Mr. Greenwood understood but little of the young lord's character. The Marquis, no doubt, he knew well, having lived with him for many years. When he supposed his patron to be fretful and irascible because of his infirmities, but to be by nature forgiving, unreasonable7, and weak, he drew an easy portrait, which was like the person portrayed8. But in attributing revenge, or harshness, or pride of power to Lord Hampstead he was altogether wrong. As regarded Appleslocombe and other parishes, the patronage of which would some day belong to him, Lord Hampstead had long since made up his mind that he would have nothing to do with them, feeling himself unfit to appoint clergymen to ministrations in a Church to which he did not consider himself to belong. All that he would leave to the Bishop9, thinking that the Bishop must know more about it than himself. Was his father, however, to make any request to him with reference to Appleslocombe especially, he would no doubt regard the living as bestowed before his father's death. But of all this Mr. Greenwood could understand nothing. He felt, however, that as the Marquis had given him cause for anger, so had the young lord given him cause for hatred10 as well as anger.
Daily, almost hourly, these matters were discussed between Lady Kingsbury and the chaplain. There had come to be strong sympathy between them as far as sympathy can exist where the feelings are much stronger on the one side than on the other. The mother of the "darlings" had allowed herself to inveigh11 very bitterly against her husband's children by his former marriage, and at first had been received only half way by her confidential12 friend. But of late her confidential friend had become more animated13 and more bitter than herself, and had almost startled her by the boldness of his denunciations. She in her passion had allowed herself more than once to express a wish that her stepson—were dead. She had hardly in truth meant as much as she implied,—or meaning it had hardly thought of what she meant. But the chaplain taking the words from her lips, had repeated them till she was almost terrified by their iniquity14 and horror. He had no darlings to justify15 him! No great injury had been done to him by an unkind fortune! Great as were the sin of Lord Hampstead and his sister, they could bring no disgrace upon him! And yet there was a settled purpose of hatred in his words which frightened her, though she could not bring herself to oppose them. She in her rage had declared that it would be well that Lord Hampstead should break his neck out hunting or go down in his yacht at sea; and she had been gratified to find that her friend had sanctioned her ill-wishes. But when Mr. Greenwood spoke16 as though something might possibly be done to further those wishes, then she almost repented17 herself.
She had been induced to say that if any power should come to her of bestowing18 the living of Appleslocombe she would bestow it on Mr. Greenwood. Were Lord Hampstead to die before the Marquis, and were the Marquis to die before the old rector, such power would belong to her during the minority of her eldest19 son. There had, therefore, been some meaning in the promise; and the clergyman had referred to it more than once or twice. "It is most improbable, you know, Mr. Greenwood," she had said very seriously. He had replied as seriously that such improbabilities were of frequent occurrence. "If it should happen I will do so," she had answered. But after that she had never of her own accord referred to the probability of Lord Hampstead's death.
From day to day there grew upon her a feeling that she had subjected herself to domination, almost to tyranny from Mr. Greenwood. The man whom she had known intimately during her entire married life now appeared to assume different proportions and almost a different character. He would still stand before her with his flabby hands hanging listlessly by his side, and with eyes apparently20 full of hesitation21, and would seem to tremble as though he feared the effect of his own words; but still the words that fell from him were felt to be bonds from which she could not escape. When he looked at her from his lack-lustre eyes, fixing them upon her for minutes together, till the minutes seemed to be hours, she became afraid. She did not confess to herself that she had fallen into his power; nor did she realize the fact that it was so; but without realizing it she was dominated, so that she also began to think that it would be well that the chaplain should be made to leave Trafford Park. He, however, continued to discuss with her all family matters as though his services were indispensable to her; and she was unable to answer him in such a way as to reject his confidences.
