Lord Merivale looked a little in suspense at this, as if he did not dare agree to such an equivocal statement, delivered, as it was, in a tone which implied all manner of dire clarifications; for if he indeed knew anything of “Mr. Lenox,” the intelligence must necessarily have come from sources less likely to depict that young man’s attachment to Julia in the light of a monstrous crime against humanity. At last, however, he ventured to say that “he understood there was some possibility of a match between Mr. Lenox and his cousin Julia.”
He could scarcely have devised a sentence more appalling to Kitty’s sensibilities. To hear her worst terror thus articulated, and without agitation, by the very one summoned to avert such a catastrophe--to hear the word “match” placed in such dreadful proximity to her sister’s name, bearing with it even a suggestion of some sort of mutual attachment--these things were enough to remove all hesitation from her lips. She begged him to sit down again--and Ann having discreetly crept into a chair on the opposite side of the room, out of Kitty’s sight, he did so--and then began breathlessly to relate to him, the true and remarkable account of how Mr. Lenox, being an intelligent, good-natured man of excellent character, had yet wormed his way into the affections of an unsuspicious and innocent family under the auspices of a misunderstanding between himself and his brother, and was now engaged in ruthlessly crushing underfoot the hearts of those who had welcomed him so trustingly into their home.
This narrative, though impassioned, was marred by a certain obscurity, which allowed Lord Merivale, at one point, to become almost indignant against Mr. Lenox, for pressing his suit upon a young lady whose reluctance was only too plain, when he could not help being aware of the discomfort and distress that must be hers at having to refuse him, and refuse him repeatedly. (Since Lord Merivale was the sort of man who hesitated to repeat a request for the salt-cellar, if his initial petition went unheeded, his revulsion at this supposed importunity was perfectly understandable.) But Mr. Lenox having been cleared of this particular charge, Lord Merivale abandoned his fleeting warmth with relief, as something that sat unnaturally upon him, and caused him great unease while it remained.
To have been made to stop, in the midst of reciting a harrowing tale, in order to defend the behavior of the villain, was vexing enough; but Kitty must have been otherwise disappointed by her cousin’s reception of her news, for, while serious and sympathetic, it fell yet a good deal short of the kind of violent consternation that the occasion obviously demanded. Not only this, but when she at length drifted into something approaching a conclusion, he inexplicably asked, after some hesitation, and with every appearance of confusion, if Julia did not, then, have any desire to marry Mr. Lenox, supposing that he ever actually came to the point of making her an offer?
Ann had taken up her work so that she might have something to look down at, and hide her expression; but the promptness and fervency of Kitty’s negative shocked her into lifting her head to stare, as for one horrid instant she believed her friend guilty of brazen dishonesty: for surely no one who had been witness to the radiance of that first second of comprehension, could have the least doubt as to Julia’s true opinion on the matter. Almost Ann opened her mouth to give a contradiction; but before she could do so, she recollected that at the moment of Julia’s self-revelation, Kitty’s head had in all likelihood already been descending in a graceful arch toward the fire-screen; and since then, certainly nothing had been said or done in her presence to suggest to her the extent to which her sister’s affections were, in fact, engaged. This was a fortunate recollection, for in the pause while Ann examined it, she was also able to recall her commitment to complete discretion so long as Lord Merivale remained in his cousin’s company.
This commitment was made a little harder the next minute, for he accepted Kitty’s testimony without question--for who, of course, should be more in the secret of one another’s feelings, than two devoted sisters?--but then went on to say, with due apologies, that he did not yet wholly understand why the affair should have given everyone such trouble. True, there must necessarily be distress for Mr. Lenox, and evidently for Sir Warrington as well, in the rejection of his proposal, and no small discomfort for Julia, in the rejecting; but while trusting he did not treat the matter lightly, he felt bound to say, that it was a distress neither uncommon, nor generally fatal. “’Men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love’--nor young women, for having refused it.”
