Miss Marjoribanks

by Mrs. Oliphant

  _Chapter XXXII_

  Dr Marjoribanks was not a man to take very much notice of trivialexternal changes; and he knew Lucilla and her constitution, and, being amedical man, was not perhaps so liable to parental anxieties as anunprofessional father might have been; but even he was a little struckby Miss Marjoribanks's appearance when he came into the drawing-room. Hesaid, "You are flushed, Lucilla? is anything going to happen?" with thecalmness of a man who knew there was not much the matter--but yet he didobserve that her colour was not exactly what it always was. "I am quitewell, papa, thank you," said Lucilla, which, to be sure, was a fact theDoctor had never doubted; and then the people began to come in, andthere was no more to be said.

  But there could be no doubt that Lucilla had more colour than usual. Herpulse was quite steady, and her heart going on at its ordinary rate; buther admirable circulation was nevertheless so far affected, that theordinary rose-tints of her complexion were all deepened. It was not sodistinctly an improvement as it would have been had she been habituallypale; but still the flush was moderate, and did Miss Marjoribanks noharm. And then it was a larger party than usual. The Centums were there,who were General Travers's chaperons, and so were the Woodburns, and ofcourse Mrs Chiley, which made up the number of ladies beyond what wasgeneral at Dr Marjoribanks's table. Lucilla received all her guests withthe sweetest smiles and all her ordinary ease and self-possession, butat the same time her mind was not free from some excitement. She was onthe eve of a crisis which would be the greatest failure or the greatestsuccess of her public life, and naturally she anticipated it with acertain emotion.

  Mr Cavendish, for his part, had sufficient sense to come very early, andto get into a dark corner and keep himself out of the way; for though hewas screwed up to the emergency, his self-possession was nothing tothat of Lucilla. But on the whole, it was perhaps Mrs Woodburn whosuffered the most. Her heightened colour was more conspicuous than thatof Miss Marjoribanks, because as a general rule she was pale. She waspale, almost white, and had dark eyes and dark hair, and possessedprecisely all the accessories which make a sudden change of complexionremarkable; and the effect this evening was so evident that even herhusband admired her for a moment, and then stopped short to inquire, "ByGeorge! had she begun to paint?" to which question Mrs Woodburnnaturally replied only by an indignant shrug of her white shoulders andaversion of her head. She would not have been sorry, perhaps, for thisnight only, if he had believed that it was rouge, and not emotion. Ofall the people at Dr Marjoribanks's table, she perhaps was the only onereally to be pitied. Even Mr Cavendish, if vanquished, would at the mostreceive only the recompense of his deeds, and could go away and beginover again somewhere else, or bury himself in the great depths ofgeneral society, where nobody would be the wiser; but as for his sister,she could not go away. The first result for her would be to give themaster to whom she belonged, and for whom she had, with some affection,a great deal of not unnatural contempt, a cruel and overwhelming powerover her; and she knew, poor soul, that he was not at all too generousor delicate to make use of such a power. In such a case she would bebound to the rock, like a kind of hapless Andromeda, to be pecked at byall the birds and blown at by all the winds, not to speak of thedevouring monster from whom no hero could ever deliver her; and with allthese horrible consequences before her eyes, she had to sit still andlook on and do nothing, to see all the hidden meaning of every look andmovement without appearing to see it, to maintain ordinary conversationwhen her ear was strained to the uttermost to hear words of fate onwhich her whole future depended. No wonder her colour was high; and shecould not go into a corner, as Mr Cavendish did, nor keep silent, norwithdraw herself from observation. Neither her pulse nor her heart wouldhave borne the scrutiny to which Miss Marjoribanks's calm organs mighthave been subjected with perfect security; and the chances are, if theDoctor had by any hazard put his finger on her wrist when he shook handswith her, that instead of handing her over to General Travers to betaken down to dinner, he would have, on the contrary, sent her off tobed.

