Part 7 (1/2)

Lucilla was so excited for the moment by this unusual evidence of her own good fortune, that she had almost spoiled all by sitting straight up and entering with her usual energy into the discussion--but instinct saved Miss Marjoribanks from this mistake. She lost no time in taking advantage of the opportunity, and instead of having a fight with Nancy, and getting a reluctant consent, and still more reluctant execution of the novelty, Lucilla felt that she was doing that excellent woman a favour by naming her new dish. Nancy approved so thoroughly as to be enthusiastic. ”I always said as she had a deal of sense,” she said afterwards triumphantly. ”There ain't one young lady in a hundred as knows what's good for her, like Miss Lucilla.” But notwithstanding this fervent declaration of approval, Nancy, softened as she was, could not but linger, when all was concluded, to give a little advice.

”I wouldn't worrit myself with all them practisings, Miss Lucilla, if I was you,” said her faithful retainer. ”They're a deal too much for you.

I've took the liberty, when all was cleaned up, to go on the stair and listen a bit, and there ain't nothing to equal it when you're a-singing by yourself. I don't think nothing of them duets--and as for that bold-faced brazen thing----”

”Oh, Nancy, hus.h.!.+” said Lucilla; ”Miss Lake has a beautiful voice. If she does not look quite like a lady, it is not her fault, poor thing.

She has no mamma to set her right, you know. She is the best a.s.sistant I have--she and Mr Cavendish,” said Lucilla sweetly; and she gave Nancy a look which moved the faithful servant almost to tears, though she was not addicted to that weakness. Nancy retired with the most enthusiastic determination to exert herself to the utmost for the preparation of the little dish which Lucilla fancied. ”But I wouldn't worrit about them duets,” she said again, as she left the room. ”I wouldn't, not if I was you, Miss Lucilla, asking pardon for the liberty: as for having no mamma, you have no mamma yourself, and you the young lady as is most thought upon in Carlingford, and as different from that brazen-faced thing, with her red cheeks----”

”Hush, oh hush, Nancy,” Lucilla said, as she sank back in her chair; but Miss Marjoribanks, after all, was only human, and she was not so distressed by these unpolished epithets as she might or perhaps ought to have been. ”Poor Barbara! I wish she could only look a little bit like a lady,” she said to herself; and so proceeded with her preparations for the evening. She had all her plans matured, and she felt quite comfortable about that evening which all her friends were thinking would be rather trying for Lucilla. To tell the truth, when a thing became rather trying, Lucilla's spirits rose. Mr Cavendish's desertion was, perhaps, on the whole, more than compensated for by the exhilaration of a difficulty to be encountered. She too began to forecast, like her father, the possibilities of the evening, and to think of Mr Cavendish coming in to dinner when there was n.o.body to support him, and not even a crowd of people to retire among. Would he run the risk of coming, under the circ.u.mstances? or, if he came, would he prostrate himself as he had done on a previous occasion, and return to his allegiance? This question roused Lucilla to a degree of energy unusual even to her who was always energetic. It was then that the brilliant idea struck her of adjourning to the garden in the evening--a practice which was received with such enthusiasm in Carlingford, where the gardens were so pretty. She put on her hat directly and went downstairs, and called the gardener to consult him about it; and it was thus that she was employed when Mrs Chiley rang the bell at the garden gate. If it had been anybody else in Carlingford, Lucilla would have led her back again to the house, and said nothing about the subject of her conference with the gardener; for it is always best, as all judicious persons are aware, not to forestall these little arrangements which make so agreeable a surprise at the moment; but then Mrs Chiley was Miss Marjoribanks's special confidant. The old lady had her face full of business that bright morning. She listened to what her young friend proposed, but without hearing it, and said. ”Oh, yes, my dear, I am sure it will be charming,” without the very least notion what it was she applauded. ”Let us go in and sit down a moment, for I have something to say to you, Lucilla,” Mrs Chiley said; and when they had reached the drawing-room and shut the door, the Colonel's wife gave her favourite a kiss, and looked anxiously in her face. ”You have not been to see me since Monday,” said Mrs Chiley. ”I am sure you are not well, or you could not have stayed away so long; but if you did not feel equal to going out, why did you not send for me, Lucilla, my poor dear?”