The telegram reached the butler as to Hampstead's coming on the Monday, and was, of course, communicated at once to Lord Kingsbury. The Marquis, who was now confined to his bed, expressed himself as greatly gratified, and himself told the news to his wife. She, however, had already heard it, as had also the chaplain. It quickly went through the whole household, in which among the servants there existed an opinion that Lord Hampstead ought to have been again sent for some days since. The Doctor had hinted as much to the Marchioness, and had said so plainly to the butler. Mr. Greenwood had expressed to her ladyship his belief that the Marquis had no desire to see his son, and that the son certainly had no wish to pay another visit to Trafford. "He cares more about the Quaker's daughter than anything else," he had said,—"about her and his hunting. He and his sister consider themselves as separated from the whole of the family. I should leave them alone if I were you." Then she had said a faint word to her husband, and had extracted from him something that was supposed to be the expression of a wish that Lord Hampstead should not be disturbed. Now Lord Hampstead was coming without any invitation.
"Going to walk over, is he, in the middle of the night?" said Mr. Greenwood, preparing to discuss the matter with the Marchioness. There was something of scorn in his voice, as though he were taking upon himself to laugh at Lord Hampstead for having chosen this way of reaching his father's house.
"He often does that," said the Marchioness.
"It's an odd way of coming into a sick house,—to disturb it in the middle of the night." Mr. Greenwood, as he spoke, stood looking at her ladyship severely22.
"How am I to help it? I don't suppose anybody will be disturbed at all. He'll come round to the side door, and one of the servants will be up to let him in. He always does things differently from anybody else."
"One would have thought that when his father was dying—"
"Don't say that, Mr. Greenwood. There's nothing to make you say that. The Marquis is very ill, but nobody has said that he's so bad as that." Mr. Greenwood shook his head, but did not move from the position in which he was standing23. "I suppose that on this occasion Hampstead is doing what is right."
"I doubt whether he ever does what is right. I am only thinking that if anything should happen to the Marquis, how very bad it would be for you and the young lords."
"Won't you sit down, Mr. Greenwood?" said the Marchioness, to whom the presence of the standing chaplain had become almost intolerable.
The man sat down,—not comfortably in his chair, but hardly more than on the edge of it, so as still to have that air of restraint which had annoyed his companion. "As I was saying, if anything should happen to my lord it would be very sad for your ladyship and for Lord Frederick, and Lord Augustus, and Lord Gregory."
"We are all in the hands of God," said her ladyship, piously24.
"Yes;—we are all in the hands of God. But it is the Lord's intention that we should all look out for ourselves, and do the best we can to avoid injustice25, and cruelty, and,—and—robbery."
"I do not think there will be any robbery, Mr. Greenwood."
"Would it not be robbery if you and their little lordships should be turned at once out of this house?"
"It would be his own;—Lord Hampstead's,—of course. I should have Slocombe Abbey in Somersetshire. As far as a house goes, I should like it better than this. Of course it is much smaller;—but what comfort do I ever have out of a house like this?"
"That's true enough. But why?"
"There is no good in talking about it, Mr. Greenwood."
"I cannot help talking about it. It is because Lady Frances has broken up the family by allowing herself to be engaged to a young man beneath her own station in life." Here he shook his head, as he always did when he spoke of Lady Frances. "As for Lord Hampstead, I look upon it as a national misfortune that he should outlive his father."
"What can we do?"
"Well, my lady; it is hard to say. What will my feelings be, should anything happen to the Marquis, and should I be left to the tender mercies of his eldest son? I should have no claim upon Lord Hampstead for a shilling. As he is an infidel, of course he would not want a chaplain. Indeed I could not reconcile it to my conscience to remain with him. I should be cast out penniless, having devoted26 all my life, as I may say, to his lordship's service."
"He has offered you a thousand pounds."
"A thousand pounds, for the labours of a whole life! And what assurance shall I have of that? I don't suppose he has ever dreamed of putting it into his will. And if he has, what will a thousand pounds do for me? You can go to Slocombe Abbey. But the rectory, which was as good as promised, will be closed against me." The Marchioness knew that this was a falsehood, but did not dare to tell him so. The living had been talked about between them till it was assumed that he had a right to it. "If the young man were out of the way," he continued, "there would be some chance for me."