Kitty was not diverted by this remark, and at once crushed all further attempts at levity by earnestly assuring her cousin, with tears in her eyes, that it was not a matter for jesting: Julia was very unhappy indeed; Kitty had never seen her more so. Ann was a little surprised by this declaration, for she had thought Julia’s demeanor before her sister to be a model of benevolent disguise; but she supposed Kitty knew her sister too intimately to be entirely fooled, even when she wished to be.
Lord Merivale looked properly contrite at this tearful reprimand. But still, he confessed, he could not understand it. Had not Julia, in the past, been forced to tell a number of other estimable young men that she could not marry them, and not then suffered the kind of unhappiness, which her sister claimed for her now?
“Oh,” exclaimed Kitty, “but it was not the same--it was not at all--those gentlemen were too young, or they did not really know her well, or she knew they would not suit for one reason or another, and so she was very sorry to have to refuse them--but--but Mr. Lenox was not like that; it is altogether different--Julia is--and then, we are all are so very grateful to him.”
Lord Merivale mused silently after this speech for so long, that Kitty grew alarmed, and begged to know what he was thinking, so that finally he asked, with obvious reluctance, “Was she absolutely certain that Julia’s misery was the result of her intention of refusing Mr. Lenox? Perhaps, esteeming him as highly as she did (and from a feeling of gratitude, as Kitty had mentioned)--was it not possible that she had made up her mind to accept him? And that, consequently, it was the prospect of being separated from those she loved by so many miles, that was making her wretched?”
Ann expected that Kitty would be cast into a panic by the mere proposal of an idea so terrible; but apparently she was so confident of her sister’s resolve against Mr. Lenox, that in this respect, she was not to be alarmed. “Oh no,” said she, with only mild agitation. “Oh no, she does not mean to marry him. She has spoken to me of--of ‘when we are returned to Merriweather,’ and things of that nature. But she must not be made to tell him so, it would be too unkind.” She reached out and took one of his hands, holding it with both her own as she fixed her eyes on his face, and said in a voice that somehow both entreated and commanded, “Dear, dear Stacey, we must not let her be hurt any more.”
Lord Merivale, all his doubts of the precise nature of the problem being now assured away, naturally expressed his complete accord with this program, and only wondered how it might best be accomplished. It was not long before he produced the tentative suggestion that someone from Julia’s family should go to Mr. Lenox and explain how matters stood. “But I do not know precisely how such a sensitive business is to be broached. The strict truth, of course, must be told, but how is one to frame it? ‘Sir, I have come to inform you that while Julia Parry has for you feelings of the very deepest esteem and friendship, for certain reasons she finds herself quite unable to marry you, and is made wretched because of it. I beg that you will not further wring her heart by forcing her to tell you so.’ This is assuredly the bare truth of the matter, but I cannot help feeling that such a presentation is a trifle lacking in grace. Your father has a great deal of address; perhaps he could fashion the request more felicitously. What is your opinion?”
Ann could see that Kitty trembled for the success of her schemes if her father were to be thus needlessly introduced into them, for her brow grew troubled at this speech, and she looked away a little, as one of her hands released his, to smooth nervously over the shawl; but before she coul
d contrive a reasonable objection, her cousin had put his own interpretation on her reluctance, and said, with an air of some surprise,
“Do you think perhaps it will not serve? I do not know Mr. Lenox very well, but he seemed a kind and sensible man, and if he has a true regard for Julia, will not the knowledge that she is distressed by his present course, be sufficient to stop him from continuing on in it to the immeasurable increase of her grief?”
Still Kitty was unable to find a suitable reply, and in her agitation gripped her cousin’s hand so tightly that the tips of her fingers turned even whiter, while her other hand stilled on the shawl; and again reading her silence in his own way, after waiting a good while, Lord Merivale eventually shook his head and said, in a voice very serious, and not a little troubled, “Well, if such a consideration carries no weight with him, I do not see that the slightest reliance can be placed on his attachment to her. Of what caliber is a ‘love’ that will not surrender its own imagined rights and desires for the good of the beloved? The feelings that prompt such behavior as that, have many names, but love is not one of them.” And again he paused, and again received no response, so that after a very long silence--or so it seemed to Ann--he sighed, and touching Kitty’s distressed fingers with his free hand, said quietly, “I hope you wrong him--indeed, I believe you wrong him--and that his love for Julia is a true love, and that, no matter the cost to himself, he will in this matter act on those principles which, he has abundantly demonstrated, rule him in all other aspects of his life.”
