Complete Works of R S Surtees

by R S Surtees

  “Horrid old man!” replied Emma; “looks like an old savage.”

  Mother and daughter sat silent for some time.

  “It’s one consolation to think the people down street won’t get him, at all events,” at length observed Mrs. Flather, still pondering on her misfortunes.

  “I don’t believe he ever thought of her,” pouted Emma. “The Duke will never hear of a commoner, I’m sure,” said Mrs. Flather.

  “It’s hard upon James that he mayn’t marry who he pleases,” observed Emma.

  “It is,” assented Mrs. Flather. —

  “Hasn’t the privilege of the poorest peasant on his estate,” observed Emma.

  “However, the offer’s always something,” rejoined Mrs. Flather. —

  Emma was silent.

  “I suppose there’s no doubt he did offer?” observed Mrs. Flather inquiringly.

  “Oh, none,” replied Emma.

  “Do you remember the exact words he made use of?” asked mamma.

  “Why, no, I can’t charge my memory with the precise words; indeed, you know, these matters are managed as much by looks as words.”

  “Well, but you have no doubt in your own mind that what he did say related to marriage, and amounted to an offer, have you?” asked Mrs. Flather.

  “None whatever,” replied Emma confidently.

  “You couldn’t well be mistaken in that matter, I think,” rejoined her mother, “seeing you have had so many and such eligible offers before.”

  “Certainly not,” pouted Emma, determined to stick up for her offer.

  “The best thing you can do, I think,” observed Mrs. Flather, after a pause, “is to write to the Marquis himself.”

  “Why so?” asked Emma, thinking the Marquis might deny the soft impeachment.

  “Because,” replied Mrs. Flather, “in the first place, the affair is his, and not his father’s or mother’s.”

  “Very true,” said Emma.

  “And in the second place, we have had no communication with him on the subject. It will only be right to give him the option of fulfilling his promise in spite of his father and mother.”

  “I should doubt his doing that,” observed Emma, not feeling inclined to press the tender point too closely. “His father might disinherit him, and that would be awkward for us both. We couldn’t live upon air.”

  “Oh no; these great people can’t disinherit,” replied Mrs. Flather. “Their affairs are tied up tightly before they are born.”

  “But still I shouldn’t like to appear too eager,” observed Emma coyly.

  “Well, that’s very noble of you, my dear,” said Mrs. Flather, looking approvingly at her daughter; “but still it would only be fair towards the Marquis.”

  Emma was silent, thinking how it might act.

  “He might think himself badly used,” observed Mrs. Flather, after a pause, “if he was not allowed the opportunity.”

  Emma was still silent.

  “Besides,” continued Mrs. Flather, “you must remember you have nothing to show for your offer. People — and there are plenty of ill-natured people ready to do so — will dispute it; whereas, if you have your letter and his answer to show, there is proof positive.”

  “Don’t you think the best plan will be,” asked Emma, “as the Duke and Duchess are both so disagreeable, for me to write to James and release him; and then I could show the letter doing it.”

  “A very good idea indeed, I think, my dear,” replied Mrs. Flather smilingly.

  “I could write it so as not to require any answer,” observed Emma.

  “What, putting an end to the thing altogether?” asked Mrs. Blather.

  “Yes,” replied Emma.

  “I don’t know that that would be the best course,” observed Mrs. Flather, after a pause; “it would rather, I think, partake of the objection I urged against not applying to him at all. He should be allowed the option, I think, of declaring his adhesion to his promise. You should not blame him for the acts of his father and mother.”

  “True,” replied Emma; “but did he appear to have talked to them about it?”

  “Why, no, I should say not,” confessed Mrs. Flather unwillingly.

  “That’s the awkward part of it,” thought Emma. “Then they would be surprised when you broached the subject, I suppose?” asked she.

  “They were,” replied Mrs. Flather, “the Duke particularly; he was the worst of the two by far.”

  “Nasty old man,” ejaculated Emma.

  “Not but that the Duchess was quite as determined,” observed Mrs. Flather; “but she wasn’t so rude,” added she.

