The Daughters of Mrs Peacock (24 page)

‘So you hail from Sussex, eh Linton?'

‘Yes, sir. I'm afraid so.'

‘Never mind, my boy. We won't hold it against you. One of the southern counties, I believe?'

‘Rather a large one, sir. And it has, if you remember, a coastline.'

‘Ah yes. I think I've seen it on the map.'

‘Really, sir? That's most encouraging.'

‘And now, having seen Lutterfield, the centre of civilization, you're proposing, Sarah tells me, to start a new school in these parts.'

‘My father has some such idea for me, either here in the Midlands or elsewhere. Not necessarily a
new
school.
An old one would do, a going concern, provided the headmastership fell vacant.'

‘Quite so. Have you considered Eton or Harrow?'

‘No,' confessed Edward. ‘Do you recommend them, sir? Would they be worthy of me?'

‘Have you never thought of taking holy orders, Mr Linton?' said Mrs Peacock. ‘But no. I think I shall call you Edward.'

‘Please do, Mrs Peacock.'

‘We all will,' said Catherine eagerly, who in fact had never called him anything else.

‘I feel sure,' said Mrs Peacock, ‘that you would make a good clergyman.'

‘Very kind of you, Mrs Peacock. But mistaken, I fear.'

‘Such a nice, dignified life. And so useful.'

‘It
has
been suggested,' admitted Edward. ‘My parents at one time were quite set on it. But I felt I had no vocation. And there are other reasons.'

‘Other reasons?'

‘I suppose you might call them intellectual scruples.' He caught a warning glance from Sarah. ‘My usefulness, if any, must lie in another sphere,' he added hastily.

‘Ah,' said Mr Peacock. ‘That masterpiece of Elizabethan compromise, the Thirty-nine Articles, sticks in your throat perhaps? I don't wonder. You prefer to teach facts, and to the young.'

‘I'm sure Edward meant nothing of the kind,' said Mrs Peacock. ‘Did you, Edward?'

‘The truth is, Mrs Peacock, I do not feel worthy of so high a calling.' He could almost hear Sarah's sigh of relief. ‘It demands very special qualities, don't you
think? Qualities that I am very conscious of not possessing. My father has them in abundance. Infinite patience and understanding. He, if I may say so, is father to the whole parish. He spends half his time listening to their troubles. Listening, he says, is the chief of his duties. He's like Chaucer's Poor Parson of a Town, you know. Except that he's not, luckily, so very poor.
But Cristes loore, and his apostles twelve, / He taught, but first he followed it himselve.
And my mother, too. She does her part, and it's no small one, I assure you.'

‘It seems to me,' said Mr Peacock, ‘that your true metier is diplomacy, my dear fellow. But we mustn't try to deflect you from your chosen course. And school-mastering, after all, has one great advantage in common with parsoning. They can't answer you back.'

‘You'd be surprised, sir. Some of the brighter lads will argue the hind legs off a donkey when they're in the mood. However, I don't mind that. Anything is better than a drowsy acquiescence. Why, they say, didn't the Romans speak English, sir, like sensible chaps? Because it wasn't their native language for one thing, I tell them. And because, for another, it hadn't yet come into existence. Please, sir, why hadn't it, sir? … And then we're off. It's a dodge to get me talking history instead of bothering them with declensions and conjugations. They're cunning little brutes.'

‘But you rather like them, all the same?' suggested Sarah.

‘In a way,' admitted Edward, grinning. ‘You see, I was one myself once.'

‘And not,' said Mr Peacock, ‘so very long ago. I can still discern traces in you, Edward, of that original sin.'

‘Oh dear!' cried Edward. ‘I do hope not!'

Even Mrs Peacock, though the point of the joke luckily eluded her, joined in the general laugh. There was no doubt about it: the house had become a livelier place, and the girls visibly happier, since Edward's arrival. She would try to persuade him to stay over for Catherine's birthday—or at any rate to come back for it after visiting, as was proper, his parents. By then, she felt sure, something decisive would have happened.

But the presence of Edward, already it seemed one of the family, did not persuade them to forget Julia, who for the past few days had been living and sleeping at the vicarage with only a village girl for companion. The Budges, their boxes duly searched, had departed that same morning, leaving behind them an odour of unsanctity which it was Julia's chosen task to dispel. Her sisters, escorted by Edward, went to see her every day.

