The Way We Live Now

by Anthony Trollope

  CHAPTER XXI.

  EVERYBODY GOES TO THEM.

  When the Melmottes went from Caversham the house was very desolate.The task of entertaining these people was indeed over, and had thereturn to London been fixed for a certain near day, there would havebeen comfort at any rate among the ladies of the family. But thiswas so far from being the case that the Thursday and Friday passedwithout anything being settled, and dreadful fears began to fillthe minds of Lady Pomona and Sophia Longestaffe. Georgiana was alsoimpatient, but she asserted boldly that treachery, such as that whichher mother and sister contemplated, was impossible. Their father, shethought, would not dare to propose it. On each of these days,--threeor four times daily,--hints were given and questions were asked, butwithout avail. Mr. Longestaffe would not consent to have a day fixedtill he had received some particular letter, and would not evenlisten to the suggestion of a day. "I suppose we can go at any rateon Tuesday," Georgiana said on the Friday evening. "I don't know whyyou should suppose anything of the kind," the father replied. PoorLady Pomona was urged by her daughters to compel him to name a day;but Lady Pomona was less audacious in urging the request than heryounger child, and at the same time less anxious for its completion.On the Sunday morning before they went to church there was a greatdiscussion up-stairs. The Bishop of Elmham was going to preachat Caversham church, and the three ladies were dressed in theirbest London bonnets. They were in their mother's room, having justcompleted the arrangements of their church-going toilet. It wassupposed that the expected letter had arrived. Mr. Longestaffe hadcertainly received a dispatch from his lawyer, but had not as yetvouchsafed any reference to its contents. He had been more thanordinarily silent at breakfast, and,--so Sophia asserted,--moredisagreeable than ever. The question had now arisen especially inreference to their bonnets. "You might as well wear them," said LadyPomona, "for I am sure you will not be in London again this year."

  "You don't mean it, mamma," said Sophia.

  "I do, my dear. He looked like it when he put those papers back intohis pocket. I know what his face means so well."

  "It is not possible," said Sophia. "He promised, and he got us tohave those horrid people because he promised."

  "Well, my dear, if your father says that we can't go back, I supposewe must take his word for it. It is he must decide of course. What hemeant I suppose was, that he would take us back if he could."

  "Mamma!" shouted Georgiana. Was there to be treachery not only on thepart of their natural adversary, who, adversary though he was, hadbound himself to terms by a treaty, but treachery also in their owncamp!

  "My dear, what can we do?" said Lady Pomona.

  "Do!" Georgiana was now going to speak out plainly. "Make himunderstand that we are not going to be sat upon like that. I'll dosomething, if that's going to be the way of it. If he treats me likethat I'll run off with the first man that will take me, let him bewho it may."

  "Don't talk like that, Georgiana, unless you wish to kill me."

  "I'll break his heart for him. He does not care about us,--not theleast,--whether we are happy or miserable; but he cares very muchabout the family name. I'll tell him that I'm not going to be aslave. I'll marry a London tradesman before I'll stay down here." Theyounger Miss Longestaffe was lost in passion at the prospect beforeher.

  "Oh, Georgey, don't say such horrid things as that," pleaded hersister.

  "It's all very well for you, Sophy. You've got George Whitstable."

  "I haven't got George Whitstable."

  "Yes, you have, and your fish is fried. Dolly does just what hepleases, and spends money as fast as he likes. Of course it makes nodifference to you, mamma, where you are."

  "You are very unjust," said Lady Pomona, wailing, "and you say horridthings."

  "I ain't unjust at all. It doesn't matter to you. And Sophy is thesame as settled. But I'm to be sacrificed! How am I to see anybodydown here in this horrid hole? Papa promised and he must keep hisword."

