The Lucases of Lucas Lodge

by Clara Benson

  He now saw that Sir William was expecting an answer, and made a show of hesitation.

  ‘I beg you will excuse me from answering your question, Sir William,’ he said at last, ‘and not for any lack of respect towards yourself—oh, no, on the contrary, I make a point of being guided by your example on every occasion. However, it would be ungentlemanlike of me to speak plainly on the subject to which you allude without your first having ascertained from your daughter whether such an action would be welcome to her.’

  He was rather pleased with his reply, since it committed him to nothing and at the same time hinted strongly that the story was true.

  ‘I have not yet spoken to Maria,’ said Sir William, ‘since I did not wish to expose her to embarrassment if it were to prove that the rumour had no basis in fact. I shall do so as soon as possible, however. I applaud your delicacy, Mr. Thripp, and wish that you might always remain so discreet, at least until everything is out in the open and there is no longer any need to maintain secrecy—as a parent, you understand, I would wish it. I will speak to Maria at once. I should not be at all surprised to find that she has kept quiet out of delicacy, for she is a modest girl and not the sort to presume upon her feelings being returned without receiving confirmation of it from persons of clearer sight and judgment than herself.’

  Mr. Thripp assured Sir William that he would say nothing until things had been brought to a conclusion, and the two men parted—Mr. Thripp to consider the new possibility which now lay before him, and to try and begin to think of Maria with affection, since he had evidently and unknowingly inspired such an affection in her, and Sir William happy in the knowledge that he and Mr. Thripp had reached a perfect understanding, and that he might soon be able to boast of having disposed of two daughters to advantage.

  NINE

  On the very same morning on which Sir William confronted Mr. Thripp about his intentions with regard to Maria, Miss Lucas herself went out to walk, and on her way back accidentally encountered Thomas Fairhead in the lane from which he had rescued her only a few days before. The waters were now much subsided, and the road was quite passable, but still he shook his head when he saw her, and chided her with good humour for venturing forth after her misadventure of the other day. He could not think of letting her go on alone, he said, for who knew whether another dangerous puddle might not lie ahead?—and it were as well that he be there to prevent her from becoming stranded once again. Miss Lucas made no objection, and they walked together as far as Lucas Lodge, whereupon they parted and Maria went indoors in a state of some happy agitation. She entered the drawing-room, and there found her mother and father sitting apparently engaged in serious discussion.

  ‘Ah, Maria,’ said Sir William. ‘I am glad you are come back, for your mother and I have something about which we would speak to you. Who was that person with whom I saw you just now?’

  ‘Mr. Thomas Fairhead,’ replied Maria. ‘He was kind enough to walk with me some of the way home, for he said it was too muddy for me to be out alone.’

  ‘He was quite right,’ said Lady Lucas. ‘I have told you before, Maria, about your foolish insistence upon going out in all weathers, and you see, Mr. Fairhead agrees with me.’

  Maria was about to reply when Sir William said:

  ‘It is not to be expected that a young girl will have the sense of her mother, Lady Lucas. However, we might hope that when she has gained a little more knowledge and experience of the world, Maria will become quite as wise as you and I. Think, my dear, how far off that day seemed, only yesterday! And yet circumstances can change in practically an instant, as we have now discovered.’

  Here Sir William and Lady Lucas both directed a significant glance at Maria, who knew not what to say in reply.

  ‘Has something happened?’ she said.

  ‘Indeed it has,’ replied Sir William, ‘and I believe you can guess what it is. I have been speaking with a certain gentleman—one with whom you yourself have been in company very recently—who informed me most honestly and openly of his affection and intentions with regard to yourself. Do not fear, Maria; I shall not embarrass you by mentioning his name directly—only let me say that it is certainly well known to you, and that you need have no concern that Lady Lucas and I disapprove of the match in any way. On the contrary, although the news has come as a surprise to us both, we are far from inclined to forbid it, since you must be aware that offers of this sort do not come along every day, and the gentleman in question is of excellent fortune and standing in the neighbourhood. Naturally, our fondness for you will prevent either of us from attempting to persuade you against your will, or insisting you accept his hand before you are quite ready. Courtship must move at its own pace, and we would not wish you to marry a man unless you are quite certain in your mind that you are ready to do so—although I am also certain that you will remember what is due to your family, and behave accordingly.’

  Maria coloured and stared in astonishment and confusion, first at one parent, then another, for her first thought was that it was a joke—although they were not the sort to laugh at people in this way, and indeed, their expressions quickly told her that they were perfectly serious. To which gentleman was Sir William referring? Maria knew not what to think, for she could remember receiving no pointed attentions from anyone—unless, of course, by his allusion to a gentleman with whom she had also been in company recently, her father was referring to Thomas Fairhead himself. But she had met Mr. Fairhead for the first time only a few days earlier, and while she could not deny that she found him very agreeable and that he had seemed to like her, she had not the self-assurance to believe for an instant that he had fallen immediately in love with her and was already asking her father for her hand in marriage. From what she had seen of him, she was sure he would have had the good manners to speak about it to her first. And yet, who else could it be? Nobody else had shown the slightest sign of admiration. Maria saw that a reply was expected of her, but her astonishment and uncertainty were such that she, too, felt unequal to mentioning the gentleman in question by name.

