Mr. Kendal"s letter to Gilbert was an absolute apology. Gilbert in Turkey was a very different person from Gilbert at Bayford, and had a.s.sumed in his father"s mind the natural rights of son and heir; he seemed happy and valued, and the heat of the climate, pestiferous to so many, seemed but to give his Indian const.i.tution the vigour it needed.
When his comrades were laid up, or going away for better air, much duty was falling on him, and he was doing it with hearty good-will and effectiveness. Already the rapid changes had made him a lieutenant, and he wrote in the highest spirits. Moreover, he had fallen in with Bryan O"More, and had been able to do him sundry kindnesses, the report of which brought Ulick to Willow Lawn in an overflow of grat.i.tude.
It was a strange state of affairs there. Albinia was ashamed of the plea of "could not help it," and yet that was the only one to rest on; the adherence to promises alone gave a sense of duty, and when or how the promises had been given was not clear.
Besides, no one could be certain even about poor Lucy"s present satisfaction; she sometimes seemed like a little bird fluttering under the fascination of a snake. She was evidently half afraid of Algernon, and would breathe more freely when he was not at hand; but then a restlessness would come on if he did not appear as soon as she expected, as if she dreaded having offended him. She had violent bursts of remorseful tears, and great outpourings of fondness towards every one at home, and she positively did look ill enough to justify Algernon in saying that the present condition of matters was hurtful to her. Still she could not endure a word that remotely tended towards advising her to break off the engagement, or even to r.e.t.a.r.d the wedding, and her admiration of her intended was unabated.
Indeed, his affection could not be doubted; he liked her adoration of all his performances, and he regarded her with beneficent protection, as a piece of property; he made her magnificent presents, and conceded to her that the wedding tour should not be beyond Clifton, whence they would return to Willow Lawn, and judge ere deciding on going abroad.
He said that it would be "de bon ton" to have the marriage strictly private. Even he saw the incongruity of festivity alongside of that chamber of decay and death; and besides, he had conceived such a distaste to the Drury family, that he had signified to Lucy that they must not make part of the spectacle.
Albinia and Sophy thought this so impertinent, that they manfully fought the battles of the Drurys, but without prevailing; Albinia took her revenge, by observing that this being the case, it was impossible to ask her brother and little Mary, whose well-sounding names she knew Algernon ambitionated for the benefit of the county paper.
Always doing what was most contrary to the theories with which she started in life, Albinia found herself taking the middle course that she contemned. She was marrying her first daughter with an aching, foreboding heart, unable either to approve or to prevent, and obliged to console and cheer just when she would have imagined herself insisting upon a rupture at all costs.
Sophy had said from the first that her sister could not go back.
She expected her to be unhappy, and believed it the penalty of the wrongdoings in consenting to the clandestine correspondence; and treated her with melancholy kindness as a victim under sentence. She was very affectionate, but not at all consoling when Lucy was sad, and she was impatient and gloomy when the trousseau, or any of the privileges of a fiancee brought a renewal of gaiety and importance. A broken heart and ruined fortunes were the least of the consequences she augured, and she went about the house as if she had realized them both herself.
The wedding-day came, and grandmamma was torpid and only half conscious, so that all could venture to leave her. The bride was not allowed to see her, lest the agitation should overwhelm both; for the poor girl was indeed looking like the victim her sister thought her, pale as death, with red rings round her extinguished eyes, and trembling from head to foot, the more at the apprehension that Algernon would think her a fright.
After all that lavender and sal-volatile could do for her, she was such a spectacle, that when her father came to fetch her he was shocked, and said, tenderly, "Lucy, my child, this must not be. Say one word, and all shall be over, and you shall never hear a word of reproach."
But Lucy only cast a frightened glance around, and rising up with the accents of perfect sincerity, said, "No, papa; I am quite ready; I am quite happy. I was only silly."
Her mind was evidently made up, and it was past Albinia"s divination whether her agitation were composed of fear of the future and remorse for the past, or whether it were mere love of home and hurry of spirits, exaggerated by belief that a bride ought to weep. Probably it was a compound of all, and the whole of her reply perfect truth, especially the final clause.
So they married her, poor child, very much as if they had been attending her to the block. Sophy"s view of the case had infected them all beyond being dispelled by the stately complacency of the bridegroom, or the radiant joy and affection of his uncle.
They put her into a carriage, watched her away, and turned back to the task which she had left them, dreading the effects of her absence. She was missed, but less than they feared; the faculties had become too feeble for such strong emotion as had followed Gilbert"s departure; and the void was chiefly perceptible by the plaintive and exacting clinging to Albinia, who had less and less time to herself and her children, and was somewhat uneasy as to the consequences as regarded Maurice. While Gilbert was at home, the child had been under some supervision; but now his independent and unruly spirit was left almost uncontrolled, except by his own intermittent young conscience, his father indulged him, and endured from him what would have been borne from no one else; and Sophy was his willing slave, unable to exact obedience, and never complaining, save under the most stringent necessity or sense of duty. He was too young for school, and there was nothing to be done but to go on, from day to day, in the trust that no harm could eventually ensue in consequence of so absolute a duty as the care of the sufferer; and that while the boy"s truth and generosity were sound, though he might be a torment, his character might be all the stronger afterwards for that very indocility.
It was not satisfactory, and many mothers would have been miserable; but it was not in Albinia"s nature to be miserable when her hands were full, and she was doing her best. She had heard her brother say that when good people gave their children sound principles and spoilt them, they gave the children the trouble of self-conquest instead of doing it for them.
She had great faith in Maurice"s undertaking this task in due time; and while she felt that she still had her hand on the rein she must be content to leave it loose for a while.
Besides, when his father and sisters, and, least of all, herself, did not find him a plague, did it much matter if other people did?
