The History of Sir Richard Calmady: A Romance
deciding to accept George Winterbotham? Moreover, a point of jealousy
undoubtedly pricked Lady Alicia in this connection. She was far from
being a cruel woman, but, comparing her own modest material advantages
in marriage with the surprisingly handsome ones offered to her little
sister, she could not be wholly sorry that the latter's rose was not
entirely without thorns. That the flower in question should have been
thornless, as well as so very fine and large, would surely have
trenched on injustice to herself. This thought had, perhaps
unconsciously, influenced her when enlarging on the becomingness of a
refined indifference to Sir Richard Calmady's deformity. In her heart
of hearts she was disposed, perhaps unconsciously, to hail rather than
deplore the fact of that same deformity. For did it not tend
subjectively to equalise her lot and that of her little sister, and
modify the otherwise humiliating disparity of their respective
fortunes? Therefore she capped Lady Louisa's speech, by saying
immediately:--
"Yes, indeed, papa, it would only be an unkindness to run any risk of
upsetting Connie. No really nice girl ever really quite likes the idea
of marriage----"
"Doesn't she, though?" commented Lord Fallowfeild, with an air of
receiving curious, scientific information.
"Oh, of course not! How could she? And then, papa, you know how you
have always indulged Connie"--Lady Alicia's voice was slightly peevish
in tone. She was not in very good health at the present time, with the
consequence that her face showed thin and bird-like. While,
notwithstanding the genial heat of the summer's day, she presented a
starved and chilly appearance.--"Always indulged Connie," she repeated,
"and that has inclined her to be rather selfish and fanciful."
The above statements, both regarding his own conduct and the effect of
that conduct upon his little ewe-lamb, nettled the amiable nobleman
considerably. He faced round upon the speaker with an intention of
reprimand, but in so doing his eyes were arrested by his daughter's
faded dress and disorganised complexion. He relented.--"Poor thing,
looks ill," he thought. "A man's an unworthy brute who ever says a
sharp word to a woman in her condition."--And, before he had time to
find a word other than sharp, Lady Louisa Barking returned to the
charge.
"Exactly," she asserted. "Alicia is perfectly right. At present Connie
is quite reasonable. And all we entreat, papa, is that you will let her
remain so, until you have made up your own mind. Do pray let us be
dignified. One knows how the servants get hold of anything of this kind
and discuss it, if there is any want of dignity or any indecision. That
is too odious. And I must really think just a little of Mr. Barking and
myself in the matter. It has all gone on in our house, you see. One
must consider appearances, and with all the recent gossip about
Shotover, we do not want another _esclandre_--the servants knowing all
about it too. And then, with all your partiality for Constance, you
cannot suppose she will have many opportunities of marrying men with
forty or fifty thousand a year."
"No, papa, as Louisa says, in your partiality for Connie you must not
entirely forget the claims of your other children. She must not be
encouraged to think exclusively of herself, and it is not fair that you
should think exclusively of her. I know that George and I are poor, but
it is through no fault of our own. He most honourably refuses to take
anything from his mother, and you know how small my private income is.
Yet no one can accuse George of lack of generosity. When any of my
family want to come to us he always makes them welcome. Maggie only
left us last Thursday, and Emily comes to-morrow. I know we can't do
much. It is not possible with our small means and establishment. But
what little we can do, George is most willing should be done."
"Excellent fellow, Winterbotham," Lord Fallowfeild put in soothingly.
"Very steady, painstaking man, Winterbotham."
His second daughter looked at him reproachfully.
"Thank you, papa," she said. "I own I was a little hurt just now by the
tone in which you alluded to George."
"Were you, though? I'm sure I'm very sorry, my dear Alicia. Hate to
hurt anybody, especially one of my own children. Unnatural thing to
hurt one of your own children. But you see this feeling of all of yours
about Shotover has been very painful to me. I never have liked
divisions in families. Never know where they may lead to. Nasty,
uncomfortable things divisions in families."
"Well, papa, I can only say that divisions are almost invariably caused
by a want of the sense of duty." Lady Louisa's voice was stern. "And if
people are over-indulged they become selfish, and then, of course, they
lose their sense of duty."
"My sister is a notable logician," Mr. Quayle murmured, under his
breath. "If logic ruled life, how clear, how simple our course! But
then, unfortunately, it doesn't."
"Shotover has really no one but himself to thank for any bitterness
that his brothers and sisters may feel towards him. He has thrown away
his chances, has got the whole family talked about in a most
objectionable manner, and has been a serious encumbrance to you, and
indirectly to all of us. We have all suffered quite enough trouble and
annoyance already. And so I must protest, papa, I must very strongly
and definitely protest, against Connie being permitted, still more
encouraged, to do exactly the same thing."
Lord Fallowfeild, still grasping his walking-stick,--though he could
not but fear that trusted weapon had proved faithless and sadly failed
in its duty of support,--gazed distractedly at the speaker. Visions of
Jewish money-lenders, of ladies more fair and kind than wise, of guinea
points at whist, of the prize ring of Baden-Baden, of Newmarket and
Doncaster, arose confusedly before him. What the deuce,--he did not
like bad language, but really,--what the dickens, had all these to do
with his ewe-lamb, innocent little Constance, her virgin-white body and
soul, and her sweet, wide-eyed prettiness?