  ‘I am a little surprised, sir,’ she began in some embarrassment. ‘I had no idea that he had advanced so far in his affections as to speak to you about it—for he has certainly said nothing to me.’

  ‘That is like your modesty,’ said Sir William, ‘and I am happy for it. But no-one, on seeing the two of you dancing together last night, could have failed to perceive his attentions, for they were quite marked.’

  Maria thought about her dance with Thomas Fairhead. Had he, then, paid her attentions? His manner had been friendly and obliging, but she could not in all honesty say that she had noticed anything beyond general complaisance. But if her father had noticed it, and if things had got so far as for Mr. Fairhead to speak to him about it, then she could only suppose that everyone else was right, and that she herself had been particularly unobservant. The idea made her uncomfortable, and she knew not how to look.

  Sir William waved his hand at the sight of her confusion.

  ‘Do not discompose yourself,’ he said. ‘Far be it from me to inquire into all those little glances and gestures which demonstrate a gentleman’s feelings, and which are so pleasing to the object of his affections. I do not demand that you tell me everything of what has happened—and I dare say there have been many accidental meetings in the lane about which we know nothing—but if he has not spoken, I am certain that his feelings are not unknown to you, for I understand that ladies are generally very quick to see these things. I shall not press you, however, for some things are better left unsaid, and I am quite sure your conduct when in his company is everything that is respectful and unassuming—no, I have no fear on that head. You are a good girl, Maria, and I know that once you are settled you will be every bit as happy and respectable as your sister Charlotte. Very well; let us say no more on the subject until you wish it. Let it be understood, however, that there can be no objection from your own family—nor, I dare say, from his.’

&n
bsp; Maria assented silently, but her thoughts were confused. Sir William’s remark about accidental meetings in the lane, which he had made in quite a general way, had confirmed in her mind that he must be referring to Mr. Thomas Fairhead, and she felt a little flutter as she thought of it, for to be sure he was very agreeable. But however hard she tried, she could not remember having seen any sign of what was seemingly so obvious to everybody else, and so she resolved that until he spoke for himself, she should make every effort not to appear conscious in his company. She longed to retire to her own room to think in peace about this extraordinary development, but at that moment the younger boys ran in and she was forced to turn her attention to them for the rest of the morning, and it was long before she found the opportunity to escape and reflect on the matter.

  TEN

  Had Miss King known of the conversations which had resulted from her false information, she might have considered the game already won, for she had never dreamed of its having such a happy outcome. However, she knew nothing of it, and since she was capable of great industry whenever she saw a potential benefit to herself, she decided to lose no time in heightening the advantage she had already gained. Accordingly, the morning after the ball, she set out to Netherfield Park to call on Louisa Fairhead, for there had been a half-promise to spend the morning together, which Mary chose to interpret as a definite arrangement. Miss Fairhead was at home, and by no means reluctant to admit her new friend, and the two ladies greeted each other with pleasure, for there was much to talk over, and the ball had afforded many opportunities to compare opinions on new and old acquaintance, and on all the little encounters and events which had occurred the evening before.

  ‘I suppose the gentlemen are gone out,’ said Mary with apparent carelessness, shortly after she arrived.

  ‘Yes,’ replied Miss Fairhead. ‘Or, rather, my brother is out with his dog. Mr. Sands departed for Weybridge this morning.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Mary. ‘I understood he was to remain with you some days.’

  ‘I believe he was called home on some urgent business,’ said Miss Fairhead, and then seemed inclined to dismiss the subject, for it was impossible to talk truthfully of Mr. Sands without appearing to cast aspersions on her brother’s wisdom in his choice of friends.

  They sat for a while, then Mary, looking out of the window, said:

  ‘How bright a day it is! I am not one of those who must be out of doors all the time, but it is excessively pleasant outside today, and not cold at all for the time of year. What say you to a walk, Miss Fairhead?’

  Miss Fairhead agreed immediately, and they set forth.

  ‘Now, which way shall we go?’ said Mary. ‘This path seems a little less dirty than the others. How funny if we should meet your brother! I suppose you do not walk together often. I have frequently found that men like to take their long walks across muddy fields and over ditches.’

  ‘That is by no means always the case,’ said Louisa. ‘Tom is very kind and often walks with me if I ask him, although I do not suppose we will see him today, for he said something about walking in the direction of Lucas Lodge, as he has heard much about the beauties of the countryside thereabouts.’

  Mary was disappointed, but said nothing, and the two ladies set off in the direction of Meryton. On the way they happened to meet Mr. Thripp, who greeted them but had business to attend to and soon passed on. After he had departed, Miss Fairhead observed that he had seemed to enjoy the assembly.

  ‘One does not often see a clergyman take such pleasure in dancing,’ she said. ‘I wonder he has enough breath for it at his age, for he is not a young man.’

  ‘No,’ said Mary, ‘but he had a particular reason for enjoyment, in the form of my friend Maria. Perhaps you have not heard, but we expect them to be shortly engaged.’