  Fortunately by this time the year was declining, and that happy seasonhad returned in which people once more begin to dine by artificiallight; and at the same time it was not absolutely dark in thedrawing-room, so that Lucilla had not, as she said, thought it necessaryto have the candles lighted. "If there should happen to be a mistake asto who is to take down who, it will only be all the more amusing," saidMiss Marjoribanks, "so long as you do not go off and leave _me_." Thiswas addressed to the Archdeacon, to whom Lucilla was very particular inher attentions at that moment. Mrs Chiley, who was looking on with agreat sense of depression, could not help wondering why--"When she knowshe is engaged and everything settled," the old lady said to herself,with natural indignation. For her part, she did not see what right a manhad to introduce himself thus under false pretences into the confidingbosom of society--when he was as bad as married, or even indeed worse.She was ruffled, and she did not think it worth while to conceal thatshe was so; for there are limits to human patience, and a visitor whostays six weeks ought at least to have confidence in his entertainers.Mrs Chiley for once in her life could have boxed Lucilla's ears for heruncalled-for civility. "I think it very strange that it is not theGeneral who takes her downstairs," she said to Mrs Centum. "It is allvery well to have a respect for clergymen; but after being here sooften, and the General quite a stranger--I am surprised at Lucilla,"said the indiscreet old lady. As for Mrs Centum, she felt the neglect,but she had too much proper pride to own that her man was not receivingdue attention. "It is not the first time General Travers has been here,"she said, reserving the question; and so in the uncertain light, whennobody was sure who was his neighbour, the procession filed downstairs.

  To enter the dining-room, all brilliant and shining as it was, radiantwith light and flowers and crystal and silver, and everything that makesa dinner-table pretty to look upon, was, as Mrs Centum said, "quite acontrast." A close observer might have remarked, as Mrs Woodburn andLucilla took their places, that both of them, instead of that flushwhich had been so noticeable a short time before, had become quite pale.It was the moment of trial. Poor Mr Cavendish, in his excitement, hadtaken just the place he ought not to have taken, immediately under thelamp at the centre of the table. During the moment when the unsuspectingArchdeacon said grace with his eyes decorously cast down, MissMarjoribanks owned the ordinary weakness of humanity so much as to dropher fan and her handkerchief, and even the napkin which was arranged ina symmetrical pyramid on her plate. Such a sign of human feeblenesscould but endear her to everybody who was aware of the momentouscharacter of the crisis. When these were all happily recovered andeverybody seated, Lucilla kept her eyes fixed upon the Archdeacon'sface. It was, as we have said, a terrible moment. When he raised hishead and looked round him, naturally Mr Beverley's eyes went direct tothe mark like an arrow; he looked, and he saw at the centre of thetable, surrounded by every kind of regard and consideration, full in thelight of the lamp, his favourite adventurer, the impostor whom he haddenounced the first time he took his place by Miss Marjoribanks's side.The Archdeacon rose to his feet in the excitement of the discovery; heput his hand over his eyes as if to clear them. He said, "Good God!"loud out, with an accent of horror which paralysed the two people lowerdown than himself. As for Miss Marjoribanks, she was not paralysed--shewho had not lost a single glance of his eyes or movement of his largeperson. Lucilla rose to the height of the position. She put her handupon his arm sharply, and with a certain energy. "Mr Beverley, Thomas isbehind you with the soup," said Miss Marjoribanks. The Archdeacon turnedround to see what it was, conscious that somebody had spoken to him, butas indifferent to his companion and to civility as he was to Thomas andthe soup. "What?" he said hoarsely, interrupting his scrutiny for themoment. But when he had met Miss Marjoribanks's eye the Archdeacon satdown. Lucilla did not liberate him for a moment from that gaze. Shefixed her eyes upon his eyes, and looked at him as people only look whenthey mean something. "If you tell me what surprised you so m
uch, perhapsI can explain," said Miss Marjoribanks. She spoke so that nobody couldhear but himself; and in the meantime General Travers at her left handwas making himself excessively agreeable to Mrs Woodburn, and no doubtoccupying all her attention; and Lucilla never turned her eyes for amoment from the Archdeacon's face.

  "I beg your pardon," said Mr Beverley. "I was confounded by what I saw.Good heavens! it is not possible I can deceive myself. I understand youralarm. I am not going to make a disturbance and break up your party. Ican wait," the Archdeacon said, drawing a rapid forcible breath. "MissMarjoribanks, do you know who that man is?"