  Then there came to them a loud voice calling to them from the hall."Are any of you coming to church, or are you going to keep thecarriage waiting all day?" Of course they were all going to church.They always did go to church when they were at Caversham; and wouldmore especially do so to-day, because of the bishop and because ofthe bonnets. They trooped down into the hall and into the carriage,Lady Pomona leading the way. Georgiana stalked along, passing herfather at the front door without condescending to look at him. Nota word was spoken on the way to church, or on the way home. Duringthe service Mr. Longestaffe stood up in the corner of his pew, andrepeated the responses in a loud voice. In performing this duty hehad been an example to the parish all his life. The three ladiesknelt on their hassocks in the most becoming fashion, and sat duringthe sermon without the slightest sign either of weariness or ofattention. They did not collect the meaning of any one combination ofsentences. It was nothing to them whether the bishop had or had nota meaning. Endurance of that kind was their strength. Had the bishoppreached for forty-five minutes instead of half an hour they wouldnot have complained. It was the same kind of endurance which enabledGeorgiana to go on from year to year waiting for a husband of theproper sort. She could put up with any amount of tedium if only thefair chance of obtaining ultimate relief were not denied to her. Butto be kept at Caversham all the summer would be as bad as hearing abishop preach for ever! After the service they came back to lunch,and that meal also was eaten in silence. When it was over the headof the family put himself into the dining-room arm-chair, evidentlymeaning to be left alone there. In that case he would have meditatedupon his troubles till he went to sleep, and would have thus gotthrough the afternoon with comfort. But this was denied to him. Thetwo daughters remained steadfast while the things were being removed;and Lady Pomona, though she made one attempt to leave the room,returned when she found that her daughters would not follow her.Georgiana had told her sister that she meant to "have it out"with her father, and Sophia had of course remained in the roomin obedience to her sister's behest. When the last tray had beentaken out, Georgiana began. "Papa, don't you think you could settlenow when we are to go back to town? Of course we want to knowabout engagements and all that. There is Lady Monogram's party onWednesday. We promised to be there ever so long ago."

  "You had better write to Lady Monogram and say you can't keep yourengagement."

  "But why not, papa? We could go up on Wednesday morning."

  "You can't do anything of the kind."

  "But, my dear, we should all like to have a day fixed," said LadyPomona. Then there was a pause. Even Georgiana, in her present stateof mind, would have accepted some distant, even some undefined time,as a compromise.

  "Then you can't have a day fixed," said Mr. Longestaffe.

  "How long do you suppose that we shall be kept here?" said Sophia, ina low constrained voice.

  "I do not know what you mean by being kept here. This is your home,and this is where you may make up your minds to live."

  "But we are to go back?" demanded Sophia. Georgiana stood by insilence, listening, resolving, and biding her time.

  "You'll not return to London this season," said Mr. Longestaffe,turning himself abruptly to a newspaper which he held in his hands.

  "Do you mean that that is settled?" said Lady Pomona.

  "I mean to say that that is settled," said Mr. Longestaffe.

  Was there ever treachery like this! The indignation in Georgiana'smind approached almost to virtue as she thought of her father'sfalseness. She would not have left town at all but for that promise.She would not have contaminated herself with the Melmottes butfor that promise. And now she was told that the promise was to beabsolutely broken, when it was no longer possible that she could getback to London,--even to the house of the hated Primeros,--withoutabsolutely running away from her father's residence! "Then, papa,"she said, with affected calmness, "you have simply and withpremeditation broken your word to us."

  "How dare you speak to me in that way, you wicked child!"

  "I am n
ot a child, papa, as you know very well. I am my ownmistress,--by law."

  "Then go and be your own mistress. You dare to tell me, your father,that I have premeditated a falsehood! If you tell me that again, youshall eat your meals in your own room or not eat them in this house."

  "Did you not promise that we should go back if we would come down andentertain these people?"

  "I will not argue with a child, insolent and disobedient as you are.If I have anything to say about it, I will say it to your mother. Itshould be enough for you that I, your father, tell you that you haveto live here. Now go away, and if you choose to be sullen, go and besullen where I shan't see you." Georgiana looked round on her motherand sister and then marched majestically out of the room. She stillmeditated revenge, but she was partly cowed, and did not dare in herfather's presence to go on with her reproaches. She stalked off intothe room in which they generally lived, and there she stood pantingwith anger, breathing indignation through her nostrils.

  She marched majestically out of the room.]

  "And you mean to put up with it, mamma?" she said.

  "What can we do, my dear?"

  "I will do something. I'm not going to be cheated and swindled andhave my life thrown away into the bargain. I have always behavedwell to him. I have never run up bills without saying anything aboutthem." This was a cut at her elder sister, who had once got into somelittle trouble of that kind. "I have never got myself talked aboutwith any body. If there is anything to be done I always do it. I havewritten his letters for him till I have been sick, and when you wereill I never asked him to stay out with us after two or half-past twoat the latest. And now he tells me that I am to eat my meals up in mybedroom because I remind him that he distinctly promised to take usback to London! Did he not promise, mamma?"

