_Chapter XXIX_
Mr Cavendish was led back to his own house that evening by GeneralTravers, whose claim of acquaintance was too decided to be rejected. Henever knew very well what passed between the moment when MissMarjoribanks began to expound to him the urgent necessity that he shouldconfide in her, and the moment in which he found himself in his ownhouse, admitted eagerly by the surprised and anxious servants, andconducted by the energetic soldier. That he had taken leave of Lucillaat her own door, that he had watched her white dress sweep away into thedark garden with a faint sense that it was his only remaining protectorwho thus left him, and that after that he had smoked a horrible cigarwith Mr Centum, and been accompanied home by the old acquaintance, whohad turned up at so unlucky a moment,--was all that the poor man wasaware of. And yet it is to be supposed that on the whole he behavedhimself very much like other people, since General Travers had nodistinct idea that his company was undesirable, or that his cordialrecognition was anything but welcome. The General, indeed, took it asquite natural, under the circumstances, that Cavendish should be alittle confused. A man who is no longer a very young man, and has acharacter to support, does not care to be found mooning with the objectof his affections on a summer evening, like a boy of twenty; and GeneralTravers was perfectly aware that he had thus a very good joke againstCavendish. "It is worth a man's while to set up a bachelor establishmentin the country," the General said. "By Jove! I wish I could do it. Itmakes a fellow feel Arcadian, and ready for anything;" and for his ownpart he was very ready to seize upon his former acquaintance, a man whobelonged to his club, and had a chance to know what he was talkingabout. "As for Charlie Centum," the soldier said, "what between businessand matrimony, he has grown the greatest guy imaginable; and I can't gooff directly, you know; and then there's always this business about thedepot. It's immense luck to find you here, Cavendish," General Traversadded, with flattering cordiality; and if poor Mr Cavendish was notgrateful, it certainly was not his friend's fault. He led the way intohis house with a glum countenance and a sinking heart, thoughfortunately the latter was not visible. It was a very nice house, fittedup with all that luxury of comfort which a man who has, as Mrs Centumsaid, "only himself to look to," can afford to collect around him. MrCavendish had only himself, and he had made his habitation perfect,though, on the whole, he did not pass a very great deal of his time athome. He had some nice pictures and a good library, though he was notparticularly given to the arts; and he had an admirable cellar, as allthe gentlemen owned in Carlingford, though, for his own part, he wasvery moderate in that point, and did not give himself any airs on thesubject. Mr Centum, on the contrary, was one of the men who talk aboutvintages, and raise expectations never to be carried out. And GeneralTravers could not but feel the force of the contrast as he sat deep intothe night, and "talked over everything," with the man who by that timehe felt convinced was one of his best friends.
As for Mr Cavendish, it would be very difficult to describe hisfeelings. He had been knocking about in all sorts of poor places, makingclandestine visits to his sister, and hovering round the more thansuburban simplicity of Grove Street, and the sense of being once moreenveloped and surrounded by all that was pleasant to the eye andcomfortable to the outer man was wonderfully consolatory and agreeable.But his mind was in a dreadfully harassed condition all the same. He waspreoccupied to the last degree, wondering what Miss Marjoribanks reallyknew, and how far he had betrayed himself, and to what extent it wouldbe safe, as she herself said, to confide in Lucilla; and at the sametime he was obliged to listen to and show a certain interest in theGeneral's stories, and to make now and then a painful effort of mind torecall some of the mutual friends referred to, whose names and personshad in the meantime slipped out of his memory. All the babble of theclub, which General Travers felt must be so refreshing to the ears of arusticated member, fell as flat upon Mr Cavendish, whose mind was fullof other matters, as if it had been the merest old woman's gossip,which, to be sure, it slightly resembled in some points. The gallantGeneral made himself so agreeable that he nearly drove the unfortunateman out of his senses, and, when he had exhausted all other means ofaggravation, returned with fresh zest to the sentimental circumstancesin which, as he supposed, he had found his companion out.
