Part 14 (1/2)
”I don't like people to be too disinterested,” said Mrs Woodburn; ”and I don't think Harry would be at all glad to hear it. I wish he would come back, I am sure. I am always bullying him about it. I thought perhaps some of you young ladies had been unkind to him,” said the anxious sister, who had recovered her head, and thought it might be possible to get at the secret, if there was a secret, by means like this.
”No,” said Miss Marjoribanks; ”_I_ have not been unkind to him; and there is n.o.body else I know of,” said the candid Lucilla, ”unless poor Barbara; and _she_ will never be unkind, you know. I will write him a letter if you will give me his address. Is it true that somebody has left him a great deal of money, and he is going to change his name?”
”His name!” said Mrs Woodburn, with a little cry, like an imprudent woman; and then she recovered herself. ”I have not heard of anything of the kind,” she said, ”and he would be sure to tell me of it; but in Carlingford people know things before they happen. I should be very glad to know that somebody was going to leave him a great deal of money; but I don't know about the name----”
”Oh, I heard it only in a confused sort of way,” said Lucilla, ”or that he _had_ changed his name. I am sure I don't know if it was past or present. Did he ever make any change to be somebody's heir? Oh, I beg your pardon; but you know people do it every day.”
Mrs Woodburn had grown quite pale--perhaps because she began to see that there was some method in these questions, perhaps with simple and unreasonable fright at the suggestion. She could not say a word for a moment, so startling was the question; and then there was something in Lucilla's early visit, and in her instant onslaught upon Mr Cavendish, which was alarming. She was so frightened and driven into a corner that she could not tell how to answer. It occurred to her all at once that perhaps Mr Cavendish had opened his heart to Miss Marjoribanks and given her an inkling of his secret; and what would Lucilla think if she contradicted her brother? Never was a poor woman in a greater difficulty. All her fun and her mimicry collapsed. She no more noticed the peculiarities of Lucilla's look and manner than if she had been an ordinary inhabitant of Grange Lane. ”Changed his name?” she faltered, in a blank sort of interrogative way; and in spite of herself faltered and shook, and conveyed to Lucilla the most perfect a.s.surance that what she supposed was true.
”When it is for a great deal of money there is some sense in it; when it is only for a prettier name it is dreadfully stupid. Don't you think so?
As if we all could have pretty names!” said Lucilla. ”I should like so much to have a talk with Mr Cavendish. I picked up some very, very old friends of his the other day--people who used to know him long ago. I am sure he would be interested if he were to know.”
”I don't think it could be him,” said Mrs Woodburn, with something like the instinct of despair; ”I don't remember any very old friends he has; it is so long a time ago----” and then the poor lady stopped short, as if she had something choking her in her throat. ”I don't think it could be he.”
”Not such a very long time,” said Lucilla, in her easy way. ”It is dreadful to give him a character for being old. Do write him, please, and tell him about those people. He is sure to be interested if you say it is a lady, and a pretty woman, and a widow,” continued Miss Marjoribanks. ”She says he was once very kind to her when her poor husband was alive.”
Mrs Woodburn recovered herself a little as Lucilla spoke. ”It must have been some other Mr Cavendish,” she said. ”Harry was--so much abroad--so long away from home----” At that moment there was a sound in the house of a heavy step, and Mr Woodburn's whistle became audible in the distance. Then the poor woman, who had a secret, fixed haggard eyes upon Miss Marjoribanks. She dared not say, ”Don't speak of this before my husband.” She dared not utter a word to awaken suspicion on one side or the other. She knew very well that if Mr Woodburn heard of the existence of any old friends of his brother-in-law, he would insist upon having them produced, and ”paying them some attention”; and at the same time Mrs Woodburn could not so far confide in Lucilla as to beg her to keep silent. This was what her brother's poltroonery brought upon the unfortunate woman. And when the emergency came she was not as equal to it as she expected to be. Her talents were not of a nature to do her any good in such a strait. She collapsed entirely, and looked round her in a flutter of fright and despair, as if to find some means of escape.