  "I understood so, my dear."

  "You know he promised, mamma. If I do anything now he must bear theblame of it. I am not going to keep myself straight for the sake ofthe family, and then be treated in that way."

  "You do that for your own sake, I suppose," said her sister.

  "It is more than you've been able to do for anybody's sake," saidGeorgiana, alluding to a very old affair,--to an ancient flirtation,in the course of which the elder daughter had made a foolish and afutile attempt to run away with an officer of dragoons whose privatefortune was very moderate. Ten years had passed since that, and theaffair was never alluded to except in moments of great bitterness.

  "I've kept myself as straight as you have," said Sophia. "It's easyenough to be straight, when a person never cares for anybody, andnobody cares for a person."

  "My dears, if you quarrel what am I to do?" said their mother.

  "It is I that have to suffer," continued Georgiana. "Does he expectme to find anybody here that I could take? Poor George Whitstable isnot much; but there is nobody else at all."

  "You may have him if you like," said Sophia, with a chuck of herhead.

  "Thank you, my dear, but I shouldn't like it at all. I haven't cometo that quite yet."

  "You were talking of running away with somebody."

  "I shan't run away with George Whitstable; you may be sure of that.I'll tell you what I shall do,--I will write papa a letter. I supposehe'll condescend to read it. If he won't take me up to town himself,he must send me up to the Primeros. What makes me most angry in thewhole thing is that we should have condescended to be civil to theMelmottes down in the country. In London one does those things, butto have them here was terrible!"

  During that entire afternoon nothing more was said. Not a word passedbetween them on any subject beyond those required by the necessitiesof life. Georgiana had been as hard to her sister as to her father,and Sophia in her quiet way resented the affront. She was now almostreconciled to the sojourn in the country, because it inflicted afitting punishment on Georgiana, and the presence of Mr. Whitstableat a distance of not more than ten miles did of course make adifference to herself. Lady Pomona complained of a headache, whichwas always an excuse with her for not speaking;--and Mr. Longestaffewent to sleep. Georgiana during the whole afternoon remained apart,and on the next morning the head of the family found the followingletter on his dressing-table;--

  MY DEAR PAPA,--

  I don't think you ought to be surprised because we feel that our going up to town is so very important to us. If we are not to be in London at this time of the year we can never see anybody, and of course you know what that must mean for me. If this goes on about Sophia, it does not signify for her, and, though mamma likes London, it is not of real importance. But it is very, very hard upon me. It isn't for pleasure that I want to go up. There isn't so very much pleasure in it. But if I'm to be buried down here at Caversham, I might just as well be dead at once. If you choose to give up both houses for a year, or for two years, and take us all abroad, I should not grumble in the least. There are very nice people to be met abroad, and perhaps things go easier that way than in town. And there would be nothing for horses, and we could dress very cheap and wear our old things. I'm sure I don't want to run up bills. But if you would only think what Caversham must be to me, without any one worth thinking about within twenty miles, you would hardly ask me to stay here.

  You certainly did say that if we would come down here with those Melmottes we should be taken back to town, and you cannot be surprised that we should be disappointed when we are told that we are to be kept here after that. It makes me feel that life is so hard that I can't bear it. I see other girls having such chances when I have none, that sometimes I think I don't know what will happen to me.

  This was the nearest approach which she dared to make in writing tothat threat which she had uttered to her mother of running away withsomebody.

  I suppose that now it is useless for me to ask you to take us all back this summer,--though it was promised; but I hope you'll give me money to go up to the Primeros. It would only be me and my maid. Julia Primero asked me to stay with them when you first talked of not going up, and I should not in the least object to reminding her, only it should be done at once. Their house in Queen's Gate is very large, and I know they've a room. They all ride, and I should want a horse; but there would be nothing else, as they have plenty of carriages, and the groom who rides with Julia would do for both of us. Pray answer this at once, papa.

  Your affectionate daughter,

  GEORGIANA LONGESTAFFE.

