man that knew anything about it. Do tell me where he is,and I will write to him; or, please, send him word for me, thatabsolutely he must come back. We are all dying for him, you may say."

  Mrs Woodburn had recovered a little, and found a moment to think, buther faculties were not so handy, except in her own particular way, asmight have been expected from such a clever woman. She could even atthat moment have taken off Miss Marjoribanks to the life, but she was inthe most profound bewilderment as to what Lucilla could mean; whethershe was really laying herself out to "catch" Mr Cavendish, or whethershe was merely talking nonsense without any particular meaning; orwhether she was feigning indifference by way of getting information; andthe stupidest person in Carlingford would have acquitted herself as wellas Mrs Woodburn felt able to do in the emergency. "I should think hewould rather hear that some of you were willing to live for him," shesaid, in a tremulous way; finding nothing better come to her lips thanthe echo of an old compliment, which went against her nature, but yetwith an instinct of serving her brother so far as it might be in herpower.

  "Not me," said Lucilla frankly. "Some people once thought so, you know;but I can't say I ever thought so. There never will be anything aboutliving or dying between him and me. I hope we know better," said MissMarjoribanks; "besides, if I were so much as to think of that sort ofthing I should feel I was swindling papa. Oh, no; I assure you I amquite disinterested. I want him for my Thursdays. Do write, and say hemust come home."

  "I don't like people to be too disinterested," said Mrs Woodburn; "and Idon't think Harry would be at all glad to hear it. I wish he would comeback, I am sure. I am always bullying him about it. I thought perhapssome of you young ladies had been unkind to him," said the anxioussister, who had recovered her head, and thought it might be possible toget at the secret, if there was a secret, by means like this.

  "No," said Miss Marjoribanks; "_I_ have not been unkind to him; andthere is nobody else I know of," said the candid Lucilla, "unless poorBarbara; and _she_ will never be unkind, you know. I will write him aletter if you will give me his address. Is it true that somebody hasleft him a great deal of money, and he is going to change his name?"

  "His name!" said Mrs Woodburn, with a little cry, like an imprudentwoman; and then she recovered herself. "I have not heard of anything ofthe kind," she said, "and he would be sure to tell me of it; but inCarlingford people know things before they happen. I should be very gladto know that somebody was going to leave him a great deal of money; butI don't know about the name----"

  "Oh, I heard it only in a confused sort of way," said Lucilla, "or thathe _had_ changed his name. I am sure I don't know if it was past orpresent. Did he ever make any change to be somebody's heir? Oh, I begyour pardon; but you know people do it every day."

  Mrs Woodburn had grown quite pale--perhaps because she began to see thatthere was some method in these questions, perhaps with simple andunreasonable fright at the suggestion. She could not say a word for amoment, so startling was the question; and then there was something inLucilla's early visit, and in her instant onslaught upon Mr Cavendish,which was alarming. She was so frightened and driven into a corner thatshe could not tell how to answer. It occurred to her all at once thatperhaps Mr Cavendish had opened his heart to Miss Marjoribanks and givenher an inkling of his secret; and what would Lucilla think if shecontradicted her brother? Never was a poor woman in a greaterdifficulty. All her fun and her mimicry collapsed. She no more noticedthe peculiarities of Lucilla's look and manner than if she had been anordinary inhabitant of Grange Lane. "Changed his name?" she faltered, ina blank sort of interrogative way; and in spite of herself faltered andshook, and conveyed to Lucilla the most perfect assurance that what shesupposed was true.

  "When it is for a great deal of money there is some sense in it; when itis only for a prettier name it is dreadfully stupid. Don't you think so?As if we all could have pretty names!" said Lucilla. "I should like somuch to have a talk with Mr Cavendish. I picked up some very, very oldfriends of his the other day--people who used to know him long ago. I amsure he would be interested if he were to know."

  "I don't think it could be him," said Mrs Woodburn, with something likethe instinct of despair; "I don't remember any very old friends he has;it is so long a time ago----" and then the poor lady stopped short, asif she had something choking her in her throat. "I don't think it couldbe he."

  "Not such
a very long time," said Lucilla, in her easy way. "It isdreadful to give him a character for being old. Do write him, please,and tell him about those people. He is sure to be interested if you sayit is a lady, and a pretty woman, and a widow," continued MissMarjoribanks. "She says he was once very kind to her when her poorhusband was alive."