He spoke with an evident desire to comfort and reassure his cousin, and with a conviction that moved even Ann, who knew that due to his ignorance of the true nature of the situation his words had no true significance. But Kitty showed no sign of being comforted, and Ann began to share Lord Merivale’s bewilderment at her behavior, for there was no generous agreement from her even now, no eager explanation of the true meaning of her reticence; indeed, she only drew away, slowly putting away his hands, that she might lower her head over her own, as though assailed by a renewal of that weakness that had kept her lying abed for so many days. Ann arose in concern, but before she could take more than a step, Lady Frances entered the room, and glancing over the scene, addressed her nephew in a tone of gentle chiding, saying that Kitty had not yet regained her strength, and had he not better defer the rest of their conversation till a later time, when she would feel more the thing?
“Dear Aunt Frances,” said Lord Merivale, rising at once, with his usual compliant smile, “you are right, as always. Come, Ann; let us take ourselves off, and allow Kitty space to recover from such tumultuous companions.”
**
Chapter LIV
This was a most promising beginning for the execution of Ann’s proposed countermandering, for Lady Frances was left behind to see Kitty made comfortable, and they proceeded slowly down the hall “in search of family,” at Lord Merivale’s suggestion. But Ann was still hesitating over which one to introduce, of the numerous conversations she had invented beforehand, when “family”--or at least two members of it, and an annex: in other words, Louisa, Margaret and Gerard--found them. Lord Merivale was at once dragged off, a willing captive to their affection, and Ann was granted time to come to the conclusion, that in fact she had nothing yet to countermand.
Lord Merivale certainly possessed an entirely false notion of the situation, courtesy of his poor, self-deceived cousin, but he had returned no disastrous promises, and, indeed, his conversation with Kitty had been conducted along more sensible lines than Ann had dared hope. Ann suspected that Kitty herself must be rather dismayed at the manner in which it had concluded, without ever having approached to the subject of Lord Merivale’s offering his own supremely eligible hand. True, he had declared himself perfectly willing to discourage Mr. Lenox from making any proposals of his own, but Ann, while disliking the scheme, had full confidence in Mr. Lenox’s ability to deal with such a piece of presumption as it deserved. If Lord Merivale were so unwise as to confront him, Ann did not doubt that his lordship would be sent, very firmly, about his business--which was, more properly, in Kent, making diffident suggestions to his subordinates, and writing gently amusing letters to his aunt, and not interfering in matters about which he knew very little. But of course, it would be better if he were to return from whence he came without having plagued either Julia or Mr. Lenox, and if Ann were not given an opportunity to discourage a visit to Berkeley Square she had every intention of contriving one. However, having reflected at length upon the conversation between the cousins, she could not perceive that a course of action had been decided upon at all, and since she was almost certain that Lord Merivale would never adopt a course that his cousin had not absolutely approved, Ann felt excused for praying that Kitty should remain just a trifle indisposed, until he took his leave the following morning.
To her considerable astonishment, Heaven appeared for once in accord with her own wishes, and the report that Lady Frances made, when at last she joined them, was that Kitty was feeling very low, and after Mr. Parry left her, she was to have no more visitors until the next day. Lady Frances seemed much affected by this rather mild relapse, and though not in any way downcast, yet she kept wiping away stray tears as if she did not know precisely why they continued to fall, but could do nothing to stop them. Shortly afterwards Ann saw Lord Merivale in conversation with his aunt, and wondered if perhaps he was begging her forgiveness for having thoughtlessly kept his cousin talking past her strength. If so, he received a full and gracious pardon, for she kissed his cheek very heartily, and for the rest of the evening was laughingly insistent that he stay near her and “remain common property,” instead of “becoming the acquisition of one or two enterprising and ruthless speculators.”
