Marion Fay. Anthony TrollopeЧитать онлайн книгу.
Hampstead never asked him for a shilling. He was a liberal man, and would willingly have given many shillings. But still there was a comfort in having a son who was quite contented in having his own income. No doubt a time would come when those little lords would want shillings. And Lady Frances had always been particularly soft to him, diffusing over his life a sweet taste of the memory of his first wife. Of the present Marchioness he was fond enough, and was aware how much she did for him to support his position. But he was conscious ever of a prior existence in which there had been higher thoughts, grander feelings, and aspirations which were now wanting to him. Of these something would come back in the moments which he spent with his daughter; and in this way she was very dear to him. But now there had come a trouble which robbed his life of all its sweetness. He must go back to the grandeur of his wife and reject the tenderness of his daughter. During these days at Trafford he made himself very unpleasant to the devoted friend who had always been so true to his interests.
When the battle about the correspondence was explained to him by his wife, it, of course, became necessary to him to give his orders to his daughter. Such a matter could hardly be passed over in silence—though he probably might have done so had he not been instigated to action by the Marchioness.
"Fanny," he said, "I have been shocked by these letters."
"I only wrote one, papa."
"Well, one. But two came."
"I only had one, papa."
"That made two. But there should have been no letter at all. Do you think it proper that a young lady should correspond with—with—a gentleman in opposition to the wishes of her father and mother?"
"I don't know, papa."
This seemed to him so weak that the Marquis took heart of grace, and made the oration which he felt that he as a father was bound to utter upon the entire question. For, after all, it was not the letters which were of importance, but the resolute feeling which had given birth to the letters. "My dear, this is a most unfortunate affair." He paused for a reply; but Lady Frances felt that the assertion was one to which at the present moment she could make no reply. "It is, you know, quite out of the question that you should marry a young man so altogether unfitted for you in point of station as this young man."
"But I shall, papa."
"Fanny, you can do no such thing."
"I certainly shall. It may be a very long time first; but I certainly shall—unless I die."
"It is wicked of you, my dear, to talk of dying in that way."
"What I mean is, that however long I may live I shall consider myself engaged to Mr. Roden."
"He has behaved very, very badly. He has made his way into my house under a false pretence."
"He came as Hampstead's friend."
"It was very foolish of Hampstead to bring him—very foolish—a Post Office clerk."
"Mr. Vivian is a clerk in the Foreign Office. Why shouldn't one office be the same as another?"
"They are very different;—but Mr. Vivian wouldn't think of such a thing. He understands the nature of things, and knows his own position. There is a conceit about the other man."
"A man should be conceited, papa. Nobody will think well of him unless he thinks well of himself."
"He came to me in Park Lane."
"What! Mr. Roden?"
"Yes; he came. But I didn't see him. Mr. Greenwood saw him."
"What could Mr. Greenwood say to him?"
"Mr. Greenwood could tell him to leave the house—and he did so. There was nothing more to tell him. Now, my dear, let there be no more about it. If you will put on your hat, we will go out and walk down to the village."
To this Lady Frances gave a ready assent. She was not at all disposed to quarrel with her father, or to take in bad part what he had said about her lover. She had not expected that things would go very easily. She had promised to herself constancy and final success; but she had not expected that in her case the course of true love could be made to run smooth. She was quite willing to return to a condition of good humour with her father, and—not exactly to drop her lover for the moment—but so to conduct herself as though he were not paramount in her thoughts. The cruelty of her stepmother had so weighed upon her that she found it to be quite a luxury to be allowed to walk with her father.
"I don't know that anything can be done," the Marquis said a few days afterwards to his wife. "It is one of those misfortunes which do happen now and again!"
"That such a one as your daughter should give herself up to a clerk in the Post Office!"
"What's the use of repeating that so often? I don't know that the Post Office is worse than anything else. Of course it can't be allowed;—and having said so, the best thing will be to go on just as though nothing had happened."
"And let her do just what she pleases?"
"Who's going to let her do anything? She said she wouldn't write, and she hasn't written. We must just take her back to Trafford, and let her forget him as soon as she can."
The Marchioness was by no means satisfied, though she did not know what measure of special severity to recommend. There was once a time—a very good time, as Lady Kingsbury thought now—in which a young lady could be locked up in a convent, or perhaps in a prison, or absolutely forced to marry some suitor whom her parents should find for her. But those comfortable days were past. In a prison Lady Frances was detained now; but it was a prison of which the Marchioness was forced to make herself the gaoler, and in which her darlings were made to be fellow-prisoners with their wicked sister. She herself was anxious to get back to Trafford and the comforts of her own home. The beauties of Königsgraaf were not lovely to her in her present frame of mind. But how would it be if Lady Frances should jump out of the window at Trafford and run away with George Roden? The windows at Königsgraaf were certainly much higher than those at Trafford.
They had made up their mind to return early in September, and the excitement of packing up had almost commenced among them when Lord Hampstead suddenly appeared on the scene. He had had enough of yachting, and had grown tired of books and gardening at Hendon. Something must be done before the hunting began, and so, without notice, he appeared one day at Königsgraaf. This was to the intense delight of his brothers, over whose doings he assumed a power which their mother was unable to withstand. They were made to gallop on ponies on which they had only walked before; they were bathed in the river, and taken to the top of the Castle, and shut up in the dungeon after a fashion which was within the reach of no one but Hampstead. Jack was Jack, and all was delight, as far as the children were concerned; but the Marchioness was not so well pleased with the arrival. A few days after his coming a conversation arose as to Lady Frances which Lady Kingsbury would have avoided had it been possible, but it was forced upon her by her stepson.
"I don't think that Fanny ought to be bullied," said her stepson.
"Hampstead, I wish you would understand that I do not understand strong language."
"Teased, tormented, and made wretched."
"If she be wretched she has brought it on herself."
"But she is not to be treated as though she had disgraced herself."
"She has disgraced herself."
"I deny it. I will not hear such a word said of her even by you." The Marchioness drew herself up as though she had been insulted. "If there is to be such a feeling about her in your house I must ask my father to have her removed, and I will make a home for her. I will not see her broken-hearted by cruel treatment. I am sure that he would not wish it."
"You have no right to speak to me in this manner."
"I surely have a right to protect my sister, and I will exercise it."
"You have brought most improperly a young man into the house—"