"My dear Louisa, no doubt you know what you mean, but I give you my
word I don't," he began.
"Hear, hear, my dear father," put in Mr. Quayle. "There I am with you.
Louisa's wing is strong, her range is great. I myself, on this
occasion, find it not a little difficult to follow her."
"Nonsense, Ludovic," almost snapped the lady. "You follow me perfectly,
or can do so if you use your common sense. Papa must face the fact,
that Constance cannot afford--that we cannot afford to have her--throw
away her chances, as Shotover has thrown away his. We all have a duty,
not only to ourselves, but to each other. Inclination must give way to
duty--though I do not say Constance exhibits any real disinclination to
this marriage. She is a little flurried. As Alicia said just now, every
really nice-minded girl is flurried at the idea of marriage. She ought
to be. I consider it only delicate that she should be. But she
understands--I have pointed it out to her--that her money, her
position, and those two big houses--Brockhurst and the one in Lowndes
Square--will be of the greatest advantage to the girls and to her
brothers. It is not as if she was nobody. The scullery-maid can marry
whom she likes, of course. But in our rank of life it is different. A
girl is bound to think of her family, as well as of herself. She is
bound to consider----"
The groom-of-the-chambers opened the door and advanced solemnly across
the boudoir to Lord Fallowfeild.
"Sir Richard Calmady is in the smoking-room, my lord," he said, "to see
you."
CHAPTER V
IPHIGENIA
Chastened in spirit, verbally acquiescent, yet unconvinced, a somewhat
pitiable sense of inadequacy upon him, Lord Fallowfeild traveled back
to Westchurch that night. Two days later the morning papers announced
to all whom it might concern,--and that far larger all, whom it did not
really concern in the least,--in the conventional phrases common to
such announcements, that Sir Richard Calmady and Lady Constance Quayle
had agreed shortly to become man and wife. Thus did Katherine Calmady,
in all trustfulness, strive to give her son his desire, while the
great, and little, world looked on and made comments, various as the
natures and circumstances of the units composing them.
Lady Louisa was filled with the pride of victory. Her venture had not
miscarried. At church on Sunday--she was really too busy socially, just
now, to attend what it was her habit to describe as "odds and ends of
week-day services," and therefore worshipped on the Sabbath only, and
then by no means in secret or with shut door--she repeated the General
Thanksgiving with much unction and in an aggressively audible voice.
And Lady Alicia Winterbotham expressed a peevish hope that,--"such
great wealth might not turn Constance's head and make her just a little
vulgar. It was all rather dangerous for a girl of her age, and
she"--the speaker--"trusted _somebody_ would point out to Connie the
heavy responsibilities towards others such a position brought with it."
And Lord Shotover delivered it as his opinion that,--"It might be all
right. He hoped to goodness it was, for he'd always been uncommonly
fond of the young un. But it seemed to him rather a put-up job all
round, and so he meant just to keep his eye on Con, he swore he did."
In furtherance of which laudable determination he braved his eldest
sister's frowns with heroic intrepidity, calling to see the young girl
whenever all other sources of amusement failed him, and paying her the
compliment--as is the habit of the natural man, when unselfishly
desirous of giving pleasure to the women of his family--of talking
continuously and exclusively about his own affairs, his gains at cards,
his losses on horses, even recounting, in moments of more than
ordinarily expansive affection, the less wholly disreputable episodes
of his many adventures of the heart. And Honoria St. Quentin's
sensitive face straightened and her lips closed rather tight whenever
the marriage was mentioned before her. She refused to express any view
on the subject, and to that end took rather elaborate pains to avoid
the society of Mr. Quayle. And Lady Dorothy Hellard,--whose unhappy
disappointment in respect of the late Lord Sokeington and other
non-successful excursions in the direction of wedlock, had not cured
her of sentimental leanings,--asserted that,--"It was quite the most
romantic and touching engagement she had ever heard of." To which
speech her mother, the Dowager Lady Combmartin, replied, with the
directness of statement which made her acquaintance so cautious of
differing from her:--"Touching? Romantic? Fiddle-de-dee! You ought to
be ashamed of yourself for thinking so at your age, Dorothy. A
bargain's a bargain, and in my opinion the bride has got much the best
of it. For she's a mawkish, milk-and-water, little schoolgirl, while he
is charming--all there is of him. If there'd been a little more I
declared I'd have married him myself." And good-looking Mr. Decies, of
the 101st Lancers, got into very hot water with the mounted constables,
and with the livery-stable keeper from whom he hired his hacks, for
"furious riding" in the Park. And Julius March walked the paved ways
and fragrant alleys of the red-walled gardens at Brockhurst, somewhat
sadly, in the glowing June twilights, meditating upon the pitiless
power of change which infects all things human, and of his own lifelong
love doomed to "find no earthly close." And Mrs. Chifney, down at the
racing stables, rejoiced to the point of tears, being possessed by the
persistent instinct of matrimony common to the British, lower
middle-class. And Sandyfield parish rejoiced likewise, and pealed its