"Very sensible I call it," said General Travers. "To be candid, I don'tcall her strictly handsome, you know; she's too big for that--and Idon't suppose she's of any family to speak of; though perhaps you don'tmind that trifling circumstance; but a woman that will dress well andlight up well, and knows how to give a man a capital dinner, by Jove!and no doubt has a pretty little bit of money into the bargain--Irespect your taste, Cavendish," said the friendly critic, with effusion;and somehow this applause irritated its recipient more than all that hadgone before.
"I am sure I am much obliged to you," said Mr Cavendish, "though,unfortunately, I don't merit your approbation. Miss Marjoribanks is agreat friend of mine, but she wouldn't have me, and I don't mean to askher. At the same time, she has very good connections; and that is notthe way to talk of a girl of twenty. She is worth a dozen of your fastyoung ladies," said the sufferer, with some heat. He was not in theleast in love with Lucilla, and indeed had a certain dread of her atthis present moment; but he could not forget that she had once stood byhim in his need--and, besides, he was glad of any subject on which hecould contradict his visitor. "I dare say her family is better thaneither yours or mine. Scotch, you know," said Mr Cavendish, trying tolaugh. As for the General, he leaned back on his chair with an indulgentair, and stroked his mustache.
"Beg your pardon--meant no offence," he said. "For my part, I don't seethat it matters, if a woman is good-looking and has something, you know.For instance, there was a pretty little thing--a charming littlething--Lake, or something like that----"
"Ah!" said Mr Cavendish. It was a frightful want of self-control; but hehad been a long time at full strain, and he could not help it. It didnot occur to him, for the moment, that nobody in his senses would haveapplied the term "little thing" to Barbara; and, after all the slowaggravation that he had been submitting to, the idea of this insolentsoldier interfering in Grove Street was beyond his power of endurance.As for the General, the tone of this exclamation was such that he tooturned round on his chair, and said, "Yes?" with equally unmistakablemeaning, startled, but ready for the emergency, whatever it might be.
Thus the two looked at each other for a second, friends in the ordinaryacceptation of the word, and yet, perhaps, on the eve of becomingenemies. Mr Cavendish had, up to that moment, pretty nearly forgottenBarbara Lake. It was a piquant sort of occupation when he had nothingelse to do, and when the world, according to his morbid fancy, was onthe eve of turning its back upon him--but from the moment when he hadsaid between his teeth "Confound these women!" and had felt theexcitement of the approaching crisis, Barbara, and her crimson cheeks,and her level eyebrows, and her contralto, had gone altogether out ofhis mind. At the same time, it is quite true that a man may feel himselfat liberty to forget a woman when other matters of more immediateinterest are absorbing his attention, and yet be driven furious by theidea suddenly presented to him that somebody else, who has nothingearthly to do with it, is about to interfere. Mr Cavendish, however,recovered himself while the General sat staring at him, and began to seehow ridiculous his defiance was.
"Well?--go on. I did not say anything," he said, and lighted anothercigar. Yet he did not face his companion as a friendly listener should,but began to beat measure to an irritating imaginary air on the table,with a certain savage energy by moments, as if he were beating time onthe General's head.
"Then why do you stop a fellow short like that?" said General Travers;"I was going to tell you of some one I saw the other day in the house ofyour--your friend, you know. She was under Miss Marjoribanks's wing,that was how I saw her--and I hope you are not playing the gay deceiver,my friend;--a little thing, round-faced, hazel-eyed--a little softrosebud sort of creature," said the General, growing eloquent. "By
Jove!Cavendish, I hope you don't mean to make yourself disagreeable. Thesesort of looks, you know----"
"It was Rose, I suppose," said Mr Cavendish, relieved in a moment; and,to tell the truth, he could not help laughing. The more eloquent andangry the General grew, the more amused and contemptuous grew hisentertainer. He was so tickled by the position of affairs, that heactually forgot his anxieties for the moment. "No doubt it was Rose," herepeated, and laughed; Rose! what anybody could see in that littledragon! And then the contrast between the soldier, who prided himself onhis knowledge of the world, and liked to talk of his family andposition, to the annoyance of those who had none, and the amusement ofthose who happen to possess these valuable qualifications--and themistress of the Female School of Design, filled Mr Cavendish withamusement: perhaps all the more because he himself was in a similarscrape. As for General Travers, he was as much disposed to be angry as,a moment before, Mr Cavendish had been.