  “Then you think there is no hope from them; no chance of their softening?” inquired Emma.

  “None whatever,” replied Mrs. Flather; “the Duke seemed perfectly frantic at the idea.”

  Emma then again thought of the letter. “You know I could write such a letter,” observed she, “as he could answer or not as he liked.”

  “Well, my dear,” replied Mrs. Flather, “you are a better scribe than me. The sooner it is done, you know, the greater will be the appearance of independence on your part.”

  Emma sighed as she thought of the loss of all her greatness. She then got up to look for her portfolio. Of course it was in one place — her paper in another — her pens in a third — and the ink in the other room. Having got them all scraped together, and having selected a pen that would write from the many that would not, she squared her paper before her, and prepared for a start.

  “What shall I call him, mamma?” asked Emma, as she looked at the nib of her pen.

  “What you generally call him, my dear, I should think,” replied Mrs. Flather.

  “Oh! why, you know when I’m speaking to him I call him my Lord; when of him, I call him Jeems, as the Duke does.”

  “Of course, then, you’ll call him my Lord.”

  “But must it be my Lord, or my dear Lord?” asked Emma.

  “My dear Lord, of course,” replied Mrs. Flather; “you’ve had no quarrel with him, you know.”

  “Or dear Lord Bray, which do you think would sound best?”

  “My dear Lord Bray, perhaps,” said Mrs. Flather.

  “I think it would,” replied Emma, writing it at the beginning place of her sheet — half-way down of course—” My dear Lord Bray.”

  “But you are not writing to send, surely!” exclaimed Mrs. Flather. —

  “No, only the copy,” replied Emma; “but I like to see how it looks, as well as how it reads.”

  “My dear Lord Bray,” she read again, and then looked about for a thought. “What shall I say next? it must be something high-flown. ‘My dear Lord.’ I don’t know but I like ‘my dear Lord’ best,” observed Emma: “it looks better to begin rather stiffly — you know I can finish off differently — or postscript a little. I think I’ll begin, ‘My dear Lord,’” added she, striking her pen through ‘Bray.’

  “My dear Lord,” she read again.

  “So long as I conceived your attentions were sanctioned by” — wrote Emma.

  “Shall I say ‘attentions,’ or ‘visits’?” asked she. “So long as I conceived your visits were sanctioned by your parents.”

  “I think I’ll put ‘visits,’” continued Emma, answering herself, striking out ‘attentions,’ and substituting ‘visits.’ She then wrote on— “I freely confess I was proud to receive your attentions.’ Does that sound bold, do you think, mamma?” asked she, reading it over —

  “So long as I conceived your visits were sanctioned by your parents, I freely confess I was proud to receive your attentions.”

  “No, I think not, my dear,” replied Mrs. Flather; “perhaps you might put— ‘sanctioned by the Duke and Duchess of Donkeyton,’ instead of ‘parents,’” suggested Mrs. Flather.

  “No, I think ‘parents’ better,” observed Emma, after a moment’s consideration.

  “Well, my dear, you know best. It depends altogether upon the terms you have been on together.”


  “But,” wrote Emma. “Now I want to say,” said she, looking at her mother, “that I can’t have anything to say to him without their approbation: of course it must be put in better language than that.”

  She then read over again—” My dear Lord — so long as I conceived your visits were sanctioned by your parents, I freely confess I was proud to receive your attentions. But,” she wrote on, “no power on earth — no rank — no title — could induce me to receive them clandestinely.”

  “What do you think of that?” asked she, looking up at her mamma.

  “Very good indeed, I think, my dear,” replied her approving parent. “Perhaps, instead of ‘clandestinely,’ you might put, ‘without their consent.’”

  “Do you think so?” asked Emma, twirling her pen, thinking her own a better-sounding word.

  “It would look more regular,” observed Mrs. Flather—” more as if they had all known about it, at all events.”

  “Perhaps it would,” assented Emma, striking out the word “clandestinely” and substituting “without their consent” for it.

  “Now I think we had better not let out that you had gone to-day for the purpose of putting the question point blank,” observed Emma, after a pause—” make it appear rather as if their objection had come out accidentally; or as if it was more a hint than a downright refusal.”

