CHAPTER XXXIX
What the World Says about Blood
"Beatrice," said Frank, rushing suddenly into his sister's room, "Iwant you to do me one especial favour." This was three or four daysafter Frank had seen Mary Thorne. Since that time he had spoken tonone of his family on the subject; but he was only postponing fromday to day the task of telling his father. He had now completed hisround of visits to the kennel, master huntsman, and stables of thecounty hunt, and was at liberty to attend to his own affairs. So hehad decided on speaking to the squire that very day; but he firstmade his request to his sister.
"I want you to do me one especial favour." The day for Beatrice'smarriage had now been fixed, and it was not to be very distant.Mr Oriel had urged that their honeymoon trip would lose half itsdelights if they did not take advantage of the fine weather; andBeatrice had nothing to allege in answer. The day had just beenfixed, and when Frank ran into her room with his special request,she was not in a humour to refuse him anything.
"If you wish me to be at your wedding, you must do it," said he.
"Wish you to be there! You must be there, of course. Oh, Frank! whatdo you mean? I'll do anything you ask; if it is not to go to themoon, or anything of that sort."
Frank was too much in earnest to joke. "You must have Mary for one ofyour bridesmaids," he said. "Now, mind; there may be some difficulty,but you must insist on it. I know what has been going on but it isnot to be borne that she should be excluded on such a day as that.You that have been like sisters all your lives till a year ago!"
"But, Frank--"
"Now, Beatrice, don't have any buts; say that you will do it, and itwill be done: I am sure Oriel will approve, and so will my father."
"But, Frank, you won't hear me."
"Not if you make objections; I have set my heart on your doing it."
"But I had set my heart on the same thing."
"Well?"
"And I went to Mary on purpose; and told her just as you tell me now,that she must come. I meant to make mamma understand that I could notbe happy unless it were so; but Mary positively refused."
"Refused! What did she say?"
"I could not tell you what she said; indeed, it would not be right ifI could; but she positively declined. She seemed to feel, that afterall that had happened, she never could come to Greshamsbury again."
"Fiddlestick!"
"But, Frank, those are her feelings; and, to tell the truth, I couldnot combat them. I know she is not happy; but time will cure that.And, to tell you the truth, Frank--"
"It was before I came back that you asked her, was it not?"
"Yes; just the day before you came, I think."
"Well, it's all altered now. I have seen her since that."
"Have you Frank?"
"What do you take me for? Of course, I have. The very first day Iwent to her. And now, Beatrice, you may believe me or not, as youlike; but if I ever marry, I shall marry Mary Thorne; and if ever shemarries, I think I may say, she will marry me. At any rate, I haveher promise. And now, you cannot be surprised that I should wishher to be at your wedding; or that I should declare, that if she isabsent, I will be absent. I don't want any secrets, and you may tellmy mother if you like it--and all the de Courcys too, for anything Icare."
Frank had ever been used to command his sisters: and they, especiallyBeatrice, had ever been used to obey. On this occasion, she was wellinclined to do so, if she only knew how. She again remembered howMary had once sworn to be at her wedding, to be near her, and totouch her--even though all the blood of the de Courcys should becrowded before the altar railings.
"I should be so happy that she should be there; but what am I to do,Frank, if she refuses? I have asked her, and she has refused."
"Go to her again; you need not have any scruples with her. Donot I tell you she will be your sister? Not come here again toGreshamsbury! Why, I tell you that she will be living here while youare living there at the parsonage, for years and years to come."
Beatrice promised that she would go to Mary again, and that she wouldendeavour to talk her mother over if Mary would consent to come. Butshe could not yet make herself believe that Mary Thorne would everbe mistress of Greshamsbury. It was so indispensably necessary thatFrank should marry money! Besides, what were those horrid rumourswhich were now becoming rife as to Mary's birth; rumours more horridthan any which had yet been heard?
Augusta had said hardly more than the truth when she spoke of herfather being broken-hearted by his debts. His troubles were becomingalmost too many for him; and Mr Gazebee, though no doubt he was anexcellent man of business, did not seem to lessen them. Mr Gazebee,indeed, was continually pointing out how much he owed, and in whata quagmire of difficulties he had entangled himself. Now, to do MrYates Umbleby justice, he had never made himself disagreeable in thismanner.