Though Miss Marjoribanks's thoughts at that moment were full of the garden, and not in the least occupied with those more troublesome matters which procured for her Mrs Chiley's sympathy, she placed the kind old lady in the most easy chair, and sat down by her, as Mrs Chiley liked to see a young creature do. Lucilla's affairs were too important to be trusted to a young _confidante_ of her own age; but even a person of acknowledged genius like Miss Marjoribanks is the better of some one to whom she can open up her breast.

”Dear Mrs Chiley!” said Lucilla, ”I am quite well, and I meant to have come to see you to-day.”

”My poor dear!” said Mrs Chiley again. ”You say you are quite well for you have such a spirit; but I can see what you have been going through.

I don't understand how you can keep on, and do so much. But it was not _that_ that brought me here. There is some one coming to Carlingford that I want you to meet, Lucilla. He is a relation of Mary Chiley's husband, and as she does not get on very well with them, you know, I think it is our duty to be civil. And they say he is a very nice man; and young--enough,” said Mrs Chiley, with a look of some anxiety, pausing to see the effect produced upon Lucilla by her words.

Miss Marjoribanks had not, as she once confessed, a very vivid sense of humour, but she laughed a little, in spite of herself, at the old lady's anxious look. ”Don't be sorry for me,” she said; ”I told you that fortunately my affections were not engaged. I don't want any new gentleman introduced to me. If _that_ was what I was thinking of, I never need have come home,” Lucilla said, with a little dignity; and yet, to be sure, she was naturally curious to know who the new man, who was very nice and young--enough, could be; for such apparitions were not too plentiful in Carlingford; and it did not seem in reason that an individual of this interesting description could come out of Colonel Chiley's house.

”My dear, he is a clergyman,” said Mrs Chiley, putting her hand on Miss Marjoribanks's arm, and speaking in a half whisper; ”and you know a nice clergyman is always nice, and you need not think of him as a young man unless you like. He has a nice property, and he is Rector of Basing, which is a very good living, and Archdeacon of Stanmore. He has come here to hold a visitation, you know; and they say that if Carlingford was made into a bishopric, he is almost sure to be the first bishop; and you know a bishop, or even an archdeacon, has a very nice position. I want to be civil to him for Mary Chiley's sake, who is not on such terms as we could wish with her husband's friends; and then I suppose he will have to be a great deal in Carlingford, and I should like him to form a good impression. I want you and your dear good papa to come and meet him; and then after that--but one thing is enough at a time,” the old lady said, breaking off with a nod and a smile. She too had brought her bit of consolation to Lucilla; and it was a kind of consolation which, when administered at the right moment, is sometimes of sovereign efficacy, as Mrs Chiley was aware.

”I am sure papa will be very happy,” said Lucilla; ”and, indeed, if you like, I shall be very glad to ask him here. If he is a friend of yours, that is quite enough for me. It is very nice to know a nice clergyman; but as for being a young man, I can't see how that matters. If I had been thinking of _that_, I need never--but I should think papa would like to meet him; and you know it is the object of my life to please papa.”

”Yes, my poor dear,” said the Colonel's wife, ”and he would be hard-hearted indeed if he was not pleased; but still we must consider you a little, Lucilla. You do everything for other people, and you never think of yourself. But I like to see you with nice people round you, for my part,” Mrs Chiley added--”really nice people, and not these poor-spirited, ungrateful----”

”Hush, hus.h.!.+” said Lucilla; ”I don't know such nice people anywhere as there are in Carlingford. Some people are never pleased with their neighbours, but I always get on so well with everybody. It is my good luck, you know; and so long as I have you, dear Mrs Chiley----”

”Ah, Lucilla!” said the old lady, ”that is very kind of you--and you could not have anybody that is fonder of you than I am; but still I am an old woman, old enough to be your grandmother, my dear--and we have your future interests to think of. As for all the vexations you have had, I think I could find it in my heart to turn that ungrateful creature to the door. Don't let her come here any more. I like your voice a great deal better when you are singing by yourself--and I am sure the Archdeacon would be of my opinion,” said Mrs Chiley, with a confidence which was beautiful to behold. It was true she had not seen her new hero as yet, but that only left her so much more free to take the good of him and his probable sentiments; for to persons of frank and simple imagination a very little foundation of fact is enough to build upon.

”Dear Mrs Chiley, it is so nice of you to be vexed,” said Lucilla, who thought it as well not to enter into any further argument. ”Papa will be delighted, I am sure, and I can come in the evening. The Colonel likes to have only six people, and you will be three to start with, so there can't be any room for me at dinner; and you know I don't mind about dinner. I shall come in the evening and make tea for you--and if you think he would like to come next Thursday----” said Lucilla graciously.