  "Oh, yes," said Lucilla, softening into a smile. "Perfectly, I assureyou. He is one of papa's guests, and very much respected in Carlingford;and he is one of my--very particular friends," Miss Marjoribanks added.She laughed as she spoke, a kind of laugh which is only appropriate toone subject, and which is as good, any day, as a confession; and theflush was so obliging as to return at that moment to her ingenuouscountenance. "We have known each other a long time," Lucilla went onafter that pretty pause; and then she raised her confiding eyes, whichhad been cast down, once more to the Archdeacon's face. "You can't thinkhow nice he is, Mr Beverley," said Miss Marjoribanks. She clasped herhands together, just for a moment, as she did so, with an eloquentmeaning which it was impossible to mistake. The Archdeacon, for hispart, gazed at her like a man in a dream. Whether it was true--orwhether he was being made a fool of more completely than ever man beforewas--or whether he was the victim of an optical or some other kind ofdelusion,--the poor man could not tell. He was utterly stricken dumb,and did not know what to say. He accepted the soup humbly, which Thomasset before him, though it was a white soup, an effeminate dish, whichwent utterly in the face of his principles. And then he looked at theinnocent young creature at his side in that flutter of happy confusion.It was a terrible position for the Broad-Churchman. After such a tacitconfession he could not spring from his seat and hurl the impostor outof the room, as in the first place he had a mind to do. On the contrary,it was with a voice trembling with emotion that he spoke.

  "My dear Miss Marjoribanks," said the Archdeacon, "I am struck dumb bywhat you tell me. Good heavens! that it should have come to this; andyet I should be neglecting my duty if I kept silent. You do not--youcannot know who he is."

  "Oh, yes," said Lucilla, with another little laugh--"_everything_--andhow he used to know Mrs Mortimer, and all about it. He has no secretsfrom me," said Miss Marjoribanks. She caught Mr Cavendish's eye at themoment, who was casting a stealthy glance in her direction, and wholooked cowed and silenced and unquiet to the most miserable degree; andshe gave him a little reassuring nod, which the Archdeacon watched withan inward groan. What was he to do? He could not publicly expose the manwho had just received this mark of confidence from his young hostess,who knew everything. Perhaps it was one of the greatest trials ofChristian patience and fortitude which the Archdeacon, who was notgreat, as he himself would have said, in the passive virtues, hadundergone in all the course of his life. He was so utterly subdued andconfounded that he ate his soup, and never found out what kind of soupit was. That is, he consumed it in large spoonfuls without being aware,by way of occupying his energies and filling up the time.

  "You cannot mean it," he said, after a pause. "You must be imperfectlyinformed. At least let me talk to your father. You must hear all therights of the story. If you will let me speak half a dozen words to--tothat person, Miss Marjoribanks, I am sure he will leave the place; hewill give up any claim----"

  "Oh, yes, please talk to him," said Miss Marjoribanks, "it will be sonice to see you friends. Nothing would make me so happy. You know I haveheard all about it from you and from Mrs Mortimer already, so I am surethere cannot be much more to tell; and as for papa, he is very fond ofMr Cavendish," said Lucilla, with an imperceptible elevation of hervoice.

  "Is it _he_ whom you call Mr Cavendish?" said the Archdeacon. He too hadraised his voice without knowing it, and several people looked up, whowere not at the moment engaged in active conversation of their own. Theowner of that name, for his part, also turned his face towards the upperend of the table. He was sick of the suspense and continued endurance,and by this time was ready to rush upon his fate.

  "Did any one call me?" he said; and there was a little pause, and thecompany in general fixed its regard upon those three people with a sensethat something remarkable was going on among them, though it could nottell what or why.

  "The Archdeacon wants to make your acquaintance," said MissMarjoribanks. "Mr Cavendish--Mr Beverley. There, you know each other;and when we are gone you can talk to each other if you like," Lucillaadded; "but in the meantime _you_ are too far off, and _I_ want theArchdeacon. He is _so_ much liked in Carlingford," she continued,lowering her voice. "You can't think how glad we are to have him backagain. I am sure if you only knew him better----" said MissMarjoribanks. As for the Archdeacon, words could not give any idea ofthe state of his mind. He ate his dinner sternly after that, and did notlook at anything but his plate. He consumed the most exquisite _plats_,the tenderest wings of chicken and morsels of _pate_, as if they hadbeen his personal enemies. For, to tell the truth, he felt the tablesaltogether turned upon him, and was confounded, and did not know what itcould mean.