Mr Gazebee had been doubtless right, when he declared that Sir LouisScatcherd had not himself the power to take any steps hostile to thesquire; but Sir Louis had also been right, when he boasted that,in spite of his father's will, he could cause others to move inthe matter. Others did move, and were moving, and it began to beunderstood that a moiety, at least, of the remaining Greshamsburyproperty must be sold. Even this, however, would by no means leavethe squire in undisturbed possession of the other moiety. And thus,Mr Gresham was nearly broken-hearted.
Frank had now been at home a week, and his father had not as yetspoken to him about the family troubles; nor had a word as yet beensaid between them as to Mary Thorne. It had been agreed that Frankshould go away for twelve months, in order that he might forget her.He had been away the twelvemonth, and had now returned, not havingforgotten her.
It generally happens, that in every household, one subject ofimportance occupies it at a time. The subject of importance nowmostly thought of in the Greshamsbury household, was the marriage ofBeatrice. Lady Arabella had to supply the trousseau for her daughter;the squire had to supply the money for the trousseau; Mr Gazebee hadthe task of obtaining the money for the squire. While this was goingon, Mr Gresham was not anxious to talk to his son, either about hisown debts or his son's love. There would be time for these thingswhen the marriage-feast should be over.
So thought the father, but the matter was precipitated by Frank. Healso had put off the declaration which he had to make, partly froma wish to spare the squire, but partly also with a view to sparehimself. We have all some of that cowardice which induces us topostpone an inevitably evil day. At this time the discussions asto Beatrice's wedding were frequent in the house, and at one ofthem Frank had heard his mother repeat the names of the proposedbridesmaids. Mary's name was not among them, and hence had arisen hisattack on his sister.
Lady Arabella had had her reason for naming the list before her sonbut she overshot her mark. She wished to show him how totally Marywas forgotten at Greshamsbury; but she only inspired him with aresolve that she should not be forgotten. He accordingly went to hissister; and then, the subject being full on his mind, he resolved atonce to discuss it with his father.
"Sir, are you at leisure for five minutes?" he said, entering theroom in which the squire was accustomed to sit majestically, toreceive his tenants, scold his dependants, and in which, in formerhappy days, he had always arranged the meets of the Barsetshire hunt.
Mr Gresham was quite at leisure: when was he not so? But had he beenimmersed in the deepest business of which he was capable, he wouldgladly have put it aside at his son's instance.
"I don't like to have any secret from you, sir," said Frank; "nor,for the matter of that, from anybody else"--the anybody else wasintended to have reference to his mother--"and, therefore, I wouldrather tell you at once what I have made up my mind to do."
Frank's address was very abrupt, and he felt it was so. He was ratherred in the face, and his manner was fluttered. He had quite made uphis mind to break the whole affair to his father; but he had hardlymade up his mind as to the best mode of doing so.
"Good heavens, Frank!
what do you mean? you are not going to doanything rash? What is it you mean, Frank?"
"I don't think it is rash," said Frank.
"Sit down, my boy; sit down. What is it that you say you are going todo?"
"Nothing immediately, sir," said he, rather abashed; "but as I havemade up my mind about Mary Thorne,--quite made up my mind, I think itright to tell you."
"Oh, about Mary," said the squire, almost relieved.
And then Frank, in voluble language, which he hardly, however, hadquite under his command, told his father all that had passed betweenhim and Mary. "You see, sir," said he, "that it is fixed now, andcannot be altered. Nor must it be altered. You asked me to go awayfor twelve months, and I have done so. It has made no difference, yousee. As to our means of living, I am quite willing to do anythingthat may be best and most prudent. I was thinking, sir, of taking afarm somewhere near here, and living on that."
The squire sat quite silent for some moments after this communicationhad been made to him. Frank's conduct, as a son, had been such thathe could not find fault with it; and, in this special matter of hislove, how was it possible for him to find fault? He himself wasalmost as fond of Mary as of a daughter; and, though he too wouldhave been desirous that his son should relieve the estate from itsembarrassments by a rich marriage, he did not at all share LadyArabella's feelings on the subject. No Countess de Courcy had everengraved it on the tablets of his mind that the world would come toruin if Frank did not marry money. Ruin there was, and would be, butit had been brought about by no sin of Frank's.
"Do you remember about her birth, Frank?" he said, at last.
"Yes, sir; everything. She told me all she knew; and Dr Thornefinished the story."
"And what do you think of it?"
"It is a pity, and a misfortune. It might, perhaps, have been areason why you or my mother should not have had Mary in the housemany years ago; but it cannot make any difference now."