"I cannot put him out of the way," said the Marchioness.
"And some chance for Lord Frederic and his brothers."
"You need not tell me of that, Mr. Greenwood."
"But one has to look the truth in the face. It is for your sake that I have been anxious,—rather than my own. You must own that." She would not own anything of the kind. "I suppose there was no doubt about the first marriage?"
"None at all," said the Marchioness, terrified.
"Though it was thought very odd at the time. It ought to be looked to, I think. No stone ought to be left unturned."
"There is nothing to be hoped for in that direction, Mr. Greenwood."
"It ought to be looked to;—that's all. Only think what it will be if he marries, and has a son before anything is—is settled."
To this Lady Kingsbury made no answer; and after a pause Mr. Greenwood turned to his own grievances27. "I shall make bold," he said, "to see the Marquis once again before Lord Hampstead comes down. He cannot but acknowledge that I have a great right to be anxious. I do not suppose that any promise would be sacred in his son's eyes, but I must do the best I can." To this her ladyship would make no answer, and they parted, not in the best humour with each other.
That was on the Monday. On the Tuesday Mr. Greenwood, having asked to be allowed an interview, crept slowly into the sick man's room. "I hope your lordship find yourself better this morning?" The sick man turned in his bed, and only made some feeble grunt28 in reply. "I hear that Lord Hampstead is coming down to-morrow, my lord."
"Why should he not come?" There must have been something in the tone of Mr. Greenwood's voice which had grated against the sick man's ears, or he would not have answered so sulkily.
"Oh, no, my lord. I did not mean to say that there was any reason why his lordship should not come. Perhaps it might have been better had he come earlier."
"It wouldn't have been at all better."
"I only just meant to make the remark, my lord; there was nothing in it."
"Nothing at all," said the sick man. "Was there anything else you wished to say, Mr. Greenwood?"
The nurse all this time was sitting in the room, which the chaplain felt to be uncomfortable. "Could we be alone for a few minutes, my lord?" he asked.
"I don't think we could," said the sick man.
"There are a few points which are of so much importance to me, Lord Kingsbury."
"I ain't well enough to talk business, and I won't do it. Mr. Roberts will be here to-morrow, and you can see him."
Mr. Roberts was a man of business, or agent to the property, who lived at Shrewsbury, and whom Mr. Greenwood especially disliked. Mr. Greenwood being a clergyman was, of course, supposed to be a gentleman, and regarded Mr. Roberts as being much beneath himself. It was not customary for Mr. Roberts to dine at the house, and he was therefore regarded by the chaplain as being hardly more than an upper servant. It was therefore very grievous to him to be told that he must discuss his own private affairs and make his renewed request as to the living through Mr. Roberts. It was evidently intended that he should have no opportunity of discussing his private affairs. Whatever the Marquis might offer him he must take; and that, as far as he could see, without any power of redress29 on his side. If Mr. Roberts were to offer him a thousand pounds, he could only accept the cheque and depart with it from Trafford Park, shaking off from his feet the dust which such ingratitude30 would forbid him to carry with him.
He was in the habit of walking daily for an hour before sunset, moving very slowly up and down the driest of the roads near the house, generally with his hands clasped behind his back, believing that in doing so he was consulting his health, and maintaining that bodily vigour31 which might be necessary to him for the performance of the parochial duties at Appleslocombe. Now when he had left the bed-room of the Marquis he went out of the front door, and proceeded on his walk at a somewhat quicker pace than usual. He was full of wrath32, and his passion gave some alacrity33 to his movements. He was of course incensed34 against the Marquis; but his anger burnt hottest against Lord Hampstead. In this he was altogether unreasonable, for Lord Hampstead had said nothing and done nothing that could injure his position. Lord Hampstead disliked him and, perhaps, despised him, but had been anxious that the Marquis should be liberal in the mode of severing35 a connection which had lasted so long. But to Mr. Greenwood himself it was manifest that all his troubles came from the iniquities36 of his patron's two elder children; and he remembered at every moment that Lord Hampstead had insulted him when they were both together. He was certainly not a man to forgive an enemy, or to lose any opportunity for revenge which might come in his way.