But this terror all arose from the fact that she did not know Miss Marjoribanks, who was generous as she was strong, and had no intention of going to extremities. Lucilla got up from her chair when she heard Mr Woodburn's whistle coming nearer. ”I hear somebody coming,” she said, ”and I must not stay, for I have quant.i.ties of things to do. Only mind you tell Mr Cavendish I have something quite serious to say to him from his old friend; and from me, please to tell him, that it is _impossible_ to get on without him,” continued Lucilla, as Mr Woodburn entered the room. ”There is not a soul that can flirt or do anything. I should write to him myself if I knew his address.”
And then, as was natural, Woodburn, with his usual absurdity, as his wife explained afterwards, struck in with some boisterous _badinage_. As for Mrs Woodburn, in her mingled terror and relief, she was too much excited to know what he said. But when Lucilla, serenely smiling, was gone, the mimic, with her nerves strung to desperation, burst into the wildest comic travesty of Miss Marjoribanks's looks and manners, and her inquiries about Harry, and sent her unsuspicious husband into convulsions of laughter. He laughed until the tears ran down his cheeks--the unconscious simpleton; and all the time his wife could have liked to throw him down and trample on him, or put pins into him, or scratch his beaming, jovial countenance. Perhaps she would have gone into hysterics instead if she had not possessed that other safety-valve, for Mrs Woodburn had not that supreme composure and self-command which belonged to Lucilla's higher organisation. She wrote a long letter that afternoon, and had a dreadful headache all the evening after it, which, considering all things, was to be expected under the circ.u.mstances, and was a weak-minded woman's last resource.
No headache, however, disturbed Miss Marjoribanks's beneficent progress.
She went home conscious that, if she had not acquired any distinct information, she had at least gained a moral certainty. And besides, she had measured the forces of Mr Cavendish's bodyguard, and had found them utterly unequal to any prolonged resistance. All that was wanted was prudence and care, and that good luck which was as much an endowment in its way as the other qualities by which Lucilla might be said to have secured it. She went home meditating her next step, and with a certain enjoyment in the sense of difficulty and the consciousness of how much skill and power would be required to carry on three different threads of innocent intrigue with the three different persons in the drama, without ever letting the general web get confused, or confounding one strand with another. She had to frighten the Archdeacon with the idea that Mrs Mortimer might marry the impostor, and she had to keep the widow in the profoundest ignorance of this suggestion, and she had to manage and guide the impostor himself, to save his position, and deliver him from his enemies, and make his would-be persecutor for ever harmless. If by chance she should forget herself for a moment, and say to Mr Beverley what she meant for Mr Cavendish, or betray her mode of dealing with either to the third person interested, then farewell to all her hopes.
But when all that was required was skill and self-possession and courage, Miss Marjoribanks knew herself too well to be afraid.
She came in with that sense of having done her duty which is so sweet to a well-regulated mind. But it was not to that internal satisfaction alone that Providence limited Lucilla's reward. There are exceptional cases to be found here and there even in this world, in which virtue finds its just acknowledgment, and disinterested well-doing is recompensed as it deserves. While Miss Marjoribanks was still occupied with the arrangement of her plans she was interrupted by a visitor, who entered with a brow clouded by care, and yet exalted by the sense of a charge and dignity which is not afforded to every woman. It was Mrs Centum who thus came to unfold to Lucilla the new event which was about to happen in Carlingford. She had a great deal to say first, as was natural, of the dreadful vexation of such a thing happening in holiday-time when the boys were all at home, and when she did not know what to do.