CHAPTER XXV.
Exulting peals rang out from the Bayford tower, and as Mr. and Mrs.
Cavendish Dusautoy alighted from their carriage at Willow Lawn, the cry of the vicar and of the a.s.sembled household was, "Have you heard that Sebastopol is taken?"
"Any news of Gilbert?" was Lucy"s demand.
"No, the cavalry were not landed, so he had nothing to do with it."
"I say, uncle," said Algernon, "shall I send up a sovereign to those ringers?"
"Eh! poor fellows, they will be very glad of it, thank you; only I must take care they don"t drink it up. I"m sure they must be tired enough; they"ve been at it ever since the telegraph came in!"
"There!" exclaimed Algernon; "Barton must have telegraphed from the station when we set out!"
"You? Did you think the bells were ringing for _you_," exclaimed his uncle, "when there"s a great battle won, and Sebastopol taken?"
"Telegraphs are always lies!" quoth Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy, tersely, "I don"t believe anything has happened at all!" and he re-pocketed the sovereign.
Meantime Lucy was in a rapture of embracing. She was spread out with stiff silk flounces and velvet mantle, so as to emulate her husband"s importance, and her chains and bracelets clattered so much, that Mr.
Kendal could not help saying, "You should have taken lessons of your Ayah, to learn how to manage your bangles."
"Oh! papa," said she, with a newly-learnt little laugh, "I could not help it; Louise could not find room for them in my dressing-case."
They were not, however, lost upon the whole of the family. Grandmamma"s dim eyes lighted when she recognised her favourite grand-daughter in such gorgeous array, and that any one should have come back again was so new and delightful, that it constantly recurred as a fresh surprise and pleasure.
All were glad to have her again--their own Lucy, as she still was, though somewhat of the grandiose style and self-consequence of her husband had overlaid the original nature. She was as good-natured and obliging as ever, and though beginning by conferring her favours as condescensions, she soon would forget that she was the great Mrs.
Cavendish Dusautoy, and quickly become the eager, helpful Lucy. She was in very good looks, and bright and happy, admiring Algernon, rejoicing to obey his behests, and enhancing his dignity and her own by her discourses upon his talents and importance. How far she was at ease with him, Albinia sometimes doubted; there now and then was an air of greater freedom when he left the room, and some of her favourite old household avocations were tenderly resumed by stealth, as though she feared he might think them unworthy of his wife.
She gave her spare time to the invalid, who was revived by her presence as by a sunbeam; and Albinia, in her relief and grat.i.tude, did her utmost to keep Algernon happy and contented. She resigned a room to him as an atelier, and let the little Awk be captured to have her likeness taken, she promoted the guitar and key-bugle, and abstained from resenting his strictures on her dinners.
Such a guest reduced Mr. Kendal to absolute silence, but she did not think he suffered much therefrom, and he was often relieved, for all the neighbourhood asked the young couple to dinner. Mrs. Cavendish Dusautoy"s toilette was as good as a play to the oldest and youngest inhabitants of the house, her little sister used to stand by the dressing-table with her small fingers straightened to sustain a column of rings threaded on them, and her arm weighed down with bracelets, and grandmamma"s happiest moments were when she was raised up to contemplate the costly robes, jewelled neck, and garlanded head of her darling.
When it turned out that Sebastopol was anything but taken, Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy"s incredulity was a precious confirmation of his esteem for his own sagacity, more especially as Ulick O"More and Maurice had worn out the little bra.s.s piece of ordnance in firing feux de joie.
"But," said Maurice, "papa always said it was not true. Now you only said so when you found the bells were ringing for that, and not for you."
Maurice"s observations were not always convenient. Algernon, with much pomp, had caused a horse to be led to the door, for which he had lately paid eighty guineas, and he was expatiating on its merits, when Maurice broke out, "That"s Macheath, the horse that Archie Tritton bought of Mr.
Nugent"s coachman for twenty pounds."
"Hush, Maurice!" said his father, "you know nothing of it; and Mr.
Cavendish Dusautoy pursued, "It was bred at Lord Lewthorp"s, and sold because it was too tall for its companion. Laing was on the point of sending it to Tattersalls, where he was secure of a hundred, but he was willing to oblige me, as we had had transactions before."
"Papa!" cried Maurice, "I know it is Macheath, for Mr. Tritton showed him to Gilbert and me, when he had just got him, and said he was a showy beast, but incurably lame, so he should get what he could for him from Laing. Now, James, isn"t it?" he called to the servant who was sedulously turning away a grinning face, but just muttered, "Same, sir."
Mr. Kendal charitably looked the other way, and Algernon muttered some species of imprecation.
Thenceforth Maurice took every occasion of inquiring what had become of Macheath, whether Laing had refunded the price, and what had been done to him for telling stories.
If the boy began in innocence, he went on in mischief; he was just old enough to be a most aggravating compound of simplicity and malice. He was fully aware that Mr. Cavendish Dusautoy was held cheap by his own favourites, and had been partly the cause of his dear Gilbert"s troubles, and his sharp wits and daring nature were excited to the utmost by the solemn irritation that he produced. Not only was it irresistibly droll to tease one so dest.i.tute of fun, but he had the strongest desire to see how angry it was possible to make the big brother-in-law, of whom every one seemed in awe.
First, he had recourse to the old term Polysyllable, and when Lucy remonstrated, he answered, "I"ve a right to call my brother what I please."
"You know how angry mamma would be to hear you."
"Mamma calls him the Polysyllable herself," said Maurice, looking full at his victim.
Lucy, who would have given the world to hinder this epithet from coming to her husband"s knowledge, began explaining something about Gilbert"s nonsense before he knew him, and how it had been long disused.