"It might be Rose," he said, "or Lily either, for anything I can tell;but there is nothing laughable in it that I can see. You seem to beperfectly _au courant_, at all events--which I hope is quitesatisfactory to Miss Marjoribanks," said the soldier; and then heresumed, after a disagreeable little pause, "they tell me that everybodymeets at the Doctor's on Thursdays. I suppose I shall see you there.Thursday, ain't it? to-morrow?" He looked as he spoke, with what seemedto his victim an insulting consciousness, in poor Cavendish's face. But,in reality, the General did not mean to be insulting, and knew nothingwhatever of the horrible internal pang which rent his companion when itwas thus recalled to him that it _was_ to-morrow--a fact which, up tothis moment, had not occurred to the unfortunate. To-morrow; and noteven to-morrow--to-day--for by this time it was two o'clock in themorning, and the unwelcome intruder was wasting the little time he hadfor deciding what he should do. Once more his own personal anxieties,which he had put aside for a moment at the sudden dictate of jealousy,surged over everything, and swallowed up all lesser sensations.To-morrow!--and by this time everybody knew that he was in Carlingford,and he could not stay away from the weekly assembly without attractinggeneral attention to himself, and throwing open the flood-gates ofsuspicion. What was he to do? should he turn his back on the enemy oncefor all, and run away and break off his connection with Carlingford? orshould he dare everything and face the Archdeacon, and put his trust inLucilla, as that high-minded young woman had invited him to do? Withthese thoughts in his mind, it may be supposed that Mr Cavendish gavebut a very mingled attention to the babble of his visitor, who found thewine and the cigars so good, and perhaps had begun to be a little movedout of his ordinary lucidity by their effect.
"You've got a nice little house, Cavendish," said the General, "but it'stoo small for a married man, my boy. These women are the very deuce forturning a man out of his comfortable quarters. You'll have to go in forboudoirs and those sort of things; and, by George! you'll be an ass ifyou do, with a snug little box like this to retire into," said thephilosophical warrior; and poor Cavendish smiled a ghastly smile, withthe strongest inclination all the time to take him by the collar andturn him out of doors. But then he _was_ a warrior and a generalofficer, and a member of the same club, and six feet high--all whichparticulars, not to speak of the sacred rights of hospitality, made itsomewhat difficult to carry this idea out.
"Don't you think Centum will be sitting up for you?" he said mildly;"it's past two o'clock; and it's Thursday morning," the victim added,with a sigh. The last words were an involuntary utterance of his owndespair, but fortunately they struck General Travers's vein of humour,which happened to be lively at the moment, and worked the desired butunexpected result. The General laughed loud and long, and declared thathe respected a man who was above-board, and meant to look respectablefor Miss Marjoribanks's sake; and then he poured a mighty libation toLucilla, and took an affectionate leave of her supposed lover. TheGeneral made a great commotion in the decorous quiet of Grange Lane whenhe knocked at Mr Centum's door. Though it was nearly three o'clock inthe morning, nothing but his inherent dread of a woman would haveprevented him from knocking up the banker to share his hilarity; but MrsCentum, in her nightcap, peaceably asleep as she was at the moment,daunted the soul of the gallant soldier; and naturally his recollectionwas not very perfect next day. "I had something very funny to tell you;but, by Jove! I forget what it was!" General Travers said next morningwhen he met his host at breakfast; and thus one bad joke at least wasspared. But Mr Cavendish shut his door upon his departing guest, withoutany sense, poor fellow, of having done or said anything in the leastfunny. He said, "Thank Heaven!" with a kind of groan of relief when histroublesome visitor was gone. And then he went back again into hislibrary, where they had been sitting. Perhaps he had never fullyappreciated before the comfort of everything, the handsome house whichhe had enjoyed so long without thinking anything of it, and all thepleasant luxurious accessories of life. He had been doing without themfor a week or two, and he had not liked it; and yet at that moment itseemed to Mr Cavendish that he could rather be content to lose them allat a stroke, to