Her dark eyes were larger nowadays. Her tea-rose complexion had lost its warm bloom.

‘
Dear
Julia,' said Sarah, ‘you need a rest from it. Go back with Kitty and let me stay.'

‘Oh no. Thank you, darling, but no.'

‘Mama says I may,' said Sarah. Much as she would hate to leave home while Edward was there, she felt obliged, and the more so because of that reluctance, to persist. ‘It really would be best. We shall have
you
getting ill next.'

‘No,' said Julia again. ‘He's used to me. He needs me. It won't be for long now.'

‘Well, then,' put in Catherine, ‘wouldn't you like one of us to stay
with
you? Me, for instance. I should like
to. Not Sally. They need her at home to cope with Edward. Don't they, Edward?'

Edward blushed, glancing shyly at Sarah. ‘Oh no. You mustn't consider me,
please
! If Miss Julia would like to be relieved——'

‘But she wouldn't,' said Julia firmly. ‘I won't hear of it, girls. I'm quite determined.'

‘Do you know, Julia,' said Catherine, ‘you get more like Mama every day.'

‘I wish I could believe that, Kitty dear. And now you must excuse me, all of you. Good-bye, Mr Linton.' She gave him her hand. ‘I do hope they're looking after you properly, these sisters of mine.'

‘No complaints so far,' Catherine assured her.

Rather timidly Sarah said: ‘How
is
he this morning? I've been afraid to ask.'

‘No better, dear. He'll never be any better, the doctor says. But he's not frightened any more, thank God. Now I must go to him. Good-bye.'

The first part of the walk home was accomplished in thoughtful silence. Breaking it at last Sarah said:

‘I ought to have stayed. Poor Julia! She looks worn out.'

‘How could you?' said Catherine. ‘You did your best. There's no moving Julia once she's made up her mind. And I know how she feels.'

‘She's very beautiful, your sister, isn't she?' said Edward.

‘But of course!' said Catherine.

‘So different from both of you.'

‘Really, Edward! Is that quite polite, do you think?'

He laughed. ‘Oh, you're beautiful too, my dear Kitty, in your sweet, childish way.'

‘Thank you for nothing, Mr Linton. And what about Sarah?'

‘That,' said Edward, ‘is a subject for more private discussion.'

Two days later Julia's ordeal came to an end. The death of the old man on whom she had lavished a mother's care left her feeling lost, exhausted, but in some deep sense fulfilled. She had charmed him from his fears. She had reconciled him to what must come. He died at peace, soothed by the touch of her hand.

‘Well, emily, my love,' said Mr Peacock, having lured his wife into the study, ‘it seems that we are to lose a daughter.'

‘What do you mean, Edmund?' she demanded in a joyous flutter. ‘Are you trying to frighten me?'

‘Not at all. There is no occasion for alarm, I think. Unless you dislike the young gentleman.'

‘Which young gentleman? Come to the point, do!'

‘Can you not guess? You surprise me. It's Edward Linton. He has asked my permission to pay his addresses.'

‘Ah! So that's how it is! I thought so. And you've given him your permission?'

‘My dear Emily, you flatter me. As if I should dare, without first consulting you!'

‘Nonsense, Edmund! Don't pretend to be henpecked. And don't pretend you didn't say yes, because I'm quite sure you did.'

‘Am I to understand, then, that you approve?'

‘You know I do. I've made no secret of liking him. It will be a most suitable match in every way.'

‘If the young lady consents, yes, I agree with you.'

‘She'll consent fast enough. You need have no doubts on that score. I've seen it in her eyes a hundred times. So would you have done, Edmund, had you been her mother.'

‘That privilege, alas, has been denied me. Paternity was all I could rise to.'

‘It shows how right I was,' declared Mrs Peacock, ‘to take the stand I did. I knew she would come to her senses, given time.'

‘There, I'm afraid, I do not quite follow you, Emily.'

‘Oh yes, you do. I know you were half-hearted about it, but you know very well we did the right thing when we sent your precious Robert about his business. And this proves it, if proof were needed.'

Mr Peacock, perceiving her drift, settled down to enjoy himself.