”But you know, Lucilla, it will be delightful for all you young ladies to have the officers,” said Mrs Centum; ”it keeps a place lively; though, for my part, I always say in six months there will not be a servant in the house that one can depend upon. It is dreadful for servants--especially young ones, and if they are nice-looking, you know; but it is very nice for the young ladies, and for all the picnics and dances and everything----”
”What officers?” said Lucilla, p.r.i.c.king up her ears--for to tell the truth, the very name of officers in a place like Carlingford, where n.o.body could flirt but Mr Cavendish, was as water in the desert to Miss Marjoribanks's soul.
”Has not the Doctor told you?” said Mrs Centum--”but, to be sure, very few people know as yet. Mr Centum says it must be all on your account, because you give such nice parties--but of course that is only his fun, you know. However, I suppose somebody has told Lord Palmerston of all those great buildings that were meant for the factories, and of Carlingford being such a healthy place. And so the General is coming to us to-morrow, Lucilla--General Travers, you know, that was in all the papers for something he did in India; Charles used to know him at school. He is quite handsome, and has ever so many medals and things. It is a dreadful addition to one's troubles in holiday-time, you know; but, my dear, I hope you will ask him to your Thursdays, and help us to make Carlingford pleasant to him. It all depends upon him,” said Mrs Centum solemnly;--”if he likes the place, and thinks it will do, and finds nice society--whether it is here or at Hampton that they establish the depot.”
”At Hampton!” cried Miss Marjoribanks naturally excited--”the stupidest, wretchedest little place----”
”That is just what Mr Centum says,” said the visitor, with a sigh; ”what I am nervous about is the servants, Lucilla; and you know that under-nurse of mine, what a nice steady girl she has always been, and such a comfort--but as soon as the soldiers come it turns their heads. I want you to tell me, if you'll be so very good, Lucilla, how Nancy makes that _pate_ that Mr Centum is so fond of. I know it is a good deal to ask; but I am sure you are one to stand by your friends; and if the General should take a dislike to Carlingford through any fault of mine, I never could forgive myself; and I want you to ask him to your Thursdays, Lucilla--there's a dear.”
”Dear Mrs Centum,” cried Miss Marjoribanks, ”papa must call on the General and ask him to dinner: as for my Thursdays, I always say they are not parties; they are only _evenings_,” said Lucilla sweetly, ”and not worth a gentleman's while.”
”And about the _pate_, Lucilla,” said Mrs Centum anxiously, ”I hope you won't think it too much of me to ask;--you are so clever, you know, and so is Nancy: and what with the noise, and the nursery dinners, and all those big boys home from school----”
Mrs Centum fixed her eyes with true solicitude on Lucilla's face. Miss Marjoribanks was magnanimous, but the _pate_ in question was one of the greatest triumphs of the Doctor's table. She thought, and with truth, that it _was_ a great deal for any one to ask; but then it is true that genius has duties as well as privileges; and to impress upon mediocrity the benefit of loyally following and copying superior intelligence, is of itself a moral effect of the greatest importance. And besides, the woman who at such a moment produced a live General in Carlingford, and held out hopes of officers, was not a woman to be denied.
”I will write it down for you,” said Lucilla graciously, ”if you think your cook will understand; or perhaps Nancy might step in and show her how--if I can persuade Nancy. Dear Mrs Centum, I hope you will always feel sure that I am ready to do anything for my friends.”
”Oh, thank you, dear,” cried the grateful woman; ”I knew you were not one to mind; and if Nancy would be so very kind----I am sure you will like the General,” added Mrs Centum, with effusion; ”he will live here, you know, if the depot comes, and be such an addition! I said to Charles, the moment he told me, That would just be the very thing for Lucilla! And he is quite young looking, and so nice and pleasant,” she added, in the fulness of her enthusiasm and grat.i.tude. As for Miss Marjoribanks, she shook her head, but nevertheless received the a.s.surance with a smile.
”It is not that sort of thing I am thinking of,” said Lucilla: ”if it had been, I need never have come home; and now, after papa has been so kind about the drawing-room----; but I am always glad to hear of nice new people,” said Miss Marjoribanks; ”and to meet a man that has been in the world is such a pleasure to papa.”