  It was the General who took up Mr Beverley's abandoned place in theconversation. The gallant soldier talked for two with the best will inthe world. He talked of Cavendish, and all the pleasant hours they hadspent together, and what a good fellow he was, and how much the men inthe club would be amused to hear of his domesticity. It was a kind oftalk very natural to a man who found himself placed at table between hisfriend's sister, and, as he supposed, his friend's future bride. Andnaturally the Archdeacon got all the benefit. As for Lucilla, shereceived it with the most perfect grace in the world and saw all thedelicate points of the General's wit, and appreciated him so thoroughly,that he felt half inclined to envy Cavendish. "By Jove! he is theluckiest fellow I know," General Travers said; and probably it was thecharms of his intelligent and animated conversation that kept the ladiesso long at table. Mrs Chiley, for her part, did not know what to make ofit. She said afterwards that she kept looking at Lucilla until she wasreally quite ashamed; and though she was at the other end of the table,she could see that the poor dear did not enjoy her dinner. It happened,too, that when they did move at last, the drawing-room was fuller thanusual. Everybody had come that evening--Sir John, and some others of thecounty people, who only came now and then, and without any exception_everybody_ in Carlingford. And Lucilla certainly was not herself forthe first half-hour. She kept close to the door, and regarded thestaircase with an anxious countenance. When she was herself at the helmof affairs, there was a certain security that everything would go ontolerably--but nobody could tell what a set of men left to themselvesmight or might not do. This was the most dreadful moment of the evening.Mrs Mortimer was in the drawing-room, hidden away under the curtains ofa window, knowing nobody, speaking to nobody, and in a state of mind tocommit suicide with pleasure; but Miss Marjoribanks, though she hadcajoled her into that martyrdom, took no notice of Mrs Mortimer. She wascivil, it is true, to her other guests, but there could not be a doubtthat Lucilla was horribly preoccupied, and in a state of mind quiteunusual to her. "I am sure she is not well," Mrs Chiley said, who waswatching her from afar. "I saw that she did not eat any dinner"--and thekind old lady got up slowly and extricated herself from the crowd, andput herself in motion as best she could, to go to her young friend'said.

  It was at this moment that Lucilla turned round radiant upon theobservant assembly. The change occurred in less than a moment, sosuddenly that nobody saw the actual point of revolution. MissMarjoribanks turned round upon the company and took Mr Cavendish's arm,who had just come upstairs. "There is a very, very old friend of yoursin the corner who wants to see you," said Lucilla; and she led himacross the room as a conqueror might have led a captive. She took himthrough the crowd, to whom she dispensed on every side her most graciou
sglances. "I am coming directly," Miss Marjoribanks said--for naturallyshe was called on all sides. What most people remarked at this momentwas, that the Archdeacon, who had also come in with the other gentlemen,was standing very sullen and lowering at the door, watching thattriumphal progress. And it certainly was not Lucilla's fault if MrsChiley and Lady Richmond, and a few other ladies, were thus led to forma false idea of the state of affairs. "I suppose it is all right betweenthem at last," Lady Richmond said, not thinking that Barbara Lake wasstanding by and heard her. According to appearances, it was allperfectly right between them. Miss Marjoribanks, triumphant, led MrCavendish all the length of the room to the corner where the widow satamong the curtains, and the Archdeacon looked on with a visible passion,and jealous rage, which were highly improper in a clergyman, but yetwhich were exciting to see. And this was how the little drama was toconclude, according to Lady Richmond and Mrs Chiley, who, on the whole,were satisfied with the conclusion. But, naturally, there were otherpeople to be consulted. There was Mr Beverley, whom Miss Marjoribanksheld in leash, but who was not yet subdued; and there was DrMarjoribanks, who began to feel a little curiosity about his daughter'smovements, and did not make them out; and there was Barbara Lake, whohad begun to blaze like a tempest with her crimson cheeks and blackbold eyes. But by this time Lucilla was herself again, and felt thereins in her hands. When she had deposited Mr Cavendish in safety, shefaced round upon the malcontents and upon the observers, and on theworld in general. Now that her mind was at rest, and everything underher own inspection, she felt herself ready and able for all.