The Palliser Novels (549 page)

“Why not?”

“I don’t know whether he approves of the intimacy between him and Lord Silverbridge.”

“I should think not; — a man without any position or a shilling in the world.”

“The Duke is peculiar. If a subject is distasteful to him he does not like it to be mentioned. You had better not mention Mr. Tregear.” Lady Cantrip, as she said this, blushed inwardly at her own hypocrisy.

It was of course contrived at dinner that Lord Popplecourt should take out Lady Mary. It is impossible to discover how such things get wind, but there was already an idea prevalent at Custins that Lord Popplecourt had matrimonial views, and that these views were looked upon favourably. “You may be quite sure of it, Mr. Lupton,” Lady Adelaide FitzHoward had said. “I’ll make a bet they’re married before this time next year.”

“It will be a terrible case of Beauty and the Beast,” said Lupton.

Lady Chiltern had whispered a suspicion of the same kind, and had expressed a hope that the lover would be worthy of the girl. And Dolly Longstaff had chaffed his friend Popplecourt on the subject, Popplecourt having laid himself open by indiscreet allusions to Dolly’s love for Miss Boncassen. “Everybody can’t have it as easily arranged for him as you, — a Duke’s daughter and a pot of money without so much as the trouble of asking for it!”

“What do you know about the Duke’s children?”

“That’s what it is to be a lord and not to have a father.” Popplecourt tried to show that he was disgusted; but he felt himself all the more strongly bound to go on with his project.

It was therefore a matter of course that these should-be lovers would be sent out of the room together. “You’ll give your arm to Mary,” Lady Cantrip said, dropping the ceremonial prefix. Lady Mary of course went out as she was bidden. Though everybody else knew it, no idea of what was intended had yet come across her mind.

The should-be lover immediately reverted to the Austrian tour, expressing a hope that his neighbour had enjoyed herself. “There’s nothing I like so much myself,” said he, remembering some of the Duke’s words, “as mountains, cities, salt-mines, and all that kind of thing. There’s such a lot of interest about it.”

“Did you ever see a salt-mine?”

“Well, — not exactly a salt-mine; but I have coal-mines on my property in Staffordshire. I’m very fond of coal. I hope you like coal.”

“I like salt a great deal better — to look at.”

“But which do you think pays best? I don’t mind telling you, — though it’s a kind of thing I never talk about to strangers, — the royalties from the Blogownie and Toodlem mines go up regularly two thousand pounds every year.”

“I thought we were talking about what was pretty to look at.”

“So we were. I’m as fond of pretty things as anybody. Do you know Reginald Dobbes?”

“No, I don’t. Is he pretty?”

“He used to be so angry with Silverbridge, because Silverbridge would say Crummie-Toddie was ugly.”

“Was Crummie-Toddie ugly?”

“Just a plain house on a moor.”

“That sounds ugly.”

“I suppose your family like pretty things?”

“I hope so.”

“I do, I know.” Lord Popplecourt endeavoured to look as though he intended her to understand that she was the pretty thing which he most particularly liked. She partly conceived his meaning, and was disgusted accordingly. On the other side of her sat Mr. Boncassen, to whom she had been introduced in the drawing-room, — and who had said a few words to her about some Norwegian poet. She turned round to him, and asked him some questions about the Skald, and so, getting into conversation with him, managed to turn her shoulder to her suitor. On the other side of him sat Lady Rosina de Courcy, to whom, as being an old woman and an old maid, he felt very little inclined to be courteous. She said a word, asking him whether he did not think the weather was treacherous. He answered her very curtly, and sat bolt upright, looking forward on the table, and taking his dinner as it came to him. He had been put there in order that Lady Mary Palliser might talk to him, and he regarded interference on the part of that old American as being ungentlemanlike. But the old American disregarded him, and went on with his quotations from the Scandinavian bard.

But Mr. Boncassen sat next to Lady Cantrip, and when at last he was called upon to give his ear to the Countess, Lady Mary was again vacant for Popplecourt’s attentions.

“Are you very fond of poetry?” he asked.

“Very fond.”

“So am I. Which do you like best, Tennyson or Shakespeare?”

“They are very unlike.”