  “That would hardly do, I’m afraid,” observed Mrs. Flather, “for they neither of them minced the matter.”

  “Well, but the letter is more to show to others than to enlighten them,” sighed Emma.

  “It is so,” sighed Mrs. Flather in return. “You might speak about the difference in rank,” she added, after a pause; “lay their objection upon that.”

  “Just so,” said Emma, thinking how she could embody the sentiment. She then read the sentence over again, and thus proceeded—” I could not be insensible to the objections difference of station might create, though perhaps I had reason to believe that they would be overlooked in my case; finding, however, from my dearest mamma’s interview with the Duke and Duchess this morning that such is not likely to be so, I lose not a moment in declaring that I will never enter any family without the full approbation, nay, encouragement of its members.”

  “What do you think of that?” asked Emma, looking up, as she got to the end of the long sentence.

  “Very good indeed, my dear, I think,” replied Mrs.

  Flather. “You might say it was as much my determination as your own,” observed Mrs. Flather.

  Emma thought she wouldn’t — she would take all the credit to herself. “This being the case,” she continued, “you will not be surprised at receiving this hurried communication, relinquishing, as I now do, all — what shall I call it?” asked Emma, looking up with tears in her eyes.

  “All claim, perhaps,” said Mrs. Flather.

  “Or pretension,” suggested Emma, feeling that was more like the thing. “Relinquishing, as I now do, all claim and pretension to your hand,” wrote she.

  Emma then took a cry.

  “I cannot conclude without wishing your Lordship, in all sincerity,” she continued—” I want to wish him what Mr. Jorrocks calls better luck next time,” sobbed Emma, folding and refolding her pocket handkerchief—” I cannot conclude without wishing your Lordship, in all sincerity, a more exalted and more fortunate choice. Your merits, your wealth, and your connections forbid any doubt on this subject, though I am certain you will never meet with any one more sincerely, devotedly attached than your— “EMMA.”

  She then went off in another cry.

  Tea then came in, and the love-sick damsel ate half a loaf of bread, with a pot of strawberry jam, and butter to match. The letter was then copied with the best pen, on the best wire-wove paper, sealed and directed most becomingly, and given to the boy to take to the post the, first thing in the morning.

  We need hardly add that Emma had a nervous headache next day, and did not show. —

  CHAPTER XXXVIII.

  I TELL IT you in strict confidence.”

  MRS. JORROCKS could not make out from Mr. Jorrocks’s story whether Emma had accomplished the Marquis or not. Mr. Jorrocks himself was inclined to think she had; but Mrs. Trotter, who had dropped in to hear all she could, and Mrs. Jorrocks, thought otherwise in consultation. They agreed that Mrs. Flather would not have been able to contain herself if she had — certainly not over that morning. At the same time, the undoubted journey to Donkeyton, and the seeing by the Duchess herself of Mrs. Flather back to her carriage (duly reported by the driver), puzzled the consulters not a little. Such a thing had never been heard of before as any one going to Donkeyton Castle without a regular invitation.

  Mrs. Trotter was in a desperate state of agitation. If Emma had captured the Marquis, it only showed what Eliza might have done if she had had a fair chance. “Certainly,” she observed, with upturned nose, “if all people were as regardless of decency as Mrs. Flather, they might all get marquises for their daughters,” thinking of the night his lordship had spent at the Manse after the harvest home ball.

  Mrs. Claudius Sacker, the doctor’s wife, dropped in too, the flying rumours having rendered her uneasy at home. She had not been able to “settle” since she heard of the letter to the Marquis. This was news to the others, and the discussion was resumed with great vigour. Doctors and théir wives generally try to keep in with all parties, indeed they would be great fools if they did not, and Mrs. Sacker had called to consult Mrs. Jorrocks whether she ought to go up to the Manse to tender her earliest congratulations to the marchioness-elect and her mamma.