make it known in Carlingford that he was ruined and hadlost his fortune, than that Carlingford should find out that he was not,after all, one of the Cavendishes, nor the person it took him for. But,alas! all his fortune could not bring reality to these pretensions, norhinder the exposure to which he looked forward with such horror. It istrue that he was an adventurer, but he was not a base one; nor had hedone anything dishonourable either to gain his fortune or to captivatethe good opinion of society, which had become so important to him. Butthere are actual crimes that would be sooner forgiven to a man than thefolly of having permitted himself to be considered one of theCavendishes, and having set his heart on making a figure in that mildprovincial world. Mr Cavendish knew enough of human nature to know thata duchess or a lord-chamberlain would forgive more readily than Mr andMrs Centum any such imposition upon them, and intrusion into theirexclusive circle. And then his sister, who could not run away! For hersake it seemed to him that he had better rush off at once, and sell hishouse and furniture and horses, and give up Carlingford. As he thoughtof that, all the advantages of Carlingford came upon him stronger thanever. Perhaps a man who has always been used to be recognised as one ofthe members of a local aristocracy, would not have seen anything half soprecious as Mr Cavendish saw in the fact of being everywhere known andacknowledged as a constituent part of Grange Lane;--recognised by thecounty people, and by the poor people, and pointed out as he passed byone and another to any stranger who might happen to be so ignorant asnot to know Mr Cavendish. To people who are not used to it, there is acharm in this universal acknowledgment. And then he had more need of itthan most men have; and, when Carlingford signed his patent ofgentility, and acknowledged and prized him, it did an infinite deal morethan it had any intention of doing. To keep its regard and recognitionhe would have done anything, given up the half or three parts, or even,on emergency, all he had. Perhaps he had an undue confidence in themagnanimity of society, and was too sure that in such a case it wouldbehave with a grandeur worthy of the occasion; but still he was quiteright in thinking that it could forgive the loss of his fortune soonerthan his real offence. And now it was Thursday morning, the day uponwhich he must either fight or flee. He too had laughed at MissMarjoribanks's evenings in his time, and thought of Thursday lightly asLucilla's day; but there was nothing in the least amusing in theprospect of that assembly now.
When a man has thoughts like these to entertain him, nothing can be moreuseless than to go to bed, although in ordinary circumstances, at threeo'clock in the morning, that is about the only thing one can do. Poor MrCavendish, however, was not quite free to act as he thought proper. Hehad been a long time away from home, and he did not feel himself in aposition to shock his servants' feelings with impunity. He went to hisroom, accordingly, like a martyr, carrying all his difficulties withhim, and these unpleasant companions naturally made a night of it whenthey had him all to themselves. When sheer fatigue and exhaustionprocured him a mome
nt's sleep, it was only getting deeper and deeperinto trouble: for then it was the Archdeacon who had planted a heavyfoot on his neck, or General Travers, who, with still more fatal force,had found out the way to Grove Street. When Mr Cavendish awoke, he saidto himself, "Confound these women!" with more fervour than ever; but, atthe same time, he swore a mighty oath to himself that he would horsewhipthe fellow who ventured to come in his way. Barbara Lake might be nogreat things, but at least it was to him, and no one else, that shebelonged. Such was the complication that afforded him a little outletfor his temper in the midst of the dreadful difficulties of hisposition, and the question which was constantly renewing itself in histhoughts, as to whether he should go or stay. The idea of presentinghimself in the centre of society in Miss Marjoribanks's drawing-room,and being met by the Archdeacon, and held up to public contempt thereand then, with all the world looking on, and even Travers, who wouldcarry the narrative out of Carlingford, was something too horrible to becontemplated; and yet how was he to escape? He was still in this stateof mind, driven backwards and forwards by every new wind, when themorning came, and when Miss Marjoribanks's note was put into his hand.