Frank had not meant to lean so heavily on his father; but he did doso. The story had never been told to Lady Arabella; was not evenknown to her now, positively, and on good authority. But Mr Greshamhad always known it. If Mary's birth was so great a stain upon her,why had he brought her into his house among his children?
"It is a misfortune, Frank; a very great misfortune. It will notdo for you and me to ignore birth; too much of the value of one'sposition depends upon it."
"But what was Mr Moffat's birth?" said Frank, almost with scorn; "orwhat Miss Dunstable's?" he would have added, had it not been that hisfather had not been concerned in that sin of wedding him to the oilof Lebanon.
"True, Frank. But yet, what you would mean to say is not true. Wemust take the world as we find it. Were you to marry a rich heiress,were her birth even as low as that of poor Mary--"
"Don't call her poor Mary, father; she is not poor. My wife will havea right to take rank in the world, however she was born."
"Well,--poor in that way. But were she an heiress, the world wouldforgive her birth on account of her wealth."
"The world is very complaisant, sir."
"You must take it as you find it, Frank. I only say that such is thefact. If Porlock were to marry the daughter of a shoeblack, without afarthing, he would make a _mesalliance_; but if the daughter of theshoeblack had half a million of money, nobody would dream of sayingso. I am stating no opinion of my own: I am only giving you theworld's opinion."
"I don't give a straw for the world."
"That is a mistake, my boy; you do care for it, and would be veryfoolish if you did not. What you mean is, that, on this particularpoint, you value your love more than the world's opinion."
"Well, yes, that is what I mean."
But the squire, though he had been very lucid in his definition, hadgot no nearer to his object; had not even yet ascertained what hisown object was. This marriage would be ruinous to Greshamsbury; andyet, what was he to say against it, seeing that the ruin had beenhis fault, and not his son's?
"You could let me have a farm; could you not, sir? I was thinkingof about six or seven hundred acres. I suppose it could be managedsomehow?"
"A farm?" said the father, abstractedly.
"Yes, sir. I must do something for my living. I should make less ofa mess of that than of anything else. Besides, it would take such atime to be an attorney, or a doctor, or anything of that sort."
Do something for his living! And was the heir of Greshamsbury come tothis--the heir and only son? Whereas, he, the squire, had succeededat an earlier age than Frank's to an unembarrassed income of fourteenthousand pounds a year! The reflection was very hard to bear.
"Yes: I dare say you could have a farm:" and then he threw himselfback in his chair, closing his eyes. Then, after a while, rose again,and walked hurriedly about the room. "Frank," he said, at last,standing opposite to his son, "I wonder what you think of me?"
"Think of you, sir?" ejaculated Frank.
"Yes; what do you think of me, for having thus ruined you. I wonderwhether you hate me?"
Frank, jumping up from his chair, threw his arms round his father'sneck. "Hate you, sir? How can you speak so cruelly? You know wellthat I love you. And, father, do not trouble yourself about theestate for my sake. I do not care for it; I can be just as happywithout it. Let the girls have what is left, and I will make my ownway in the world, somehow. I will go to Australia; yes, sir, thatwill be best. I and Mary will both go. Nobody will care about herbirth there. But, father, never say, never think, that I do not loveyou!"
The squire was too much moved to speak at once, so he sat down again,and covered his face with his hands. Frank went on pacing the room,till, gradually, his first idea recovered possession of his mind, andthe remembrance of his father's grief faded away. "May I tell Mary,"he said at last, "that you consent to our marriage? It will make herso happy."
But the squire was not prepared to say this. He was pledged to hiswife to do all that he could to oppose it; and he himself thought,that if anything could consummate the family ruin, it would be thismarriage.
"I cannot say that, Frank; I cannot say that. What would you bothlive on? It would be madness."
"We would go to Australia," answered he, bitterly. "I have just saidso."
"Oh, no, my boy; you cannot do that. You must not throw the old placeup altogether. There is no other one but you, Frank; and we havelived here now for so many, many years."
"But if we cannot live here any longer, father?"
"But for this scheme of yours, we might do so. I will give upeverything to you, the management of the estate, the park, all theland we have in hand, if you will give up this fatal scheme. For,Frank, it is fatal. You are only twenty-three; why should you be insuch a hurry to marry?"
"You married at twenty-one, sir."
