The Small House at Allington
she had slunk away in despair.
"I have borne it," she said to Margaretta, "longer than any other
woman in England would have done. While I thought that any of you
would marry--"
"Oh, don't talk of that, mamma," said Margaretta, putting a little
scorn into her voice. She had not been quite pleased that even her
mother should intimate that all her chance was over, and yet she
herself had often told her mother that she had given up all thought
of marrying.
"Rosina will go to Amelia's," the countess continued; "Mr. Gazebee is
quite satisfied that it should be so, and he will take care that she
shall have enough to cover her own expenses. I propose that you and
I, dear, shall go to Baden-Baden."
"And about money, mamma?"
"Mr. Gazebee must manage it. In spite of all that your father says, I
know that there must be money. The expense will be much less so than
in our present way."
"And what will papa do himself?"
"I cannot help it, my dear. No one knows what I have had to bear.
Another year of it would kill me. His language has become worse and
worse, and I fear every day that he is going to strike me with his
crutch."
Under all these circumstances it cannot be said that the De Courcy
interests were prospering.
But Lady De Courcy, when she had made up her mind to go to
Baden-Baden, had by no means intended to take her youngest daughter
with her. She had endured for years, and now Alexandrina was unable
to endure for six months. Her chief grievance, moreover, was
this,--that her husband was silent. The mother felt that no woman had
a right to complain much of any such sorrow as that. If her earl had
sinned only in that way, she would have been content to have remained
by him till the last!
And yet I do not know whether Alexandrina's life was not quite as
hard as that of her mother. She barely exceeded the truth when
she said that he never spoke to her. The hours with her in her
new comfortless house were very long,--very long and very tedious.
Marriage with her had by no means been the thing that she had
expected. At home, with her mother, there had always been people
around her, but they had not always been such as she herself would
have chosen for her companions. She had thought that, when married,
she could choose and have those about her who were congenial to her;
but she found that none came to her. Her sister, who was a wiser
woman than she, had begun her married life with a definite idea, and
had carried it out; but this poor creature found herself, as it were,
stranded. When once she had conceived it in her heart to feel anger
against her husband,--and she had done so before they had been a week
together,--there was no love to bring her back to him again. She did
not know that it behoved her to look pleased when he entered the
room, and to make him at any rate think that his presence gave her
happiness. She became gloomy before she reached her new house, and
never laid her gloom aside. He would have made a struggle for some
domestic comfort, had any seemed to be within his reach. As it was,
he struggled for domestic propriety, believing that he might so best
bolster up his present lot in life. But the task became harder and
harder to him, and the gloom became denser and more dense. He did not
think of her unhappiness, but of his own; as she did not think of his
tedium, but of hers. "If this be domestic felicity!" he would say to
himself, as he sat in his arm-chair, striving to fix his attention
upon a book.
"If this be the happiness of married life!" she thought, as she
remained listless, without even the pretence of a book, behind her
teacups. In truth she would not walk with him, not caring for such
exercise round the pavement of a London square; and he had resolutely
determined that she should not run into debt for carriage hire. He
was not a curmudgeon with his money; he was no miser. But he had
found that in marrying an earl's daughter he had made himself a poor
man, and he was resolved that he would not also be an embarrassed
man.
When the bride heard that her mother and sister were about to escape
to Baden-Baden, there rushed upon her a sudden hope that she might
be able to accompany the flight. She would not be parted from her
husband, or at least not so parted that the world should suppose
that they had quarrelled. She would simply go away and make a long
visit,--a very long visit. Two years ago a sojourn with her mother
and Margaretta at Baden-Baden would not have offered to her much that
was attractive; but now, in her eyes, such a life seemed to be a life
in Paradise. In truth, the tedium of those hours in Princess Royal
Crescent had been very heavy.
But how could she contrive that it should be so? That conversation
with her mother had taken place on the day preceding the party, and
Lady De Courcy had repeated it with dismay to Margaretta.
"Of course he would allow her an income," Margaretta had coolly said.
"But, my dear, they have been married only ten weeks."
"I don't see why people are to be made absolutely wretched because
they are married," Margaretta answered. "I don't want to persuade her
to leave him, but if what she says is true, it must be very
uncomfortable."
Crosbie had consented to go to the party in Portman-square, but had
not greatly enjoyed himself on that festive occasion. He had stood
about moodily, speaking hardly a word to any one. His whole aspect of
life seemed to have been altered during the last few months. It was
here, in such spots as this that he had been used to find his glory.
On such occasions he had shone with peculiar light, making envious
the hearts of many who watched the brilliance of his career as they
stood around in dull quiescence. But now no one in those rooms had
been more dull, more silent, or less courted than he; and yet he was
established there as the son-in-law of that noble house. "Rather slow
work; isn't it?" Gazebee had said to him, having, after many efforts,
succeeded in reaching his brother-in-law in a corner. In answer to
this Crosbie had only grunted. "As for myself," continued Gazebee, "I
would a deal sooner be at home with my paper and slippers. It seems
to me these sort of gatherings don't suit married men." Crosbie had
again grunted, and had then escaped into another corner.