  Mrs Woodburn recovered herself a little as Lucilla spoke. "It must havebeen some other Mr Cavendish," she said. "Harry was--so much abroad--solong away from home----" At that moment there was a sound in the houseof a heavy step, and Mr Woodburn's whistle became audible in thedistance. Then the poor woman, who had a secret, fixed haggard eyes uponMiss Marjoribanks. She dared not say, "Don't speak of this before myhusband." She dared not utter a word to awaken suspicion on one side orthe other. She knew very well that if Mr Woodburn heard of the existenceof any old friends of his brother-in-law, he would insist upon havingthem produced, and "paying them some attention"; and at the same timeMrs Woodburn could not so far confide in Lucilla as to beg her to keepsilent. This was what her brother's poltroonery brought upon theunfortunate woman. And when the emergency came she was not as equal toit as she expected to be. Her talents were not of a nature to do her anygood in such a strait. She collapsed entirely, and looked round her in aflutter of fright and despair, as if to find some means of escape.

  But this terror all arose from the fact that she did not know MissMarjoribanks, who was generous as she was strong, and had no intentionof going to extremities. Lucilla got up from her chair when she heard MrWoodburn's whistle coming nearer. "I hear somebody coming," she said,"and I must not stay, for I have quantities of things to do. Only mindyou tell Mr Cavendish I have something quite serious to say to him fromhis old friend; and from me, please to tell him, that it is _impossible_to get on without him," continued Lucilla, as Mr Woodburn entered theroom. "There is not a soul that can flirt or do anything. I should writeto him myself if I knew his address."

  And then, as was natural, Woodburn, with his usual absurdity, as hiswife explained afterwards, struck in with some boisterous _badinage_. Asfor Mrs Woodburn, in her mingled terror and relief, she was too muchexcited to know what he said. But when Lucilla, serenely smiling, wasgone, the mimic, with her nerves strung to desperation, burst into thewildest comic travesty of Miss Marjoribanks's looks and manners, and herinquiries about Harry, and sent her unsuspicious husband intoconvulsions of laughter. He laughed until the tears ran down hischeeks--the unconscious simpleton; and all the time his wife could haveliked to throw him down and trample on him, or put pins into him, orscratch his beaming, jovial countenance. Perhaps she would have goneinto hysterics instead if she had not possessed that other safety-valve,for Mrs Woodburn had not that supreme composure and self-command whichbelonged to Lucilla's higher organisation. She wrote a long letter thatafternoon, and had a dreadful headache all the evening after it, which,considering all things, was to be expected under the circumstances, andwas a weak-minded woman's last resource.

  No headache, however, disturbed Miss Marjoribanks's beneficent progress.She went home conscious that, if she had not acquired any distinctinformation, she had at least gained a moral certainty. And besides, shehad measured the forces of Mr Cavendish's bodyguard, and had found themutterly unequal to any prolonged resistance. All that was wanted wasprudence and care, and that good luck which was as much an endowment inits way as the other qualities by which Lucilla might be said to havesecured it. She went home meditating her next step, and with a certainenjoyment in the sense of difficulty and the consciousness of how muchskill and power would be required to carry on three different threads ofinnocent intrigue with the three different persons in the drama, withoutever letting the general web get confused, or confounding one strandwith another. She had to frighten the Archdeacon with the idea that MrsMortimer might marry the impostor, and she had to keep the widow in theprofoundest ignorance of this suggestion, and she had to manage andguide the impostor himself, to save his position, and deliver him fromhis enemies, and make his would-be persecutor for ever harmless. If bychance she should forget herself for a moment, and say to Mr Beverleywhat she meant for Mr Cavendish, or betray her mode of dealing witheither to the third person interested, then farewell to all her hopes.But when all that was required was skill and self-possession andcourage, Miss Marjoribanks knew herself too well to be afraid.

  She came in with that sense of having done her duty which is so sweet toa well-regulated mind. But it was not to that internal satisfactionalone that Providence limited Lucilla's reward. There are exceptionalcases to be found here and there even in this world, in which virtuefinds its just acknowledgment, and disinterested well-doing isrecompensed as it deserves. While Miss Marjoribanks was still occupiedwith the arrangement of her plans she was interrupted by a visitor, whoentered with a brow clouded by care, and yet exalted by the sense of acharge and dignity which is not afforded to every woman. It was MrsCentum who thus came to unfold to Lucilla the new event which was aboutto happen in Carlingford. She had a great deal to say first, as wasnatural, of the dreadful vexation of such a thing happening inholiday-time when the boys were all at home, and when she did not knowwhat to do.

  "But you know, Lucilla, it will be delightful for all you young ladiesto have the officers," said Mrs Centum; "it keeps a place lively;though, for my part, I always say in six months there will not be aservant in the house that one can depend upon. It is dreadful forservants--especially young ones, and if they are nice-looking, you know;but it is very nice for the young ladies, and for all the picnics anddances and everything----"

  "What officers?" said Lucilla, pricking up her ears--for to tell thetruth, the very name of officers in a place like Carlingford, wherenobody could flirt but Mr Cavendish, was as water in the desert to MissMarjoribanks's soul.

