The place in Lincolnshire has shut its many eyes again, and thehouse in town is awake. In Lincolnshire the Dedlocks of the pastdoze in their picture-frames, and the low wind murmurs through thelong drawing-room as if they were breathing pretty regularly. Intown the Dedlocks of the present rattle in their fire-eyedcarriages through the darkness of the night, and the DedlockMercuries, with ashes (or hair-powder) on their heads, symptomaticof their great humility, loll away the drowsy mornings in thelittle windows of the hall. The fashionable world--tremendous orb,nearly five miles round--is in full swing, and the solar systemworks respectfully at its appointed distances.
Where the throng is thickest, where the lights are brightest, whereall the senses are ministered to with the greatest delicacy andrefinement, Lady Dedlock is. From the shining heights she hasscaled and taken, she is never absent. Though the belief she ofold reposed in herself as one able to reserve whatsoever she wouldunder her mantle of pride is beaten down, though she has noassurance that what she is to those around her she will remainanother day, it is not in her nature when envious eyes are lookingon to yield or to droop. They say of her that she has lately grownmore handsome and more haughty. The debilitated cousin says ofher that she's beauty nough--tsetup shopofwomen--but ratherlarming kind--remindingmanfact--inconvenient woman--who WILLgetoutofbedandbawthstahlishment--Shakespeare.
Mr. Tulkinghorn says nothing, looks nothing. Now, as heretofore,he is to be found in doorways of rooms, with his limp white cravatloosely twisted into its old-fashioned tie, receiving patronagefrom the peerage and making no sign. Of all men he is still thelast who might be supposed to have any influence upon my Lady. Ofall woman she is still the last who might be supposed to have anydread of him.
One thing has been much on her mind since their late interview inhis turret-room at Chesney Wold. She is now decided, and preparedto throw it off.
It is morning in the great world, afternoon according to the littlesun. The Mercuries, exhausted by looking out of window, arereposing in the hall and hang their heavy heads, the gorgeouscreatures, like overblown sunflowers. Like them, too, they seem torun to a deal of seed in their tags and trimmings. Sir Leicester,in the library, has fallen asleep for the good of the country overthe report of a Parliamentary committee. My Lady sits in the roomin which she gave audience to the young man of the name of Guppy.
Rosa is with her and has been writing for her and reading to her.
Rosa is now at work upon embroidery or some such pretty thing, andas she bends her head over it, my Lady watches her in silence. Notfor the first time to-day.
"Rosa."The pretty village face looks brightly up. Then, seeing howserious my Lady is, looks puzzled and surprised.
"See to the door. Is it shut?"Yes. She goes to it and returns, and looks yet more surprised.
"I am about to place confidence in you, child, for I know I maytrust your attachment, if not your judgment. In what I am going todo, I will not disguise myself to you at least. But I confide inyou. Say nothing to any one of what passes between us."The timid little beauty promises in all earnestness to betrustworthy.
"Do you know," Lady Dedlock asks her, signing to her to bring herchair nearer, "do you know, Rosa, that I am different to you fromwhat I am to any one?""Yes, my Lady. Much kinder. But then I often think I know you asyou really are.""You often think you know me as I really am? Poor child, poorchild!"She says it with a kind of scorn--though not of Rosa--and sitsbrooding, looking dreamily at her.
"Do you think, Rosa, you are any relief or comfort to me? Do yousuppose your being young and natural, and fond of me and gratefulto me, makes it any pleasure to me to have you near me?""I don't know, my Lady; I can scarcely hope so. But with all myheart, I wish it was so.""It is so, little one."The pretty face is checked in its flush of pleasure by the darkexpression on the handsome face before it. It looks timidly for anexplanation.
"And if I were to say to-day, 'Go! Leave me!' I should say whatwould give me great pain and disquiet, child, and what would leaveme very solitary.""My Lady! Have I offended you?""In nothing. Come here."Rosa bends down on the footstool at my Lady's feet. My Lady, withthat motherly touch of the famous ironmaster night, lays her handupon her dark hair and gently keeps it there.
"I told you, Rosa, that I wished you to be happy and that I wouldmake you so if I could make anybody happy on this earth. I cannot.
There are reasons now known to me, reasons in which you have nopart, rendering it far better for you that you should not remainhere. You must not remain here. I have determined that you shallnot. I have written to the father of your lover, and he will behere to-day. All this I have done for your sake."The weeping girl covers her hand with kisses and says what shallshe do, what shall she do, when they are separated! Her mistresskisses her on the cheek and makes no other answer.
"Now, be happy, child, under better circumstances. Be beloved andhappy!""Ah, my Lady, I have sometimes thought--forgive my being so free--that YOU are not happy.""I!""Will you be more so when you have sent me away? Pray, pray, thinkagain. Let me stay a little while!""I have said, my child, that what I do, I do for your sake, not myown. It is done. What I am towards you, Rosa, is what I am now--not what I shall be a little while hence. Remember this, and keepmy confidence. Do so much for my sake, and thus all ends betweenus!"She detaches herself from her simple-hearted companion and leavesthe room. Late in the afternoon, when she next appears upon thestaircase, she is in her haughtiest and coldest state. Asindifferent as if all passion, feeling, and interest had been wornout in the earlier ages of the world and had perished from itssurface with its other departed monsters.