Crosbie and his wife went home together in a cab,--speechless both
of them. Alexandrina hated cabs,--but she had been plainly told that
in such vehicles, and in such vehicles only, could she be allowed
to travel. On the following morning he was at the breakfast-table
punctually by nine, but she did not make her appearance till after he
had gone to his office. Soon after that, however, she was away to her
mother and her sister; but she was seated grimly in her drawing-room
when he came in to see her, on his return to his house. Having said
some word which might be taken for a greeting, he was about to
retire; but she stopped him with a request that he would speak to
her.
"Certainly," said he. "I was only going to dress. It is nearly the
half-hour."
"I won't keep you very long, and if dinner is a few minutes late it
won't signify. Mamma and Margaretta are going to Baden-Baden."
"To Baden-Baden, are they?"
"Yes; and they intend to remain there--for a considerable time."
There was a little pause, and Alexandrina found it necessary to clear
her voice and to prepare herself for further speech by a little
cough. She was determined to make her proposition, but was rather
afraid of the manner in which it might be first received.
"Has anything happened at Courcy Castle?" Crosbie asked.
"No; that is, yes; there may have been some words between papa and
mamma; but I don't quite know. That, however, does not matter now.
Mamma is going, and purposes to remain there for the rest of the
year."
"And the house in town will be given up."
"I suppose so, but that will be as papa chooses. Have you any
objection to my going with mamma?"
What a question to be asked by a bride of ten weeks' standing! She
had hardly been above a month with her husband in her new house, and
she was now asking permission to leave it, and to leave him also, for
an indefinite number of months--perhaps for ever. But she showed no
excitement as she made her request. There was neither sorrow, nor
regret, nor hope in her face. She had not put on half the animation
which she had once assumed in asking for the use, twice a week,
of a carriage done up to look as though it were her own private
possession. Crosbie had then answered her with great sternness, and
she had wept when his refusal was made certain to her. But there was
to be no weeping now. She meant to go,--with his permission if he
would accord it, and without it if he should refuse it. The question
of money was no doubt important, but Gazebee should manage that,--as
he managed all those things.
"Going with them to Baden-Baden?" said Crosbie. "For how long?"
"Well; it would be no use unless it were for some time."
"For how long a time do you mean, Alexandrina? Speak out what you
really have to say. For a month?"
"Oh, more than that."
"For two months, or six, or as long as they may stay there?"
"We could settle that afterwards, when I am there." During all this
time she did not once look into his face, though he was looking hard
at her throughout.
"You mean," said he, "that you wish to go away from me."
"In one sense it would be going away, certainly."
"But in the ordinary sense? is it not so? When you talk of going to
Baden-Baden for an unlimited number of months, have you any idea of
coming back again?"
"Back to London, you mean?"
"Back to me,--to my house,--to your duties as a wife! Why cannot you
say at once what it is you want? You wish to be separated from me?"
"I am not happy here,--in this house."
"And who chose the house? Did I want to come here? But it is not
that. If you are not happy here, what could you have in any other
house to make you happy?"
"If you were left alone in this room for seven or eight hours at a
time, without a soul to come to you, you would know what I mean. And
even after that, it is not much better. You never speak to me when
you are here."
"Is it my fault that nobody comes to you? The fact is, Alexandrina,
that you will not reconcile yourself to the manner of life which
is suitable to my income. You are wretched because you cannot
have yourself driven round the Park. I cannot find you a carriage,
and will not attempt to do so. You may go to Baden-Baden, if you
please;--that is, if your mother is willing to take you."
"Of course I must pay my own expenses," said Alexandrina. But to
this he made no answer on the moment. As soon as he had given his
permission he had risen from his seat and was going, and her last
words only caught him in the doorway. After all, would not this be
the cheapest arrangement that he could make? As he went through his
calculations he stood up with his elbow on the mantel-piece in his
dressing-room. He had scolded his wife because she had been unhappy
with him; but had he not been quite as unhappy with her? Would it
not be better that they should part in this quiet, half-unnoticed
way;--that they should part and never again come together? He was
lucky in this, that hitherto had come upon them no prospect of any
little Crosbie to mar the advantages of such an arrangement. If he
gave her four hundred a year, and allowed Gazebee two more towards
the paying off of encumbrances, he would still have six on which to
enjoy himself in London. Of course he could not live as he had lived
in those happy days before his marriage, nor, independently of the
cost, would such a mode of life be within his reach. But he might go
to his club for his dinners; he might smoke his cigar in luxury; he