“Yes; — they are unlike. Or Moore’s Melodies? I am very fond of ‘When in death I shall calm recline.’ I think this equal to anything. Reginald Dobbes would have it that poetry is all bosh.”

“Then I think that Mr. Reginald Dobbes must be all bosh himself.”

“There was a man there named Tregear who had brought some books.” Then there was a pause. Lady Mary had not a word to say. “Dobbes used to declare that he was always pretending to read poetry.”

“Mr. Tregear never pretends anything.”

“Do you know him?” asked the rival.

“He is my brother’s most particular friend.”

“Ah! yes. I dare say Silverbridge has talked to you about him. I think he’s a stuck-up sort of fellow.” To this there was not a word of reply. “Where did your brother pick him up?”

“They were at Oxford together.”

“I must say I think he gives himself airs; — because, you know, he’s nobody.”

“I don’t know anything of the kind,” said Lady Mary, becoming very red. “And as he is my brother’s most particular friend, — his very friend of friends, — I think you had better not abuse him to me.”

“I don’t think the Duke is very fond of him.”

“I don’t care who is fond of him. I am very fond of Silverbridge, and I won’t hear his friend ill-spoken of. I dare say he had some books with him. He is not at all the sort of a man to go to a place and satisfy himself with doing nothing but killing animals.”

“Do you know him, Lady Mary?”

“I have seen him, and of course I have heard a great deal of him from Silverbridge. I would rather not talk any more about him.”

“You seem to be very fond of Mr. Tregear,” he said angrily.

“It is no business of yours, Lord Popplecourt, whether I am fond of anybody or not. I have told you that Mr. Tregear is my brother’s friend, and that ought to be enough.”

Lord Popplecourt was a young man possessed of a certain amount of ingenuity. It was said of him that he knew on which side his bread was buttered, and that if you wished to take him in you must get up early. After dinner and during the night he pondered a good deal on what he had heard. Lady Cantrip had told him there had been a — dream. What was he to believe about that dream? Had he not better avoid the error of putting too fine a point upon it, and tell himself at once that a dream in this instance meant a — lover? Lady Mary had already been troubled by a lover! He was disposed to believe that young ladies often do have objectionable lovers, and that things get themselves right afterwards. Young ladies can be made to understand the beauty of coal-mines almost as readily as young gentlemen. There would be the two hundred thousand pounds; and there was the girl, beautiful, well-born, and thoroughly well-mannered. But what if this Tregear and the dream were one and the same? If so, had he not received plenty of evidence that the dream had not yet passed away? A remnant of affection for the dream would not have been a fatal barrier, had not the girl been so fierce with him in defence of her dream. He remembered, too, what the Duke had said about Tregear, and Lady Cantrip’s advice to him to be silent in respect to this man. And then do girls generally defend their brothers’ friends as she had defended Tregear? He thought not. Putting all these things together on the following morning he came to an uncomfortable belief that Tregear was the dream.

Soon after that he found himself near to Dolly Longstaff as they were shooting. “You know that fellow Tregear, don’t you?”

“Oh Lord, yes. He is Silverbridge’s pal.”

“Did you ever hear anything about him?”

“What sort of thing?”

“Was he ever — ever in love with any one?”

“I fancy he used to be awfully spooney on Mab Grex. I remember hearing that they were to have been married, only that neither of them had sixpence.”

“Oh — Lady Mabel Grex! That’s a horse of another colour.”

“And which is the horse of your colour?”

“I haven’t got a horse,” said Lord Popplecourt, going away to his own corner.

It was generally known that Dolly Longstaff had been heavily smitten by the charms of Miss Boncassen; but the world hardly gave him credit for the earnestness of his affection. Dolly had never been known to be in earnest in anything; — but now he was in very truth in love. He had agreed to be Popplecourt’s companion at Custins because he had heard that Miss Boncassen would be there. He had thought over the matter with more consideration than he had ever before given to any subject. He had gone so far as to see his own man of business, with a view of ascertaining what settlements he could make and what income he might be able to spend. He had told himself over and over again that he was not the “sort of fellow” that ought to marry; but it was all of no avail. He confessed to himself that he was completely “bowled over,” — “knocked off his pins!”

“Is a fellow to have no chance?” he said to Miss Boncassen at Custins.

“If I understand what a fellow means, I am afraid not.”