  Mr. Longestaffe did condescend to read the letter. He, though hehad rebuked his mutinous daughter with stern severity, was also tosome extent afraid of her. At a sudden burst he could stand upon hisauthority, and assume his position with parental dignity; but not theless did he dread the wearing toil of continued domestic strife. Hethought that upon the whole his daughter liked a row in the house. Ifnot, there surely would not be so many rows. He himself thoroughlyhated them. He had not any very lively interest in life. He did notread much; he did not talk much; he was not specially fond of eatingand drinking; he did not gamble, and he did not care for the farm. Tostand about the door and hall and public rooms of the clubs to whichhe belonged and hear other men talk politics or scandal, was whathe liked better than anything else in the world. But he was quitewilling to give this up for the good of his family. He would becontented to drag through long listless days at Caversham, andendeavour to nurse his property, if only his daughter would allow it.By assuming a certain pomp in his living, which had been altogetherunserviceable to himself and family, by besmearing his footmen'sheads, and bewigging his coachmen, by aping, though never achieving,the grand ways of grander men than himself, he had run himself intodebt. His own ambition had been a peerage, and he had thought thatthis was the way to get it. A separate property had come to his sonfrom his wife's mother,--some L2,000 or L3,000 a year, magnified bythe world into double its amount,--and the knowledge of this hadfor a time reconciled him to increasing the burdens on the familyestates. He had been sure that Adolphus, when of age,
would haveconsented to sell the Sussex property in order that the Suffolkproperty might be relieved. But Dolly was now in debt himself, andthough in other respects the most careless of men, was always on hisguard in any dealings with his father. He would not consent to thesale of the Sussex property unless half of the proceeds were to be atonce handed to himself. The father could not bring himself to consentto this, but, while refusing it, found the troubles of the worldvery hard upon him. Melmotte had done something for him,--but indoing this Melmotte was very hard and tyrannical. Melmotte, when atCaversham, had looked into his affairs, and had told him very plainlythat with such an establishment in the country he was not entitledto keep a house in town. Mr. Longestaffe had then said somethingabout his daughters,--something especially about Georgiana,--and Mr.Melmotte had made a suggestion.

  Mr. Longestaffe, when he read his daughter's appeal, did feel forher, in spite of his anger. But if there was one man he hated morethan another, it was his neighbour Mr. Primero; and if one woman, itwas Mrs. Primero. Primero, whom Mr. Longestaffe regarded as quitean upstart, and anything but a gentleman, owed no man anything. Hepaid his tradesmen punctually, and never met the squire of Cavershamwithout seeming to make a parade of his virtue in that direction.He had spent many thousands for his party in county elections andborough elections, and was now himself member for a metropolitandistrict. He was a radical, of course, or, according to Mr.Longestaffe's view of his political conduct, acted and voted on theradical side because there was nothing to be got by voting and actingon the other. And now there had come into Suffolk a rumour that Mr.Primero was to have a peerage. To others the rumour was incredible,but Mr. Longestaffe believed it, and to Mr. Longestaffe that beliefwas an agony. A Baron Bundlesham just at his door, and such a BaronBundlesham, would be more than Mr. Longestaffe could endure. It wasquite impossible that his daughter should be entertained in London bythe Primeros.

  But another suggestion had been made. Georgiana's letter had beenlaid on her father's table on the Monday morning. On the followingmorning, when there could have been no intercourse with London byletter, Lady Pomona called her younger daughter to her, and handedher a note to read. "Your papa has this moment given it me. Of courseyou must judge for yourself." This was the note;--

  MY DEAR MR. LONGESTAFFE,

  As you seem determined not to return to London this season, perhaps one of your young ladies would like to come to us. Mrs. Melmotte would be delighted to have Miss Georgiana for June and July. If so, she need only give Mrs. Melmotte a day's notice.

  Yours truly,

  AUGUSTUS MELMOTTE.

  Georgiana, as soon as her eye had glanced down the one side of notepaper on which this invitation was written, looked up for the date.It was without a date, and had, she felt sure, been left in herfather's hands to be used as he might think fit. She breathed veryhard. Both her father and mother had heard her speak of theseMelmottes, and knew what she thought of them. There was an insolencein the very suggestion. But at the first moment she said nothing ofthat. "Why shouldn't I go to the Primeros?" she asked.

  "Your father will not hear of it. He dislikes them especially."

