Bombarded by so many masculine pronouns, Julia and Ann had no hope of disentangling this speech (which, you may be sure, struck them as being by no means even as coherent as it is seen here). Its results were good, however, for at the end of it, Lady Lenox, having shaken elegant, impotent fists at the imaginary face of whichever male it was that she was at that moment condemning in her head, then covered her face in her hands, and put all her energy into weeping. This, though hardly agreeable, was certainly to be preferred to anything other than rational behavior, which by this time her companions had not the faintest hope of seeing. Julia had not moved from her side, and as soon as Lady Lenox became less frantic she placed an arm around her. But Lady Lenox did not want comfort, she wanted her son, and she sat stiff and unyielding, crying into her handkerchief, until Julia gave up her attempt to administer any more sympathy than was to be found in an unspoken readiness to help, and the occasional touch of a hand.
By and by Lady Lenox grew quieter, and by the time they had reached Grosvenor, she was no longer weeping, but sitting with one hand shading her face. She did not look at the girls, nor speak to them, her attitude somehow unmistakably conveying, that she was bitterly regretting her outburst, and wished only to be away from her two confidants, reluctant though they had been, and silent though they were.
At Merrion House she responded to their words of farewell--and, on Julia’s part, of encouragement and sympathy--with only the slightest of nods, and instructed the coachman to start for Berkeley, before they had even done uttering them.
**
Chapter XLIV
About ten minutes before eleven, Mr. Parry and Lady Frances had begun to speak of retiring, but all that had come of it was a move from the drawing-room to the library. The curtain had just descended, when Mr. Parry announced his perfect reliance upon Lenox’s promise to see the girls home at a goodly hour; and it was as the first chairs were being flung at the chandeliers, that Lady Frances remarked that the difficulty of getting through the London streets, when the slightest mishap had occurred to a carriage, remained a source of wonder to her. Which of them it was, who again brought up the notion of retiring, they did not later recall; but they both agreed, that there really was no point in going to bed and coaxing the sleep, that would come so readily, if they waited just a few more minutes.
With the return of the girls, any hard thoughts that may have been forming against Mr. Lenox were dissolved at once. There was no question, after that, of beds being sought, and when the footman eventually came from Berkeley Square, shortly before two o’clock, he may have been rather surprised to find his message, which he had thought to leave with the porter, plucked from his hand, and his person urged into the library. The brief note that Mr. Lenox had dashed off to reassure them, was passed from hand to hand--disappearing, in a mysterious manner, when the last person had seen it, and it came to rest on a table near to Julia--while Mr. Parry asked the man, if he himself had seen Sir Warrington and his brother, how they looked, and if Lady Lenox had appeared recovered from her fright. “It is not,” he afterward explained, “that I think Lenox would write anything that was not true. But just because a man is able to pronounce himself, without dishonesty, to be well, it does not inescapably mean that someone did not, an hour or so earlier, seek to beat him about the head with a violincello. There are degrees of wellness.”
But there, at least, the man was able to reassure them. He could not say that Mr. Lenox was unmarked, but he had been running up and down steps, and assisting his brother, without any hint of impairment. Sir Warrington had not fared as well, but as Mr. Lenox had not deemed it necessary to send for an apothecary until the morning, and had soon dismissed all the servants (save himself) to their beds, he did not think they needed to fear anything on that head either. As for her ladyship, the man could not really say, as she had been closeted in her room since her return, and had only been heard to call loudly for Mr. Lenox to come up to her, when he could not immediately attend to the first summons brought by her maid, from seeing Sir Warrington comfortable.
When he had left, Mr. Parry led a short prayer of thanksgiving, and then advised them not to employ what was left of the night, for anything but sleep; an instruction which Julia apparently obeyed without difficulty; but he might as well have instructed Ann to lay her head aside for the night.
She had left it entirely to Julia to account for their lateness; not only from the knowledge that her own report could not have been made without numerous untidy asides, whenever she failed to depict Mr. Lenox in terms exculpatory enough to suit her friend, but also from a wish of discovering precisely how, and to what extent, Julia intended for them to have understood Lady Lenox. Ann was considerably disappointed to find that they were hardly to have done so at all. Lady Lenox had certainly been distraught; she had spoken wildly and imprudently for a time, led away by her alarms for her son; but she had recovered command of herself by Bond Street. Julia’s only dread was, lest it had been a self-command hastily patched together for her guests, and that her sons might escape from one display of ungoverned passions, only to find their home turned upside down by another. Apparently Julia was concerned with Lady Lenox’s hysterics, only insofar as they might give trouble to her sons. Agitated regrets and bitter accusations had not fixed her mind in a state of restless curiosity, and satisfied with knowing the brothers had returned in safety to a tolerably ordered household, she left Ann to ponder the contents of mysterious boxes, and the antecedents of various “he’s” and “him’s,” in solitary sleeplessness.