Frank was again severe on his father, but unwittingly. "Yes, I did,"said Mr Gresham; "and see what has come of it! Had I waited ten yearslonger, how different would everything have been! No, Frank, I cannotconsent to such a marriage; nor will your mother."
"It is your consent I ask, sir; and I am asking for nothing but yourconsent."
"It would be sheer madness; madness for you both. My own Frank, mydear, dear boy, do not drive me to distraction! Give it up for fouryears."
"Four years!"
"Yes; for four years. I ask it as a personal favour; as an obligationto myself, in order that we may be saved from ruin; you, your mother,and sisters, your family name, and the old house. I do not talk aboutmyself; but were such a marriage to take place, I should be driven todespair."
Frank found it very hard to resist his father, who now had hold ofhis hand and arm, and was thus half retaining him, and half embracinghim. "Frank, say that you will forget this for four years--say forthree years."
But Frank would not say so. To postpone his marriage for four years,or for three, seemed to him to be tantamount to giving up Maryaltogether; and he would not acknowledge that any one had the rightto demand of him to do that.
"My word is pledged,
sir," he said.
"Pledged! Pledged to whom?"
"To Miss Thorne."
"But I will see her, Frank;--and her uncle. She was alwaysreasonable. I am sure she will not wish to bring ruin on her oldfriends at Greshamsbury."
"Her old friends at Greshamsbury have done but little lately todeserve her consideration. She has been treated shamefully. I knowit has not been by you, sir; but I must say so. She has already beentreated shamefully; but I will not treat her falsely."
"Well, Frank, I can say no more to you. I have destroyed the estatewhich should have been yours, and I have no right to expect youshould regard what I say."
Frank was greatly distressed. He had not any feeling of animosityagainst his father with reference to the property, and would havedone anything to make the squire understand this, short of giving uphis engagement to Mary. His feeling rather was, that, as each had acase against the other, they should cry quits; that he should forgivehis father for his bad management, on condition that he himself wasto be forgiven with regard to his determined marriage. Not that heput it exactly in that shape, even to himself; but could he haveunravelled his own thoughts, he would have found that such was theweb on which they were based.
"Father, I do regard what you say; but you would not have me befalse. Had you doubled the property instead of lessening it, I couldnot regard what you say any more."
"I should be able to speak in a very different tone; I feel that,Frank."
"Do not feel it any more, sir; say what you wish, as you would havesaid it under any other circumstances; and pray believe this, theidea never occurs to me, that I have ground of complaint as regardsthe property; never. Whatever troubles we may have, do not let thattrouble you."
Soon after this Frank left him. What more was there that could besaid between them? They could not be of one accord; but even yet itmight not be necessary that they should quarrel. He went out, androamed by himself through the grounds, rather more in meditation thanwas his wont.
If he did marry, how was he to live? He talked of a profession buthad he meant to do as others do, who make their way in professions,he should have thought of that a year or two ago!--or, rather, havedone more than think of it. He spoke also of a farm, but even thatcould not be had in a moment; nor, if it could, would it produce aliving. Where was his capital? Where his skill? and he might haveasked also, where the industry so necessary for such a trade? Hemight set his father at defiance, and if Mary were equally headstrongwith himself, he might marry her. But, what then?
As he walked slowly about, cutting off the daisies with his stick, hemet Mr Oriel, going up to the house, as was now his custom, to dinethere and spend the evening, close to Beatrice.
"How I envy you, Oriel!" he said. "What would I not give to have sucha position in the world as yours!"
"Thou shalt not covet a man's house, nor his wife," said Mr Oriel;"perhaps it ought to have been added, nor his position."
"It wouldn't have made much difference. When a man is tempted, theCommandments, I believe, do not go for much."
"Do they not, Frank? That's a dangerous doctrine; and one which, ifyou had my position, you would hardly admit. But what makes you somuch out of sorts? Your own position is generally considered aboutthe best which the world has to give."
"Is it? Then let me tell you that the world has very little to give.What can I do? Where can I turn? Oriel, if there be an empty, lyinghumbug in the world, it is the theory of high birth and pure bloodwhich some of us endeavour to maintain. Blood, indeed! If my fatherhad been a baker, I should know by this time where to look for mylivelihood. As it is, I am told of nothing but my blood. Will myblood ever get me half a crown?"
And then the young democrat walked on again in solitude, leaving MrOriel in doubt as to the exact line of argument which he had meant toinculcate.
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