This was how it was eventually settled. Mrs Chiley went home again through Grange Lane in the suns.h.i.+ne, with that little old-womanish hobble which Mrs Woodburn executed with such precision, perfectly satisfied with her success, and indulging herself in some pleasant visions. To be sure, a nice clergyman is always nice to know, even though nothing more was to come of it; and a new man in the field of such distinguished pretensions, would be Lucilla's best defence against any sort of mortification. As for Miss Marjoribanks herself, she was thinking a great deal more of the new details for the approaching evening than of anything else more distant, and consequently less important; but, on the whole, she was by no means displeased to hear of the Archdeacon. In such a work as hers, a skilful leader is always on the outlook for auxiliaries; and there are circ.u.mstances in which a nice clergyman is almost as useful to the lady of the house as a man who can flirt. To be sure, now and then there occurs a rare example in which both these qualities are united in one person; but even in the most modest point of view, if he was not stupid or obstinately Low-Church, there was nothing to despise in the apparition of the Archdeacon thus suddenly blown to her very door. While she had the seats placed in the garden (not too visibly, but shrouded among the shrubs and round the trunks of the trees), and chose the spot for a little illumination, which was not to be universal, like a tea-garden, but concentrated in one spot under the big lime-tree, Lucilla permitted herself to speculate a little about this unknown hero. She did not so much ask herself if he would be dark or fair, according to the usage of young ladies, as whether he would be High or Broad. But, however, that question, like various others, was still hidden in the surrounding darkness.

This was how Mrs Chiley did her best to cheer up Lucilla in the discouragement from which she supposed her young friend to be suffering.

It was perhaps a loftier expedient in one way than Nancy's desire that she should have something she would fancy for dinner; but then there could not be any doubt as to the kindness which prompted both suggestions; and, after all, it is not what people do for you, but the spirit in which they do it, which should be taken into consideration, as Lucilla most justly observed.

_Chapter XVI_

That evening was one which all the people in Grange Lane had unanimously concluded would be rather hard upon Miss Marjoribanks. To be sure, when a crisis arrives there is always a certain excitement which keeps one up; but afterwards, when the excitement is over, then is the time when it becomes really trying. There was naturally, under these circ.u.mstances, a larger a.s.semblage than usual to watch the progress of the little drama, and how Lucilla would behave; for, after all, society would be excessively tame if it were not for these personal complications, which are always arising, and which are so much better than a play. As for the Doctor himself, the portion of the evening's entertainment which particularly amused him was that which preceded all the rest--the reception given by Lucilla to her guests at dinner, and especially to the culprit, who came in quite alone, and found n.o.body to stand up for him. Mr Cavendish, who felt to the full the difficulty of his position, and, to tell the truth, was a little ashamed of himself, came late, in order to abridge his trial as much as possible; but Lucilla's habitual good-fortune was not confined only to her own necessities, but seemed to involve everybody opposed to her in a ceaseless ill-luck, which was very edifying to the spectators. Mr Cavendish was so late that the other guests had formed into groups round the room, leaving a great open s.p.a.ce and avenue of approach to the lady of the house in the middle; and the audience, thus arranged, was very impatient and unfavourable to the lingerer who kept them waiting for their dinner. When he came in at last, instead of doing anything to help him, everybody ceased talking and looked on in stern silence as the wretched culprit walked all the length of the room up to Lucilla through the unoccupied s.p.a.ce which exposed him so unmercifully on every side.

They all stopped in the middle of what they were saying, and fixed stony eyes on him, as the dead sailors did on the Ancient Mariner. He had a very good spirit, but still there are circ.u.mstances which take the courage out of a man. To be sure, Miss Marjoribanks, when he reached her at last, received Mr Cavendish with the utmost grace and cordiality, but it is easy to imagine what must have been the feelings of the unfortunate hero. The Balaclava charge itself, in the face of all the guns, could have been nothing to the sensation of walking through that horrible naked s.p.a.ce, through a crowd of reproachful men who were waiting for dinner; and it was only after it was all over, and Mr Cavendish had safely arrived at Miss Marjoribanks's side, and was being set at his ease, poor wretch, by her incomparable sweetness, that the Doctor, with a certain grim smile on his countenance, came and shook hands with his unfortunate guest.

”You are late,” Dr Marjoribanks said, taking out the great watch by which all the pulses of Grange Lane considered it their duty to keep time, and which marked five minutes after seven, as everybody could see.