To the Parrys’ joy and relief, not only Mr. Lenox, but even Sir Warrington were seen to take their places in Lock Chapel next morning. The brothers arrived a trifle late, giving no one an opportunity to speak to them before the service began, but afterward, there was a great deal of handshaking and exclamations as the two parties converged, blocking the aisle very efficiently until Lady Frances drew her husband’s attention to the fact, after which they all removed outside and efficiently blocked the path. They were such a cheerful, gracious obstruction, however, that no one seemed to mind having to ease around them, and Ann noticed that smiles were drawn from those who did so, especially when they happened to look at Julia’s face of happiness.
Mr. Hayden, whom they had all been a little surprised to see, as he usually attended his hostess to St. Mary’s on Lombard-street, was standing a little to one side with his ward, and after several minutes Ann noticed that he was looking at her in a steady, pensive fashion, as if he was thinking of addressing some remark to her. She smiled to show that though she might not be taking any great part in the conversation, she had no objection to being addressed, and he at once stepped forward and said, with a look which struck her as being rather more searching than the question required, that he hoped she was quite well, and had suffered no ill-effects from the events of the night before. Ann thanked him, and replied that she suffered only from a shortened night’s sleep, an affliction easily remedied. He expressed pleasure at this report, but said, “he was sure she and Miss Parry must have been a good deal frightened by what had happened. Lady Lenox was still completely overset, and unable to leave her room.”
Now as Ann held that lady chiefly responsible for every evil and inconvenience of the night before, not exclusive of her hours of wakefulness, this news left her unmoved. Sir Warrington had a black eye, a split and swollen lip, and an arm so bruised and sore he could not even lift it, and Mr. Lenox had probably been up most of the night tending to him, with a cut cheek of his own; but it was their mother who lay abed, nursing her nerves and her grievances. Ann replied to Mr. Hayden, that she was sorry to hear of Lady Lenox’s continued indisposition; but she did not bother to expend much effort upon it, and it emerged from her lips no more than a common civility. She fancied that his look rebuked her slightly for her unconcern, and from irritation added, “that she was not altogether surprised, as she had always understood hysteria to be a most fatiguing occupation.”
At this, Mr. Hay
den looked even more grave, and after a noticeable hesitation, began a speech in which her ladyship’s every indiscretion was explained away as springing from her excessive attachment to Mr. Lenox, and her fears for his safety. That is how it began; how it ended, Ann did not know, for she was struck, as he spoke, of his being oddly concerned to impress upon her the temporary derangement of his noble relative’s mind. As it was not within her observation of his character, for him to do so, unless persuaded that in this case derangement was preferable to accountability, she deduced that he must be to some degree apprised of just what it was he wished her to discount. Having reached this conclusion, she ceased to listen to him, and while murmuring, and shaking her head, and saying that it was a pity, she was contriving how to communicate to him the impossibility of her discounting a matter, that she did not yet fully understand.
But the courtyard of a church is not the best place in the world to entice tales about his patrons from a clergyman, and before Ann could decide even how to begin, the Parrys were making their farewells to the Lenoxes, mixing recommendations for them to go home and rest, with invitations for them to come to Merrion House whenever they should feel like doing so. She was left with no choice but to gather up her curiosity once more, shake Mr. Hayden’s hand, and listen during the drive home to an argument between Clive and Gerard, over whether Sir Warrington had attributed the worst of his injuries to his defense of a violin, or a violinist.
**
Chapter XLV
Ann had not given up all hope of learning what she wished to know from Mr. Hayden, but she had given up all hope of learning it that day, and so when Kitty, from her usual post near a window overlooking the street, observed first, with slight anxiety, that a hack-chaise had stopped at the door, and then, with relief, that it was only Mr. Hayden, Ann did not at once credit it, and hastened to see for herself. Lady Frances had already gone out, and Kitty looked her surprise at Ann’s eagerness to follow her; but then Kitty could seldom understand any eagerness to see anybody who had not first bothered to establish his worthiness, by being born into the same family, or at least residing in the same house.
Lady Frances assumed that he had come to engage in one of his usual polysyllabic discussions with her husband, and after talking for a minute or two on Sir Warrington’s injuries, and his remarkably cheerful spirits, she offered to send Mr. Parry notice of his arrival. He refused with thanks, and after a hesitation, admitted that he found himself in the somewhat difficult position of having come to make an explanation, and an apology, to Miss Parry and Miss Northcott, on behalf of Lady Lenox. Lady Frances glanced at Ann in a rather startled fashion, but she was too kind to allow Mr. Hayden to continue long in his struggle to find unrevealing phrases in which to explain why such an apology should be thought necessary, and why Lady Lenox had not come to offer it herself. She rose smilingly to depart, saying that she was sure he would find nothing but hearts willing to understand and forgive, and that she would send Julia to join them at once. Ann suspected that she was glad to be able to return so quickly to her sitting-room, where she had been reading Repository Tales aloud to the younger children, while Kitty kept watch at the window.
Mr. Hayden appeared ill at ease after her departure, despite his companion’s attempts to recast her natural look of Avid Curiosity, into one suitably Understanding and Forgiving; and he responded to her polite question concerning Miss Denbigh’s undoubted eagerness to be returning home to Burndall within a short time, in a way that showed he had not really heard it. But Julia was not long in coming, and at her entrance his brows un-knit themselves, and he returned her warm greeting with hardly a trace of the gravity that had oppressed him while inspecting the task set before him with only Ann in the room.