For the truth was, that, after long consideration, Lucilla haddetermined that the matter was one which could not be permitted to standover. She was of too energetic a temperament to let things linger on inan uncertain way when they could be made an end of, and brought to aconclusion; and then, as nobody can predict what sudden and unexpectedturn human affairs may take, it was always possible that, if MissMarjoribanks did not make an end of the business dramatically, and tothe satisfaction of everybody concerned, it might be found some fine dayto have resolved itself by means of some one of those illegitimate andincomplete expedients which abound in ordinary life. It was with thisview that Miss Marjoribanks took the step of writing to Mr Cavendish.She had written in the sacred retirement of her own maiden chamber, whenall the world was still; perhaps at the moment when General Travers was,as he would himself have vulgarly called it, "chaffing" Cavendish aboutthe beautiful and disinterested friendship which united him to the youngsovereign of Grange Lane. But naturally such poor raillery was far fromthe virginal thoughts of Lucilla at that retired and sacred hour; and wemay venture to add that the elevating influence of the maiden's bower inwhich she composed it, and of that tranquil moment of meditation andsolitude, breathed in every line, and gave force to every sentiment ofthe letter which Mr Cavendish tore open with an excited hand. Perhaps hewas too anxious and curious to give it the solemn perusal which it oughtto have received.
"MY DEAR MR CAVENDISH,--It was very unlucky that we should have been interrupted this evening at such an important moment, when I had so much to say to you. But I think the best thing I can do is to write, feeling quite sure that when you know all, _you cannot possibly mistake_ my motives. Everybody has retired, and I am quite alone, and the silence[2] seems to me full of meaning when I think that the fate of a person for whom I have so great a regard may be hanging upon it. I might be afraid of writing to you so frankly, if I did not feel quite sure that you would appreciate my intention.
"Dear Mr Cavendish, it is not the Archdeacon who has said anything. _He does not know it is you_; therefore, of course, he could not say anything directly bearing upon you. But then, you know, if he were to meet you by hazard, as he is sure to do some day--and for my part I rather think he is fond of Grove Street--you would be exposed at once, and everything would be lost, for we all know the prejudices that exist in Carlingford. I have another plan of operations to propose to you, which I feel quite sure is for your good, and also naturally for the good of anybody to whom you may intend to unite your fortunes. I feel quite sure that it is far safer to adopt a bold resolution, and to have it over at once. Come to dinner to-morrow. If you may happen to find an enemy, you will find also an unlooked-for friend; and, so far as I am concerned, you _know_ that you may calculate on my support. I do not wonder at your being anxious about it; but if you will only have full confidence in me and a little in yourself, believe me it will be all over in a night. If there had ever been anything between you and me, as these stupid people suppose, I might have felt hesitation in writing to you like this; but when I know a thing to be right, I hope I will never be afraid to do it. I have been called upon to do many things that are not common for girls of my age, and perhaps that is why I made up my mind at once to set this all straight for you. Once more I repeat, dear Mr Cavendish, have confidence in me. Come to-morrow evening as if nothing had happened; and take my word for it that all will go well.--Your friend,
"LUCILLA MARJORIBANKS.
"_P.S._--If you would like to come and talk it over with me to-morrow, I shall be at home till twelve o'clock; but unless it will be a satisfaction to your own mind, it is not necessary for me, for I have all my plans laid."
[Footnote 2: It is only justice to Miss Marjoribanks to say that she wasnot addicted to fine writing; but then she was a person who liked tohave everything in keeping, and naturally an emergency such as thepresent does not come every day, and requires to be treatedaccordingly.]
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It would be quite out of the question to attempt any explanation of MrCavendish's feelings when he read this letter. His utter bewilderment,his terror, his rage, his final helpless sense that it would be utterlyhopeless for him, or half a dozen men, to enter the field against thiscurious complication of unknown friends and open enemies and generousprotectors, took away from him the last remnant of courage. He did notknow what to do or to think. He swallowed his coffee with a sense ofdespair, and sent the rest of his breakfast away untasted; thusbetraying, without intending it, his emotions to his kitchen. "It standsto reason as there's a cause for it," Mr Cavendish's domestics concludedin committee of the whole house; and surely, if ever man had good reasonfor not eating his breakfast, it was he. When he had gone over it allagain till his head had grown utterly confused and his thoughts were alltopsy-turvy, Mr Cavendish took a sudden resolution. He went upstairs andchanged his dress with a certain solemnity. He made a toilette morecareful than if he were going, as he once had gone, to propose. It waslike Nelson going into gala uniform for a battle. And then he went outto discover, if possible, what was coming to him. The difference was,that in this battle no honour, but only a possible salvage of reputationand fortunate escape, was to be gained.
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