‘It would have been a mistake, you think, to let him marry our Catherine?' he inquired courteously.

‘A mistake? No. An outrage. A disaster.'

‘Possibly. Possibly not. But forgive me. It's not quite clear to me what bearing that affair can have in this present situation.'

‘What bearing! Every bearing! If she'd been allowed to engage herself to your Mr Crabbe she could never have had Edward, that's obvious.'

‘Nor can she now, my love.' Mr Peacock smiled beatifically. ‘Unless she and Sarah should decide to share him. An improbable contingency, you will agree.'

‘Sarah! What's Sarah to do with it? You don't mean … you can't mean …'

But he did. His nod, his delighted smile, proclaimed it.

‘But it's absurd!' cried Mrs Peacock. ‘It's impossible. I don't believe it. You're teasing me, Edmund. It's Catherine he's in love with. You've only to look at them to know that.'

‘In that case, my dear, we must lose no time in acquainting him with the state of his affections. He himself, at the moment, is firmly under the impression that he wants to marry Sarah. What a singular mistake! I really must speak to him about it.'

Before Mrs Peacock could collect herself for speech, the door behind her softly opened.

‘May we come in, Mama?'

On the threshold stood Edward and Sarah, hand in hand.

‘Thank you, Mama, it's very kind,' said Catherine. ‘But honestly, I don't
want
a dance.'

‘How odd of you, Catherine, to talk like that. I can't believe you quite sincere. Not want a dance on your twenty-first birthday! I never heard of such a thing. In
my
young days I should have been only too delighted. Let me see now, who can we have? The Claybrooks, that's two. Your Cousin Barnabas, that's three. Edward, of course, and perhaps he could bring a friend: we can trust his judgment. Then how about Captain Beckoning? He's back at the Manor again, I hear. It would be a nice neighbourly gesture to invite him; and he looks so splendid, doesn't he, in his regimentals? And your Uncle Richard, and your Uncle Thomas, if they can spare the time. How many does that come to? Eight, I think.'

‘Two and a half men for each of our girls,' said Mr Peacock. ‘They can fight for the other half. I shall look forward to a most amusing evening.'

‘Nonsense, Edmund. Our brothers will hardly want to dance.'

‘Will they not, poor old gentlemen? But
I
shall, my dear. May I have the first dance, Kitty?'

‘Not Captain Beckoning, Mama, I do hope,' said Julia. ‘He's a tiresome person.'

‘How
can
you say that, Julia dear?' exclaimed Mrs Peacock, with an
Et tu Brute
look. ‘Such a respectable family! His father the Colonel is one of the very
nicest
men. It's quite time he found himself a wife.'

‘I was under the impression,' remarked Mr Peacock, ‘that he already had a wife. Is it your idea that he should start a harem?'

‘I'm speaking of young
Arthur
Beckoning,' said Mrs Peacock severely, ‘as well you know, Edmund.'

‘If he does come,' said Sarah, ‘he can dance with Cousin Barnabas. They can talk crops together.'

‘God forbid that I should discourage your enthusiasm, my dear Emily, but have you thought how all these people are to be accommodated? We have only, I think, two suitably furnished spare bedrooms.'

‘Julia can share with her sisters for once. I'm sure she won't mind.'

‘Of course not, Mama.'

‘And my brother and brother-in-law,' said Mr Peacock, ‘will no doubt be happy to make themselves comfortable with Jenny and Alice. We will give them their choice. That leaves Edward and his hypothetical friend in one spare room, and our military gentleman in the other, unless he takes a fancy to Cook. It will be a famous arrangement.'

‘Really, Edmund!' Mrs Peacock was not amused. ‘In front of the girls too!'

‘They'll come to no harm, my love. They're growing up, we must remember. And they make allowances for their poor frivolous father. Don't you, girls?'

‘Of course, if you're bent on making difficulties——

‘We're not, Mama,' said Sarah, cutting in. ‘But won't eight gentlemen be rather more than we can manage? Indeed it will be nine with Papa, and not nearly enough females to go round. There are only four of us.'

‘I'm aware of that, Sarah. Your father and the uncles do not count. Dancing is for young people.'

‘That still leaves us outnumbered, Mama.'