  ‘Indeed?’ said Miss Fairhead in surprise. ‘I confess I did not notice anything of intimacy between them—but I expect I was not attending closely, for everyone was so new to me that it would have been beyond my power to observe everything that happened. And do her parents approve? He is rather older than she.’

  ‘I believe the Lucases have no objection,’ replied Mary. ‘They have little fortune to give her, and they cannot but feel the danger of her remaining forever unmarried, for she is almost five and twenty. Indeed, the whole neighbourhood wishes it, and I have no doubt that all will be brought to a satisfactory conclusion as soon as may be.’

  In fact, Miss King had herself begun to think that a marriage between Miss Lucas and Mr. Thripp might be a very good idea. What had begun as a convenient lie to benefit herself, now struck her as a scheme which perhaps would prove to be a good thing for Maria, could it be concluded successfully. She did not suppose it was within her power to force a marriage between two people who had no affection for one another, but Maria was a soft-hearted girl and might be worked on easily enough, while Mr. Thripp must surely be in want of a wife. Mary made no plans, but resolved to take any opportunity she could to forward the match. It would be pleasant to be able to take the credit for a wedding—and, moreover, would reflect well on her own heart in the eyes of others, for who could doubt but that she wanted only the best for her friend?

  Occupied in these happy reflections, Mary walked in silence for some way, until Miss Fairhead laughed at her inattention. At that, Mary awoke from her reverie and remembered what she was about. They were just then entering Meryton, and Miss Fairhead, looking about her, said:

  ‘Why, there is Tom!’

  Miss King had no time for more than an exclamation of surprise and pleasure, before they were joined by Thomas Fairhead and his dog.

  ‘I thought you intended to walk towards Lucas Lodge,’ said Miss Fairhead.

  ‘So I did,’ said Thomas. ‘And now I am turning back. Suppose we walk together.’

  ‘But we are just arrived,’ said Miss Fairhead.

  Miss King here owned that she was rather fatigued after the walk, which had been farther than she thought, and would not object to returning to Netherfield Park immediately, and so Miss Fairhead had no choice but to comply with Mary’s wishes out of common politeness, and turn back. Thomas Fairhead offered each lady an arm and the three set off.

  ‘Miss King has been instructing me in the news of the neighbourhood,’ said Louisa.

  ‘And I believe I know what that means,’ said her brother good-naturedly. ‘It is always so with the ladies. You have been marrying people off—is not that so, Miss King?’

  Mary laughed.

  ‘I am afraid you have caught us out, Mr. Fairhead,’ she said. ‘For what else have we to do but arrange the affairs of our acquaintance?’

  ‘And who is your victim today?’

  ‘I might quarrel with your choice of word,’ said Mary with an arch smile. ‘There can be no victims in the case—only willing participants. And I believe you know very well about whom we speak, for did not I mention it the other night at the assembly while we were dancing?’

  ‘You mean Miss Lucas and Mr. Thripp, I suppose,’ said Mr. Fairhead.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mary. ‘The very same. It will be a most suitable match for her, for her father has but little, you know, and the Lucas girls are all wild about the church. I dare say you remember, Miss Fairhead, what I told you about her elder sister’s marriage to Mr. Collins. The family has done so well out of that profession that it should not surprise me in the slightest to hear that Sir William means for his second daughter to marry into the church too.’

  ‘Then she has not already accepted him?’ said Mr. Fairhead. ‘I understood you were merely waiting for the announcement.’

  ‘Oh!’ said Mary. ‘Maria has not confided in me about it, which in itself tells me there must be something in it, for she is one of my intimate friends, and if she is too modest to tell even me of it, then you may be certain that there is something of great importance to tell. I dare say Sir William has instructed all parties to keep it a secret for the present, but I am sure it is a mere matter of form.’<
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  ‘Pardon me,’ said Louisa Fairhead, laughing, ‘but this certainty of yours seems to hang upon very little. If silence from all parties on a subject means that something is perforce true, might not we deduce from it, for example, that Mrs. Long is intending to travel to China? For to be sure she has said nothing of it.’

  ‘How droll you are! I am sure Mrs. Long has no intention of travelling to China. Laugh at me if you will, Miss Fairhead, but I will not be shaken in my conviction that we shall shortly hear something of great advantage to Maria—and I shall be the gladdest of all to hear it, for she is a good-hearted creature and I should like to see her happy above all things.’

  So the three proceeded on their way towards Netherfield, and Thomas Fairhead was left to reflect in silence on what he had heard, for his sister and Miss King had begun to talk of other things and were now conversing with a degree of wit which he had no hope of matching. He had set out for Lucas Lodge with a half-formed hope—not even admitted to himself—that he might see Miss Lucas while he was out, for at the assembly he had found her company engaging and her conversation undemanding, but there was no-one about and at length he had turned back. He had listened to Miss King’s speech about Maria and Mr. Thripp with interest and wondered whether the engagement was quite as certain as Miss King seemed to think, but easy-tempered as he was, he supposed that all things would turn out for the best, and did not mean to discompose himself about it.