“Dear sir,” said Julia, “this is indeed a generous errand upon which you have come. Apologies are in general such uncomfortable things, that one is reluctant even to make one’s own, let alone undertake those of another.”
He shook his head, and smiled, and declaimed--and while he is doing so, I must beg my reader’s pardon, and once again intrude the authorial voice into the narrative, in order to save myself from any future charge of inconsistency. I have before stated, at his introduction, that Mr. Hayden was a native of Ireland, and as such possessed of those various singularities of speech, in both pattern and pronunciation, which have been so well reproduced by Mr. and Miss Edgeworth, and other authors laudably desiring to present a faithful picture of the inhabitants of that island. Although his education had modified these to the extent that he was perfectly understandable upon every occasion, there was never any danger of his being mistaken for an Englishman, and any account purporting to give an exact rendering of his words must certainly convey this. However, as I have reached that portion of my history in which Mr. Hayden’s communicatory powers must of necessity play an integral--and lengthy--part, I have made the decision to abandon any attempt to emulate his actual execution of the sentences, in the interest of ease and clarity. While some may feel that such a course deprives my account of an essential verisimilitude, the knowledge that, had I instead engaged to report his speech word for word and syllable for syllable, the effects of an imperfect acquaintance with Hibernian vowels, coupled with the corrosive effects of time upon the memory of even the most particular witness, must inevitably have led me to commit both syntactical and articulatory offenses, has firmly persuaded me of the wisdom of my decision. But to return to the drawing-room:
Mr. Hayden, having declaimed any extraordinary merit in his conduct, at once set about the stated business of his coming. “I will not disturb your Sabbath for long. I would not have come today at all, had Lady Lenox not insisted. She is greatly distressed by the thought that last night, in the--extremity of her terror for her son, she may have uttered some word or phrase which might perhaps be misconstrued, by those unaware of the context.”
This was certainly enough to distress anybody; but Ann could not help suspecting that what concerned her ladyship more, was the possibility that someone, in speculating on the hints contained in her unguarded speech, might arrive at a point too near the truth of the matter. What this truth might be, Ann still had no notion; but she was very willing to believe that it held something discreditable to the woman who, when her cherished son returned into what seemed certain danger, could find no better occupation for herself than blaming everybody she could lay her tongue to, for offenses past and present. Ann suggested to their visitor, in an encouraging manner, that misunderstandings could never be guarded against too carefully, and was exasperated to hear Julia adding that “having realized Lady Lenox’s excited state at the time, they had not really regarded anything she had said; and he could assure his relative, that what words they had heard, would never be repeated by them.”
Mr. Hayden replied that he had never doubted it; but luckily for Ann, Lady Lenox had apparently measured their charity by her own, and aware that she herself would not have resisted putting the worst construction on what she had heard, before sharing it with others, she had instructed him to administer the “correct” interpretation of her ravings, regardless of any protestations they might make.
But having got this far, he paused, and for so long, that Julia could not resist one final attempt to deliver him from at least the worst pangs of his duty. “Mr. Hayden, I beg your pardon if I interrupt the marshalling of your thoughts, but it has occurred to me, that your hesitation may arise from an uncertainty of just how much need be offered in explanation; this, in turn, arising from ignorance, of precisely what Lady Lenox may have said, in her panic. If she herself can recall with exactness the wording of her agitation last night, I should be excessively surprised; and what she cannot remember, you cannot know.” His look of grateful relief answered her, so that she continued, “Let me assure you, that Ann and I are in no better frame. We were both, you may believe, in some agitation ourselves, and from fear of the gentlemen’s safety, and from striving to calm Lady Lenox, we were left very little opportunity
to concentrate upon the meaning of words uttered in such a wild, irresponsible fashion. And what we did hear, was a sad jumble of boats and boxes, and a man being killed. To be sure, there was some mention of disgrace, but it was quite indeterminate, and we have too much cause to be grateful to the Lenoxes, to ever let such unruly talk influence us to think ill of them. Besides, a feeling of disgrace is a very personal thing: a dandy may feel himself disgraced by having gone out in the same waistcoat two days in a row! Ann, I know, will agree with me, that Lady Lenox’s speech contained nothing more--revealing--than what I have told you.”
If Julia had not applied to her friend for confirmation, she might well have succeeded in her benevolent intention of reducing Mr. Hayden’s apology to a mere generic formality, of little trouble--and less use--to anyone. But Ann had sacrificed too many hours of rest the night before to feverish conjecture, to be feeling at all generous. She saw clearly that by giving her assent she could both please Julia, and relieve the mind of their caller, without material injury to her integrity (for what Julia had said was, of course, true, though not exhaustive); but in doing so she must cast away, perhaps forever, any chance of knowing more of the contents of that Mysterious Box, than she knew at that moment. Mr. Lenox certainly would not tell; and for Sir Warrington to have kept silent on such an interesting matter for this long, he must himself be either ignorant of it, or have such sufficient reasons for his reticence, as must continue proof against future inquiries. Faced with such a choice, Ann hesitated only a moment, before admitting,
Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I Page 29