Mercury has announced Mr. Rouncewell, which is the cause of herappearance. Mr. Rouncewell is not in the library, but she repairsto the library. Sir Leicester is there, and she wishes to speak tohim first.
"Sir Leicester, I am desirous--but you are engaged."Oh, dear no! Not at all. Only Mr. Tulkinghorn.
Always at hand. Haunting every place. No relief or security fromhim for a moment.
"I beg your pardon, Lady Dedlock. Will you allow me to retire?"With a look that plainly says, "You know you have the power toremain if you will," she tells him it is not necessary and movestowards a chair. Mr. Tulkinghorn brings it a little forward forher with his clumsy bow and retires into a window opposite.
Interposed between her and the fading light of day in the now quietstreet, his shadow falls upon her, and he darkens all before her.
Even so does he darken her life.
It is a dull street under the best conditions, where the two longrows of houses stare at each other with that severity that half-a-dozen of its greatest mansions seem to have been slowly stared intostone rather than originally built in that material. It is astreet of such dismal grandeur, so determined not to condescend toliveliness, that the doors and windows hold a gloomy state of theirown in black paint and dust, and the echoing mews behind have a dryand massive appearance, as if they were reserved to stable thestone chargers of noble statues. Complicated garnish of iron-workentwines itself over the flights of steps in this awful street, andfrom these petrified bowers, extinguishers for obsolete flambeauxgasp at the upstart gas. Here and there a weak little iron hoop,through which bold boys aspire to throw their friends' caps (itsonly present use), retains its place among the rusty foliage,sacred to the memory of departed oil. Nay, even oil itself, yetlingering at long intervals in a little absurd glass pot, with aknob in the bottom like an oyster, blinks and sulks at newer lightsevery night, like its high and dry master in the House of Lords.
Therefore there is not much that Lady Dedlock, seated in her chair,could wish to see through the window in which Mr. Tulkinghornstands. And yet--and yet--she sends a look in that direction as ifit were her heart's desire to have that figure moved out of theway.
Sir Leicester begs his Lady's pardon. She was about to say?
"Only that Mr. Rouncewell is here (he has called by my appointment)and that we had better make an end of the question of that girl. Iam tired to death of the matter.""What can I do--to--assist?" demands Sir Leicester in someconsiderable doubt.
"Let us see him here and have done with it. Will you tell them tosend him up?""Mr. Tulkinghorn, be so good as to ring. Thank you. Request,"says Sir Leicester to Mercury, not immediately remembering thebusiness term, "request the iron gentleman to walk this way."Mercury departs in search of the iron gentleman, finds, andproduces him. Sir Leicester receives that ferruginous persongraciously.
"I hope you are well, Mr. Rouncewell. Be seated. (My solicitor,Mr. Tulkinghorn.) My Lady was desirous, Mr. Rouncewell," SirLeicester skilfully transfers him with a solemn wave of his hand,"was desirous to speak with you. Hem!""I shall be very happy," returns the iron gentleman, "to give mybest attention to anything Lady Dedlock does me the honour to say."As he turns towards her, he finds that the impression she makesupon him is less agreeable than on the former occasion. A distantsupercilious air makes a cold atmosphere about her, and there isnothing in her bearing, as there was before, to encourage openness.
"Pray, sir," says Lady Dedlock listlessly, "may I be allowed toinquire whether anything has passed between you and your sonrespecting your son's fancy?"It is almost too troublesome to her languid eyes to bestow a lookupon him as she asks this question.
"If my memory serves me, Lady Dedlock, I said, when I had thepleasure of seeing you before, that I should seriously advise myson to conquer that--fancy." The ironmaster repeats her expressionwith a little emphasis.
"And did you?""Oh! Of course I did."Sir Leicester gives a nod, approving and confirmatory. Veryproper. The iron gentleman, having said that he would do it, wasbound to do it. No difference in this respect between the basemetals and the precious. Highly proper.
"And pray has he done so?""Really, Lady Dedlock, I cannot make you a definite reply. I fearnot. Probably not yet. In our condition of life, we sometimescouple an intention with our--our fancies which renders them notaltogether easy to throw off. I think it is rather our way to bein earnest."Sir Leicester has a misgiving that there may be a hidden WatTylerish meaning in this expression, and fumes a little. Mr.
Rouncewell is perfectly good-humoured and polite, but within suchlimits, evidently adapts his tone to his reception.