  "Has not the Doctor told you?" said Mrs Centum--"but, to be sure, veryfew people know as yet. Mr Centum says it must be all on your account,because you give such nice parties--but of course that is only his fun,you know. However, I suppose somebody has told Lord Palmerston of allthose great buildings that were meant for the factories, and ofCarlingford being such a healthy place. And so the General is coming tous to-morrow, Lucilla--General Travers, you know, that was in all thepapers for something he did in India; Charles used to know him atschool. He is quite handsome, and has ever so many medals and things. Itis a dreadful addition to one's troubles in holiday-time, you know; but,my dear, I hope you will ask him to your Thursdays, and help us to makeCarlingford pleasant to him. It all depends upon him," said Mrs Centumsolemnly;--"if he likes the place, and thinks it will do, and finds nicesociety--whether it is here or at Hampton that they establish thedepot."

  "At Hampton!" cried Miss Marjoribanks naturally excited--"the stupidest,wretchedest little place----"

  "That is just what Mr Centum says," said the visitor, with a sigh; "whatI am nervous about is the servants, Lucilla; and you know thatunder-nurse of mine, what a nice steady girl she has always been, andsuch a comfort--but as soon as the soldiers come it turns their heads. Iwant you to tell me, if you'll be so very good, Lucilla, how Nancy makesthat _pate_ that Mr Centum is so fond of. I know it is a good deal toask; but I am sure you are one to stand by your friends; and if theGeneral should take a dislike to Carlingford through any fault of mine,I never could forgive myself; and I want you to ask him to yourThursdays, Lucilla--there's a dear."

  "Dear Mrs Centum," cried Miss Marjoribanks, "papa must call on theGeneral and ask him to dinner: as for my Thursdays, I always say theyare not parties; they are only _evenings_," said Lucilla sweetly, "andnot worth a gentleman's while."

  "And about the _pate_, Lucilla," said Mrs Centum anxiously, "I hope youwon't think it too much of me to ask;--you are so clever, you know, andso is Nancy: and what with the noise, and the nursery dinners, and allthose big boys home from school----"

  Mrs Centum fixed her eyes with true solicitude on Lucilla's face. MissMarjoribanks was magnanimous, but the _pate_ in question was one of thegreatest triumphs of the Doctor's tab
le. She thought, and with truth,that it _was_ a great deal for any one to ask; but then it is true thatgenius has duties as well as privileges; and to impress upon mediocritythe benefit of loyally following and copying superior intelligence, isof itself a moral effect of the greatest importance. And besides, thewoman who at such a moment produced a live General in Carlingford, andheld out hopes of officers, was not a woman to be denied.

  "I will write it down for you," said Lucilla graciously, "if you thinkyour cook will understand; or perhaps Nancy might step in and show herhow--if I can persuade Nancy. Dear Mrs Centum, I hope you will alwaysfeel sure that I am ready to do anything for my friends."

  "Oh, thank you, dear," cried the grateful woman; "I knew you were notone to mind; and if Nancy would be so very kind----I am sure you willlike the General," added Mrs Centum, with effusion; "he will live here,you know, if the depot comes, and be such an addition! I said toCharles, the moment he told me, That would just be the very thing forLucilla! And he is quite young looking, and so nice and pleasant," sheadded, in the fulness of her enthusiasm and gratitude. As for MissMarjoribanks, she shook her head, but nevertheless received theassurance with a smile.

  "It is not that sort of thing I am thinking of," said Lucilla: "if ithad been, I need never have come home; and now, after papa has been sokind about the drawing-room----; but I am always glad to hear of nicenew people," said Miss Marjoribanks; "and to meet a man that has been inthe world is such a pleasure to papa."

  With this benign acknowledgment of the General's merits, Lucillareceived Mrs Centum's affectionate leave-takings. To be sure, she knewnothing, and did not occupy herself much at that moment about GeneralTravers. But at the same time Miss Marjoribanks, with her usual piety,recognised the approval of Providence in this new occurrence, and wasnaturally both encouraged and exhilarated. It is but in rare cases, ashas been said, that the reward of virtue is given so promptly, and withsuch beautiful discrimination: and there are even people in the worldwho profess to have no faith in any prompt or visible recompense. ButLucilla was not of that new and heretical school. For her own part, shefelt it very natural that her exertions for the good of her kind shouldthus be recognised and acknowledged, and returned to her plans with thatsweet and exhilarating sense of moral harmony, which an approvingHeaven, and a sense of blessings earned and goodness recompensed, are sowell calculated to give.