They sat down to a family dinner, for the Spenhopes had already fled town, and without requests or hints, or any diminution of mutual goodwill, three whole days had yet passed, without sight of a Lenox; a greater period of abstinence, at least on Sir Warrington’s part, than at any time since Mr. Lenox had taken his first reluctant step over the threshold with an inanimate Kitty in his arms. It was the general, though unspoken opinion, that this absence was due to Sir Warrington, though enforced by Mr. Lenox: for though the former had shown himself entirely willing to come and be openly disconsolate in the drawing-room, the latter had strange, restrictive notions of what was acceptable behavior in a caller, and their last two visits had ended somewhat precipitously, upon his realizing that Sir Warrington could not be brought into agreement with him on this point of etiquette.
So the evening passed off in tolerable comfort, and in the morning Ann arose with an easier mind than she had done since sending off Kitty’s note, and listened to Lord Merivale discuss his journey with Mr. Parry over the breakfast table, with feelings of absolute benignity. These persisted until approximately five minutes before his departure, at which time she happened to pass by Kitty’s room, and could not help overhearing the words, “But do you not think it is perhaps too early to call on him?”
She stopped at once, and heard Lord Merivale reply that he had called on the Lenoxes at an even earlier hour the last time he was in town, and had found Mr. Lenox perfectly ready to receive him. He then took affectionate leave of his cousin, and emerged to find Ann, leaning dumbly, like a forgotten broom, against the doorjamb. She fancied he may have shaken her unresisting hand, and uttered a farewell and the usual wishes, before walking away down the hall and into the embrace of his aunt, with whom he descended the stairs, leaving Ann standing once more in the wreck of schemes gang severely a-gley.
At length, filled with nearly equal parts resignation and vexation, she continued down to view the knot of Parrys assembled on the front steps, waving a wistful Godspeed to the back of their relative’s carriage, and soliloquize within herself on the futility of ever attempting to improve the lives of her friends. In the face of the partial, and, ultimately, complete failure of all her efforts during the past seven months, she could only dedu
ce, that Providence had no opinion of those who set themselves up in competition.
**
Chapter LV
So wholly unanticipated was this latest blow to her acumen, so final a reversal of all her plottings, that Ann was quite unable to support her spirits under it, and became as sunk in melancholy, as if her own dearest matrimonial hopes were being steadily trimmed away instead of her friend’s. She could scarcely bear to witness Julia’s own serenity of countenance, whether real or assumed; and the sound of Lady Frances heaping vague encomiums on the head of the “dear boy” who had just departed, or the children’s mourning of the brevity of his stay, at length provoked her to seek out Kitty as the most fitting companion for her megrims. But here as well she encountered some slight disappointment, for despite the evidence of eyes and complexion, which plainly declared that Kitty had spent the greater part of her night in activities less refreshing than sleep, she nevertheless seemed to Ann to have acquired a measure of quietude, which had certainly not been hers previous to her cousin’s visit. Ann, knowing that Kitty’s present ease of mind must be the result of having successfully sent that cousin on an errand of highly impertinent meddling into the happiness of her sister, came very near being cross with her, and took up Pilgrim’s Progress with discontented hands, ready to read the reflections of Mrs. Bat’s Eyes in tones of suitable acrimony.
Kitty listened to her courteously for a time, but at length, at Ann’s pausing to make some comment on the recitation of Mr. Greatheart, Kitty turned her head on the pillow to look at her companion more directly, and said, “That is like you, Ann. You are always eager to help, at whatever cost to yourself, and never seem to grow impatient with us, no matter how tiresomely we may behave.”
As Ann had shortly before been entertaining some very impatient and querulous thoughts indeed, she colored deeply at this undeserved tribute, and could produce no other response than an almost involuntary, “Oh, no!”
Friendship and Folly: The Merriweather Chronicles Book I Page 36