"Because," proceeds my Lady, "I have been thinking of the subject,which is tiresome to me.""I am very sorry, I am sure.""And also of what Sir Leicester said upon it, in which I quiteconcur"--Sir Leicester flattered--"and if you cannot give us theassurance that this fancy is at an end, I have come to theconclusion that the girl had better leave me.""I can give no such assurance, Lady Dedlock. Nothing of the kind.""Then she had better go.""Excuse me, my Lady," Sir Leicester considerately interposes, "butperhaps this may be doing an injury to the young woman which shehas not merited. Here is a young woman," says Sir Leicester,magnificently laying out the matter with his right hand like aservice of plate, "whose good fortune it is to have attracted thenotice and favour of an eminent lady and to live, under theprotection of that eminent lady, surrounded by the variousadvantages which such a position confers, and which areunquestionably very great--I believe unquestionably very great,sir--for a young woman in that station of life. The question thenarises, should that young woman be deprived of these manyadvantages and that good fortune simply because she has"--SirLeicester, with an apologetic but dignified inclination of his headtowards the ironmaster, winds up his sentence--"has attracted thenotice of Mr Rouncewell's son? Now, has she deserved thispunishment? Is this just towards her? Is this our previousunderstanding?""I beg your pardon," interposes Mr. Rouncewell's son's father.
"Sir Leicester, will you allow me? I think I may shorten thesubject. Pray dismiss that from your consideration. If youremember anything so unimportant--which is not to be expected--youwould recollect that my first thought in the affair was directlyopposed to her remaining here."Dismiss the Dedlock patronage from consideration? Oh! SirLeicester is bound to believe a pair of ears that have been handeddown to him through such a family, or he really might havemistrusted their report of the iron gentleman's observations.
"It is not necessary," observes my Lady in her coldest mannerbefore he can do anything but breathe amazedly, "to enter intothese matters on either side. The girl is a very good girl; I havenothing whatever to say against her, but she is so far insensibleto her many advantages and her good fortune that she is in love--orsupposes she is, poor little fool--and unable to appreciate them."Sir Leicester begs to observe that wholly alters the case. Hemight have been sure that my Lady had the best grounds and reasonsin support of her view. He entirely agrees with my Lady. Theyoung woman had better go.
"As Sir Leicester observed, Mr. Rouncewell, on the last occasionwhen we were fatigued by this business," Lady Dedlock languidlyproceeds, "we cannot make conditions with you. Without conditions,and under present circumstances, the girl is quite misplaced hereand had better go. I have told her so. Would you wish to have hersent back to the village, or would you like to take her with you,or what would you prefer?""Lady Dedlock, if I may speak plainly--""By all means.""--I should prefer the course which will the soonest relieve you ofthe incumbrance and remove her from her present position.""And to speak as plainly," she returns with the same studiedcarelessness, "so should I. Do I understand that you will take herwith you?"The iron gentleman makes an iron bow.
"Sir Leicester, will you ring?" Mr. Tulkinghorn steps forward fromhis window and pulls the bell. "I had forgotten you. Thank you."He makes his usual bow and goes quietly back again. Mercury,swift-responsive, appears, receives instructions whom to produce,skims away, produces the aforesaid, and departs.
Rosa has been crying and is yet in distress. On her coming in, theironmaster leaves his chair, takes her arm in his, and remains withher near the door ready to depart.
"You are taken charge of, you see," says my Lady in her wearymanner, "and are going away well protected. I have mentioned thatyou are a very good girl, and you have nothing to cry for.""She seems after all," observes Mr. Tulkinghorn, loitering a littleforward with his hands behind him, "as if she were crying at goingaway.""Why, she is not well-bred, you see," returns Mr. Rouncewell withsome quickness in his manner, as if he were glad to have the lawyerto retort upon, "and she is an inexperienced little thing and knowsno better. If she had remained here, sir, she would have improved,no doubt.""No doubt," is Mr. Tulkinghorn's composed reply.
Rosa sobs out that she is very sorry to leave my Lady, and that shewas happy at Chesney Wold, and has been happy with my Lady, andthat she thanks my Lady over and over again. "Out, you sillylittle puss!" says the ironmaster, checking her in a low voice,though not angrily. "Have a spirit, if you're fond of Watt!" MyLady merely waves her off with indifference, saying, "There, there,child! You are a good girl. Go away!" Sir Leicester hasmagnificently disengaged himself from the subject and retired intothe sanctuary of his blue coat. Mr. Tulkinghorn, an indistinctform against the dark street now dotted with lamps, looms in myLady's view, bigger and blacker than before.
"Sir Leicester and Lady Dedlock," says Mr. Rouncewell after a pauseof a few moments, "I beg to take my leave, with an apology forhaving again troubled you, though not of my own act, on thistiresome subject. I can very well understand, I assure you, howtiresome so small a matter must have become to Lady Dedlock. If Iam doubtful of my dealing with it, it is only because I did not atfirst quietly exert my influence to take my young friend here awaywithout troubling you at all. But it appeared to me--I dare saymagnifying the importance of the thing--that it was respectful toexplain to you how the matter stood and candid to consult yourwishes and convenience. I hope you will excuse my want ofacquaintance with the polite world."Sir Leicester considers himself evoked out of the sanctuary bythese remarks. "Mr. Rouncewell," he returns, "do not menfion it.
Justifications are unnecessary, I hope, on either side.""I a............