  Mrs. Jorrocks “didn’t know;” Mr. Jorrocks and Mrs. Trotter thought she better had, and our gallant Squire offered to accompany her. Just, however, as his worship was starting, the constable brought a troop of vagrants for him to administer some of his “Daffy’s Elixir” to, in the shape of the fifth of George the Fourth.

  Mrs. Sacker was just the person Mrs. Flather would have selected for the propagation of her story, for, independently of the delicate situation she filled, Mrs. Sacker had a wonderful capacity for believing all she heard. There was no story too wild, no tale too improbable for her to repeat — not only repeat, but almost to vouch for.

  Mrs. Flather received her with more than usual pleasure, and in reply to her inquiries after Emma, pleaded the ladies’ usual pocket complaint — a sick headache. The two then sat commonplacing it for some time, each wishing the other would lead to the point. At last Mrs. Flather hemmed and spoke.

  “I suppose you’ve heard about Emma and the Marquis of Bray?” observed she, eyeing Mrs. Sacker.

  “Why, yes — no — certainly, I’ve heard something,” replied Mrs. Sacker.

  “And what have you heard?” inquired Mrs. Flather.

  “Why, that I have to congratulate you on his becoming your son-in-law,” replied Mrs. Sacker, “which I have very great pleasure in doing,” added she, tendering both hands to Mrs. Flather for a hug.

  “Thank you, my dear Mrs. Sacker,” replied she, shaking them. “I’m sure we have your best wishes at all times — Mr. Sacker’s too. At present, however, you are — are — are” —

  “A little premature, perhaps,” suggested Mrs. Sacker.

  “Not altogether that” replied Mrs. Flather, “but a little — a little — misinformed rather.” —

  “How so?” inquired Mrs. Sacker.

  “Why, the truth is, that the Marquis is an extremely fine young man, a very well-principled, genteel young man, and one that I’m sure any mother might safely intrust a daughter with, but he’s young and — and — and — you understand.”

  “Perfectly,” replied Mrs. Sacker, who did nothing of the sort. —

  “The Duke wishes him to travel — go to Switzerland — see Venice — Florence — thinks he might pick up a princess, perhaps.”

  “But I’m sure an English wife would be much better for him,” observed Mrs. Sacker, who was a capital judge of what was good for other people. —r />
  “Well, I think so too,” replied Mrs. Flather; “but of course that is for the Duke’s consideration; he must settle that. All we had to do was to ascertain whether the Duke and Duchess liked the match or not, because I could never suffer my daughter to enter a family where she was not likely to be well received.”

  “Certainly not,” observed Mrs. Sacker, with a shake of the head.

  “Indeed, she herself would never hear of such a thing,” - added Mrs. Flather, recollecting the terms of the letter.

  “I’m sure not,” observed the complaisant Mrs. Sacker.

  “The Marquis, of course, is very much attached to Emma,” continued Mrs. Flather, “and I’m sure I pity him most sincerely; but that golden rule of doing by others as we would be done by, precludes the idea of my encouraging the thing in opposition to his parents. For my part, indeed, I should much prefer her marrying a man more in her own rank of life; but these attachments will spring up, despite of all the care we can take; nor would parents, perhaps, be altogether right in discouraging them where no obstacle presented itself. When there does, as in this case, there is but one course for us to pursue.”

  “Very honourable of you, I’m sure,” observed Mrs. Sacker.

  “Hard as the task is, I’ll not shrink from it,” rejoined Mrs. Flather, unbagging her pocket handkerchief — out came the copy of Emma’s letter.

  “There’s a copy of her letter releasing the Marquis,” observed Mrs. Flather, picking it off the floor; “you may take it home if you like,” added she, handing it to Mrs. Sacker; “perhaps your husband might like to see it.”

  “Thank you,” said Mrs. Sacker, rising and meeting Mrs. Flather with the proffered document.

  “I may again say, I was never very anxious for it,” observed Mrs. Flather, with a composing sigh.

  Mrs. Sacker stared as if she could hardly swallow that.

  “Unequal matches,” continued Mrs. Flather, “are not desirable things.”

  “Perhaps not,” observed the cautious Mrs. Sacker.

  “Seldom productive of happiness,” sighed Mrs. Flather again.