Sybil, or the Two Nations Part 23

Book 3 Chapter 2

Two days after the visit of Egremont to the cottage of Walter Gerard, the visit of the Marney family to Mowbray terminated, and they returned to the Abbey.

There is something mournful in the breaking up of an agreeable party, and few are the roofs in which one has sojourned, which are quitted without some feeling of depression. The sudden cessation of all those sources of excitement which pervade a gay and well arranged mansion in the country, unstrings the nervous system. For a week or so, we have done nothing which was not agreeable, and heard nothing which was not pleasant. Our self-love has been respected; there has been a total cessation of petty cares; all the enjoyment of an establisnment without any of its solicitude. We have beheld civilization only in its favoured aspect, and tasted only the sunny side of the fruit. Sometimes there are a.s.sociations with our visit of a still sweeter and softer character, but on these we need not dwell: glances that cannot be forgotten, and tones that linger in the ear; sentiment that subdues the soul, and flirtation that agitates the fancy. No matter, whatever may be the cause, one too often drives away from a country-house, rather hipped. The specific would be immediately to drive to another, and it is a favourite remedy.

But sometimes it is not in our power; sometimes for instance we must return to our household G.o.ds in the shape of a nursery; and though this was not the form a.s.sumed by the penates of Lord Marney, his presence, the presence of an individual so important and so indefatigable, was still required. His Lords.h.i.+p had pa.s.sed his time at Mowbray to his satisfaction. He had had his own way in everything. His selfishness had not received a single shock. He had lain down the law and it had not been questioned. He had dogmatised and impugned, and his a.s.sertions had pa.s.sed current, and his doctrines been accepted as orthodox. Lord Mowbray suited him; he liked the consideration of so great a personage.

Lord Marney also really liked pomp; a curious table and a luxurious life; but he liked them under any roof rather than his own. Not that he was what is commonly called a Screw; that is to say he was not a mere screw; but he was acute and malicious; saw everybody's worth and position at a glance; could not bear to expend his choice wines and costly viands on hangers-on and toad-eaters, though at the same time no man encouraged and required hangers-on and toad-eaters more. Lord Marney had all the petty social vices, and none of those petty social weaknesses which soften their harshness or their hideousness. To receive a prince of the blood or a great peer he would spare nothing. Had he to fulfil any of the public duties of his station, his performance would baffle criticism. But he enjoyed making the Vicar of Marney or Captain Grouse drink some claret that was on the wane, or praise a bottle of Burgundy that he knew was p.r.i.c.ked.

Little things affect little minds. Lord Marney rose in no very good humour; he was kept at the station, which aggravated his spleen. During his journey on the railroad he spoke little, and though he more than once laboured to get up a controversy he was unable, for Lady Marney, who rather dreaded her dull home, and was not yet in a tone of mind that could hail the presence of the little Poinsett as full compensation for the brilliant circle of Mowbray, replied in amiable monosyllables, and Egremont himself in austere ones, for he was musing over Sybil Gerard and a thousand things as wild and sweet.

Everything went wrong this day. Even Captain Grouse was not at the Abbey to welcome them back. He was playing in a cricket match, Marney against Marham. Nothing else would have induced him to be absent. So it happened that the three fellow-travellers had to dine together, utterly weary of themselves and of each other. Captain Grouse was never more wanted; he would have amused Lord Marney, relieved his wife and brother, reported all that had been said and done in their neighbourhood during their absence, introduced a new tone, and effected a happy diversion. Leaving Mowbray, detained at the station, Grouse away, some disagreeable letters, or letters which an ill-humoured man chooses to esteem disagreeable, seemed to announce a climax. Lord Marney ordered the dinner to be served in the small dining-room, which was contiguous to a saloon in which Lady Marney, when they were alone, generally pa.s.sed the evening.

The dinner was silent and sombre; happily it was also short. Lord Marney tasted several dishes, ate of none; found fault with his own claret, though the butler had given him a choice bottle; praised Lord Mowbray's, wondered where he got it, "all the wines at Mowbray were good;" then for the twentieth time wondered what could have induced Grouse to fix the cricket match the day he returned home, though he chose to forget that he had never communicated to Grouse even the probable day on which he might be expected.

As for Egremont it must be admitted that he was scarcely in a more contented mood than his brother, though he had not such insufficient cause for his dark humours. In quitting Mowbray, he had quitted something else than merely an agreeable circle: enough had happened in that visit to stir up the deep recesses of his heart, and to prompt him to investigate in an unusual spirit the cause and attributes of his position. He had found a letter on his return to the Abbey, not calculated to dispel these somewhat morbid feelings; a letter from his agent, urging the settlement of his election accounts, the primary cause of his visit to his brother.

Lady Marney left the dining-room; the brothers were alone. Lord Marney filled a b.u.mper, which he drank off rapidly, pushed the bottle to his brother, and then said again, "What a cursed bore it is that Grouse is not here."

"Well, I cannot say, George, that I particularly miss the presence of Captain Grouse," said his brother.

Lord Marney looked at Egremont pugnaciously, and then observed, "Grouse is a capital fellow; one is never dull when Grouse is here."