It was ten minutes after seven by the pretty French clock on the mantelpiece, and at least twenty by the lowering countenances of Dr Marjoribanks's guests. Mr Cavendish made the best of his unhappy position, and threw himself upon Lucilla's charity, who was the only one who had any compa.s.sion upon him; for to see Mrs Chiley's forbidding countenance no one could have believed that she had ever called him ”my dear.” ”Dinner is on the table, papa,” Miss Marjoribanks said, with a little rea.s.suring nod to the culprit who had made her his refuge; and she got up and shook out her white draperies with a charitable commotion for which her faithless admirer blessed her in his heart.

But the place at her left hand was not left vacant for Mr Cavendish; he had not the spirit to claim it, even had he had the time; and the consequence was that he found himself next to his brother-in-law at table, which was indeed a hard fate. As for Lucilla, she was quite radiant when the famous dish made its appearance which Nancy had elaborated to please her, and told the story of its introduction to her two next neighbours, in a half whisper, to their immense amus.e.m.e.nt.

”When the servants are gone I will tell you what we are laughing at,”

she breathed across the table to Mrs Chiley, who was ”more than delighted,” as she said, to see her dear Lucilla keeping up so well; and when the dessert was put upon the table, and Thomas had finally disappeared, Miss Marjoribanks kept her promise. ”I could not think how I was going to get her to consent,” Lucilla said, ”but you know she thought I was in low spirits, the dear old soul, and that it would be a comfort to me.” Though there was often a great deal of fun at Dr Marjoribanks's table, nothing was ever heard there to compare with the laughter that greeted Lucilla's narrative. Everybody was so entirely aware of the supposed cause of the low spirits, and indeed was so conscious of having speculated, like Nancy, upon Miss Marjoribanks's probable demeanour at this trying moment, that the laughter was not mere laughter, but conveyed, at the same time a confession of guilt and a storm of applause and admiration. As for Mr Cavendish, it was alarming to look at him in the terrible paroxysm of confusion and shame which he tried to s.h.i.+eld under the universal amus.e.m.e.nt. Miss Marjoribanks left the dining-room that evening with the soothing conviction that she had administered punishment of the most annihilating kind, without for a moment diverging from the perfect sweetness and amiability with which it was her duty to treat all her father's guests. It was so complete and perfect that there was not another word to be said either on one side or the other; and yet Lucilla had not in the least committed herself, or condescended from her maiden dignity. As for Dr Marjoribanks, if he had chuckled over it before, in antic.i.p.ation, it may be supposed how he enjoyed now this perfect vindication of his daughter's capacity for taking care of herself. The sound of the victory was even heard upstairs, where the young ladies at the open windows were asking each other, with a little envy, what the men could be laughing at. There was, as we have said, a larger a.s.sembly than usual that night. For one thing, it was moonlight, and all the people from the country were there; and then public curiosity was profoundly concerned as to how Lucilla was to conduct herself on so trying an occasion. The laughter even jarred on the sensitive feelings of some people who thought, where a young girl's happiness was concerned, that it was too serious a matter to be laughed at; but then Miss Marjoribanks was not a person who could be cla.s.sed with ordinary young girls, in the general acceptation of the word.

It was when things were at this crisis, and all eyes were directed to Lucilla, and a certain expectation was diffused through the company, that Miss Marjoribanks made that proposal of adjourning to the garden, which was received with so much applause. Lucilla's instinct, or rather her genius, had warned her that something out of the ordinary course of proceedings would be expected from her on that special occasion. She could not get up and make a speech to her excited and curious audience, neither could she, apropos of nothing, tell over again the story which had been received with such applause downstairs; and yet something was wanting. The ordinary routine did not satisfy Lucilla's const.i.tuency, who had come with the laudable intention of observing her on a trying occasion, and watching how she got through it. ”The air is so delicious to-night that I had some seats placed in the garden,” Miss Marjoribanks said, ”and if you all like we will sing to you up here, and give you as much music as ever you please. You know I never would consent to be too musical when everybody was in one room. It does not matter so much, when there are a suite; but then papa, you know, is only a professional man, and I have but one drawing-room,” said Lucilla, with sweet humility. It was Lady Richmond to whom she was addressing herself at the moment, who was a lady who liked to be the great lady of the party. ”It is only in summer that we can be a little like you fine people, who have as many rooms as you please. When you are at a little distance we will sing to you all the evening, if you like.”