Certainly it would be good if the young man could be got to break his neck out hunting;—or good if the yacht could be made to founder37, or go to pieces on a rock, or come to any other fatal maritime38 misfortune. But these were accidents which he personally could have no power to produce. Such wishing was infantine, and fit only for a weak woman, such as the Marchioness. If anything were to be done it must be done by some great endeavour; and the endeavour must come from himself. Then he reflected how far the Marchioness would certainly be in his power, if both the Marquis and his eldest son were dead. He did believe that he had obtained great influence over her. That she should rebel against him was of course on the cards. But he was aware that within the last month, since the date, indeed, at which the Marquis had threatened to turn him out of the house, he had made considerable progress in imposing39 himself upon her as a master. He gave himself in this respect much more credit than was in truth due to him. Lady Kingsbury, though she had learnt to fear him, had not so subjected herself to his influence as not to be able to throw him off should a time come at which it might be essential to her comfort to do so. But he had misread the symptoms, and had misread also the fretfulness of her impatience40. He now assured himself that if anything could be done he might rely entirely41 on her support. After all that she had said to him, it would be impossible that she should throw him over. Thinking of all this, and thinking also how expedient42 it was that something should be done, he returned to the house when he had taken the exact amount of exercise which he supposed necessary for his health.
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1
acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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2
assent
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| v.批准，认可；n.批准，认可 | |
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3
bestow
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| v.把…赠与，把…授予；花费 | |
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4
patronage
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| n.赞助，支援，援助；光顾，捧场 | |
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5
bestowed
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| 赠给，授予( bestow的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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6
insolent
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| adj.傲慢的，无理的 | |
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7
unreasonable
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| adj.不讲道理的，不合情理的，过度的 | |
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8
portrayed
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| v.画像( portray的过去式和过去分词 )；描述；描绘；描画 | |
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9
bishop
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| n.主教，（国际象棋）象 | |
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10
hatred
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| n.憎恶，憎恨，仇恨 | |
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11
inveigh
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| v.痛骂 | |
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12
confidential
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| adj.秘（机）密的，表示信任的，担任机密工作的 | |
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13
animated
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| adj.生气勃勃的，活跃的，愉快的 | |
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14
iniquity
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| n.邪恶；不公正 | |
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15
justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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16
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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17
repented
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| 对（自己的所为）感到懊悔或忏悔( repent的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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18
bestowing
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| 砖窑中砖堆上层已烧透的砖 | |
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19
eldest
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| adj.最年长的，最年老的 | |
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20
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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21
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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22
severely
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| adv.严格地；严厉地；非常恶劣地 | |
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23
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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24
piously
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| adv.虔诚地 | |
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25
injustice
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| n.非正义，不公正，不公平，侵犯（别人的）权利 | |
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26
devoted
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| adj.忠诚的，忠实的，热心的，献身于...的 | |
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27
grievances
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| n.委屈( grievance的名词复数 )；苦衷；不满；牢骚 | |
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28
grunt
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| v.嘟哝；作呼噜声；n.呼噜声，嘟哝 | |
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29
redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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30
ingratitude
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| n.忘恩负义 | |
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31
vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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32
wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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33
alacrity
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| n.敏捷，轻快，乐意 | |
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34
incensed
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| 盛怒的 | |
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35
severing
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的现在分词 )；断，裂 | |
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36
iniquities
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| n.邪恶( iniquity的名词复数 )；极不公正 | |
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37
Founder
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| n.创始者，缔造者 | |
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38
maritime
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| adj.海的，海事的，航海的，近海的，沿海的 | |
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39
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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40
impatience
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| n.不耐烦，急躁 | |
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41
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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42
expedient
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| adj.有用的，有利的；n.紧急的办法，权宜之计 | |
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