  "And I dislike the Melmottes. I dislike the Primeros of course, butthey are not so bad as the Melmottes. That would be dreadful."

  "You must judge for yourself, Georgiana."

  "It is that,--or staying here?"

  "I think so, my dear."

  "If papa chooses I don't know why I am to mind. It will be awfullydisagreeable,--absolutely disgusting!"

  "She seemed to be very quiet."

  "Pooh, mamma! Quiet! She was quiet here because she was afraid of us.She isn't yet used to be with people like us. She'll get over thatif I'm in the house with her. And then she is, oh! so frightfullyvulgar! She must have been the very sweeping of the gutters. Didyou not see it, mamma? She could not even open her mouth, she wasso ashamed of herself. I shouldn't wonder if they turned out to besomething quite horrid. They make me shudder. Was there ever anythingso dreadful to look at as he is?"

  "Everybody goes to them," said Lady Pomona. "The Duchess of Stevenagehas been there over and over again, and so has Lady Auld Reekie.Everybody goes to their house."

  "But everybody doesn't go and live with them. Oh, mamma,--to have tosit down to breakfast every day for ten weeks with that man and thatwoman!"

  "Perhaps they'll let you have your breakfast up-stairs."

  "But to have to go out with them;--walking into the room after her!Only think of it!"

  "But you are so anxious to be in London, my dear."

  "Of course I am anxious. What other chance have I, mamma? And, ohdear, I am so tired of it! Pleasure, indeed! Papa talks of pleasure.If papa had to work half as hard as I do, I wonder what he'd thinkof it. I suppose I must do it. I know it will make me so ill that Ishall almost die under it. Horrid, horrid people! And papa to proposeit, who has always been so proud of everything,--who used to think somuch of being with the right set."

  "Things are changed, Georgiana," said the anxious mother.

  "Indeed they are when papa wants me to go and stay with people likethat. Why, mamma, the apothecary in Bungay is a fine gentlemancompared with Mr. Melmotte, and his wife is a fine lady compared withMadame Melmotte. But I'll go. If papa chooses me to be seen with suchpeople it is not my fault. There will be no disgracing one's selfafter that. I don't believe in the least that any decent man wouldpropose to a girl in such a house, and you and papa must not besurprised if I take some horrid creature from the Stock Exchange.Papa has altered his ideas; and so, I suppose, I had better altermine."

  Georgiana did not speak to her father that night, but Lady Pomonainformed Mr. Longestaffe that Mr. Melmotte's invitation was to beaccepted. She herself would write a line to Madame Melmotte, andGeorgiana would go up on the Friday following. "I hope she'll likeit," said Mr. Longestaffe. The poor man had no intention of irony. Itwas not in his nature to be severe after that fashion. But to poorLady Pomona the words sounded very cruel. How could any one like tolive in a house with Mr. and Madame Melmotte!

  On the Friday morning there was a little conversation between the twosisters, just before Georgiana's departure to the railway station,which was almost touching. She had endeavoured to hold up her head asusual, but had failed. The thing that she was going to do cowed hereven in the presence of her sister. "Sophy, I do so envy you stayinghere."

  "But it was you who were so determined to be in London."

  "Yes; I was determined, and am determined. I've got to get myselfsettled somehow, and that can't be done down here. But you are notgoing to disgrace yourself."

  "There's no disgrace in it, Georgey."

  "Yes, there is. I believe the man to be a swindler and a thief; andI believe her to be anything low that you can think of. As to theirpretensions to be gentlefolk, it is monstrous. The footmen andhousemaids would be much better."

  "Then don't go, Georgey."

  "I must go. It's the only chance that is left. If I were to remaindown here everybody would say that I was on the shelf. You are goingto marry Whitstable, and you'll do very well. It isn't a big place,but there's no debt on it, and Whitstable himself isn't a bad sort offellow."

  "Is he, now?"

  "Of course he hasn't much to say for himself, for he's always athome. But he is a gentleman."

  "That he certainly is."

  "As for me I shall give over caring about gentlemen now. The firstman that comes to me with four or five thousand a year, I'll takehim, though he'd come out of Newgate or Bedlam. And I shall alwayssay it has been papa's doing."

  And so Georgiana Longestaffe went up to London and stayed with theMelmottes.