“No man alive was ever more in earnest than I am.”

“Well, Mr. Longstaff, I do not suppose that you have been trying to take me in all this time.”

“I hope you do not think ill of me.”

“I may think well of a great many gentlemen without wishing to marry them.”

“But does love go for nothing?” said Dolly, putting his hand upon his heart. “Perhaps there are so many that love you.”

“Not above half-a-dozen or so.”

“You can make a joke of it, when I — . But I don’t think, Miss Boncassen, you at all realise what I feel. As to settlements and all that, your father could do what he likes with me.”

“My father has nothing to do with it, and I don’t know what settlements mean. We never think anything of settlements in our country. If two young people love each other they go and get married.”

“Let us do the same here.”

“But the two young people don’t love each other. Look here, Mr. Longstaff; it’s my opinion that a young woman ought not to be pestered.”

“Pestered!”

“You force me to speak in that way. I’ve given you an answer ever so many times. I will not be made to do it over and over again.”

“It’s that d–––– fellow, Silverbridge,” he exclaimed almost angrily. On hearing this Miss Boncassen left the room without speaking another word, and Dolly Longstaff found himself alone. He saw what he had done as soon as she was gone. After that he could hardly venture to persevere again — here at Custins. He weighed it over in his mind for a long time, almost coming to a resolution in favour of hard drink. He had never felt anything like this before. He was so uncomfortable that he couldn’t eat his luncheon, though in accordance with his usual habit he had breakfasted off soda-and-brandy and a morsel of devilled toast. He did not know himself in his changed character. “I wonder whether she understands that I have four thousand pounds a year of my own, and shall have twelve thousand pounds more when my governor goes! She was so headstrong that it was impossible to explain anything to her.”

“I’m off to London,” he said to Popplecourt that afternoon.

“Nonsense! you said you’d stay for ten days.”

“All the same, I’m going at once. I’ve sent to Bridport for a trap, and I shall sleep to-night at Dorchester.”

“What’s the meaning of it all?”

“I’ve had some words with somebody. Don’t mind asking any more.”

“Not with the Duke?”

“The Duke! No; I haven’t spoken to him.”

“Or Lord Cantrip?”

“I wish you wouldn’t ask questions.”

“If you’ve quarrelled with anybody you ought to consult a friend.”

“It’s nothing of that kind.”

“Then it’s a lady. It’s the American girl!”

“Don’t I tell you I don’t want to talk about it? I’m going. I’ve told Lady Cantrip that my mother wasn’t well and wants to see me. You’ll stop your time out, I suppose?”

“I don’t know.”

“You’ve got it all square, no doubt. I wish I’d a handle to my name. I never cared for it before.”

“I’m sorry you’re so down in the mouth. Why don’t you try again? The thing is to stick to ‘em like wax. If ten times of asking won’t do, go in twenty times.”

Dolly shook his head despondently. “What can you do when a girl walks out of the room and slams the door in your face? She’ll get it hot and heavy before she has done. I know what she’s after. She might as well cry for the moon.” And so Dolly got into the trap and went to Bridport, and slept that night at the hotel at Dorchester.

Lord Popplecourt, though he could give such excellent advice to his friend, had been able as yet to do very little in his own case. He had been a week at Custins, and had said not a word to denote his passion. Day after day he had prepared himself for the encounter, but the lady had never given him the opportunity. When he sat next to her at dinner she would be very silent. If he stayed at home on a morning she was not visible. During the short evenings he could never get her attention. And he made no progress with the Duke. The Duke had been very courteous to him at Richmond, but here he was monosyllabic and almost sullen.

Once or twice Lord Popplecourt had a little conversation with Lady Cantrip. “Dear girl!” said her ladyship. “She is so little given to seeking admiration.”

“I dare say.”

“Girls are so different, Lord Popplecourt. With some of them it seems that a gentleman need have no trouble in explaining what it is that he wishes.”

“I don’t think Lady Mary is like that at all.”

“Not in the least. Any one who addresses her must be prepared to explain himself fully. Nor ought he to hope to get much encouragement at first. I do not think that Lady Mary will bestow her heart till she is sure she can give it with safety.” There was an amount of falsehood in this which was proof at any rate of very strong friendship on the part of Lady Cantrip.