"Well, for my part," said Egremont, "I do not much admire that amus.e.m.e.nt which is dependent on the efforts of hangers-on."

"Grouse is no more a hanger-on than any one else," said Lord Marney, rather fiercely.

"Perhaps not," said Egremont quietly; "I am no judge of such sort of people."

"I should like to know what you are a judge of; certainly not of making yourself agreeable to young ladies. Arabella cannot he particularly charmed with the result of your visit to Mowbray, as far as Lady Joan is concerned, Arabella's most intimate friend by the bye. If for no other reason, you ought to have paid her more attention."

"I cannot pay attention unless I am attracted," said Egremont; "I have not the ever-ready talent of your friend, Captain Grouse."

"I do not know what you mean by my friend Captain Grouse. Captain Grouse is no more my friend than your friend. One must have people about the house to do a thousand things which one cannot do oneself, and which one cannot trust to servants, and Grouse does all this capitally."

"Exactly; he is just what I said, a capital hanger-on if you like, but still a hanger-on."

"Well, and what then! Suppose he is a hanger-on; may I not have hangers-on as well as any other man?"

"Of course you may; but I am not bound to regret their absence."

"Who said you were? But I will regret their absence, if I choose. And I regret the absence of Grouse, regret it very much; and if he did happen to be inextricably engaged in this unfortunate match, I say, and you may contradict me if you please, that he ought to have taken care that Slimsey dined here, to tell me all that had happened."

"I am very glad he omitted to do so," said Egremont; "I prefer Grouse to Slimsey."

"I dare say you do," said Lord Marney, filling his gla.s.s and looking very black; "you would like, I have no doubt, to see a fine gentleman-saint, like your friend Mr St Lys, at Marney, preaching in cottages, filling the people with discontent, lecturing me about low wages, soliciting plots of grounds for new churches, and inveigling Arabella into subscriptions to painted windows."

"I certainly should like to see a man like Aubrey St Lys at Marney,"

said Egremont quietly, but rather doggedly.

"And if he were here, I would soon see who should be master," said Lord Marney; "I would not succ.u.mb like Mowbray. One might as well have a jesuit in the house at once."

"I dare say St Lys would care very little about entering your house,"

said Egremont. "I know it was with great reluctance that he ever came to Mowbray Castle."

"I dare say; very great reluctance indeed. And very reluctant he was, I make no doubt, to sit next to Lady Maud. I wonder he does not fly higher, and preach to Lady Joan; but she is too sensible a woman for such fanatical tricks."

"St Lys thinks it his duty to enter all societies. That is the reason why he goes to Mowbray Castle, as well as to the squalid courts and cellars of the town. He takes care that those who are clad in purple and fine linen shall know the state of their neighbours. They cannot at least plead ignorance for the nonfulfilment of their duty. Before St Lys's time, the family at Mowbray Castle might as well have not existed, as far as benefiting their miserable vicinage. It would be well perhaps for other districts not less wretched, and for other families as high and favoured as the Mowbrays, if there were a Mr St Lys on the spot instead of a Mr Slimsey."

"I suppose that is meant for a cut," said Lord Marney; "but I wish the people were as well off in every part of the country as they are on my estate. They get here their eight s.h.i.+llings a week, always at least seven, and every hand is at this moment in employ, except a parcel of scoundrels who prefer woodstealing and poaching, and who would prefer wood-stealing and poaching if you gave them double the wages. The rate of wages is nothing: certainty is the thing; and every man at Marney may be sure of his seven s.h.i.+llings a-week for at least nine months in the year; and for the other three, they can go to the House, and a very proper place for them; it is heated with hot air, and has every comfort.

Even Marney Abbey is not heated with hot air. I have often thought of it; it makes me mad sometimes to think of those lazy, pampered menials pa.s.sing their lives with their backs to a great roaring fire; but I am afraid of the flues."

"I wonder, talking of fires, that you are not more afraid of burning ricks," said Egremont.

"It's an infernal lie," said Lord Marney, very violently.

"What is?" said Egremont.

"That there is any incendiarism in this neighbourhood."

"Why, there was a fire the day after I came."

"That had nothing to do with wages; it was an accident. I examined into it myself; so did Grouse, so did Slimsey; I sent them about everywhere.

I told them I was sure the fire was purely accidental, and to go and see about it; and they came back and agreed that it was purely accidental."

"I dare say they did," said Egremont; "but no one has discovered the accident."

"For my part, I believe it was spontaneous combustion," said Lord Marney.

"That is a satisfactory solution." said Egremont, "but for my part, the fire being a fact, and it being painfully notorious that the people of Marney--"

"Well, sir, the people of Marney"--said his lords.h.i.+p fiercely.

"Are without question the most miserable population in the county."

"Did Mr St Lys tell you that?" interrupted Lord Marney, white with rage.

"No, not Mr Lys, but one better acquainted with the neighbourhood."

"I'll know your informant's name," said Lord Marney with energy.

"My informant was a woman," said Egremont.

"Lady Maud, I suppose; second-hand from Mr St Lys."

"Mv informant was a woman, and one of the people," said Egremont.

"Some poacher's drab! I don't care what women say, high or low, they always exaggerate."