Her first visit was by appointment at The Cleeve. She had promised Mrs. Orme that she would come up, some special purpose having been named;—but with the real idea, at any rate on the part of the latter, that they might both be more comfortable together than alone. The walk across from Orley Farm to The Cleeve had always been very dear to Lady Mason. Every step of it was over beautiful ground, and a delight in scenery was one of the few pleasures which her lot in life had permitted her to enjoy. But to-day she could not allow herself the walk. Her pleasure and delight must be postponed2 to her son's wishes! But then she was used to that.
She found Mrs. Orme alone, and sat with her for an hour. I do not know that anything was said between them which deserves to be specially3 chronicled. Mrs. Orme, though she told her many things, did not tell her what Sir Peregrine had said as he was going up to his bedroom on the preceding evening, nor did Lady Mason say much about her son's farming. She had managed to gather from Lucius that he had not been deeply impressed by anything that had fallen from Sir Peregrine on the subject, and therefore thought it as well to hold her tongue. She soon perceived also, from the fact of Mrs. Orme saying nothing about Lucius, that he had not left behind him any very favourable4 impression. This was to her cause of additional sorrow, but she knew that it must be borne. Nothing that she could say would induce Lucius to make himself acceptable to Sir Peregrine.
When the hour was over she went down again to her little carriage, Mrs. Orme coming with her to look at it, and in the hall they met Sir Peregrine.
"Why does not Lady Mason stop for lunch?" said he. "It is past half-past one. I never knew anything so inhospitable as turning her out at this moment."
"I did ask her to stay," said Mrs. Orme.
"But I command her to stay," said Sir Peregrine, knocking his stick upon the stone floor of the hall. "And let me see who will dare to disobey me. John, let Lady Mason's carriage and pony5 stand in the open coach-house till she is ready." So Lady Mason went back and did remain for lunch. She was painfully anxious to maintain the best possible footing in that house, but still more anxious not to have it thought that she was intruding6. She had feared that Lucius by his offence might have estranged7 Sir Peregrine against herself; but that at any rate was not the case.
After lunch she drove herself to Hamworth and made her second visit. On this occasion she called on one Mrs. Arkwright, who was a very old acquaintance, though hardly to be called an intimate friend. The late Mr. Arkwright,—Dr. Arkwright as he used to be styled in Hamworth,—had been Sir Joseph's medical attendant for many years, and therefore there had been room for an intimacy8. No real friendship, that is no friendship of confidence, had sprung up; but nevertheless the doctor's wife had known enough of Lady Mason in her younger days to justify9 her in speaking of things which would not have been mentioned between merely ordinary acquaintance. "I am glad to see you have got promotion," said the old lady, looking out at Lady Mason's little phaeton on the gravel10 sweep which divided Mrs. Arkwright's house from the street. For Mrs. Arkwright's house was Mount Pleasant Villa11, and therefore was entitled to a sweep.
"It was a present from Lucius," said the other, "and as such must be used. But I shall never feel myself at home in my own carriage."
"It is quite proper, my dear Lady Mason, quite proper. With his income and with yours I do not wonder that he insists upon it. It is quite proper, and just at the present moment peculiarly so."
Lady Mason did not understand this; but she would probably have passed it by without understanding it, had she not thought that there was some expression more than ordinary in Mrs. Arkwright's face. "Why peculiarly so at the present moment?" she said.
"Because it shows that this foolish report which is going about has no foundation. People won't believe it for a moment when they see you out and about, and happy-like."
"What rumour12, Mrs. Arkwright?" And Lady Mason's heart sunk within her as she asked the question. She felt at once to what it must allude13, though she had conceived no idea as yet that there was any rumour on the subject. Indeed, during the last forty-eight hours, since she had left the chambers14 of Mr. Furnival, she had been more at ease within herself than during the previous days which had elapsed subsequent to the ill-omened visit made to her by Miriam Dockwrath. It had seemed to her that Mr. Furnival anticipated no danger, and his manner and words had almost given her confidence. But now,—now that a public rumour was spoken of, her heart was as low again as ever.
"Sure, haven't you heard?" said Mrs. Arkwright. "Well, I wouldn't be the first to tell you, only that I know that there is no truth in it."
"You might as well tell me now, as I shall be apt to believe worse than the truth after what you have said."
And then Mrs. Arkwright told her. "People have been saying that Mr. Mason is again going to begin those law proceedings16 about the farm; but I for one don't believe it."
"People have said so!" Lady Mason repeated. She meant nothing; it was nothing to her who the people were. If one said it now, all would soon be saying it. But she uttered the words because she felt herself forced to say something, and the power of thinking what she might best say was almost taken away from her.
"I am sure I don't know where it came from," said Mrs. Arkwright; "but I would not have alluded17 to it if I had not thought that of course you had heard it. I am very sorry if my saying it has vexed18 you."
"Oh, no," said Lady Mason, trying to smile.
"As I said before, we all know that there is nothing in it; and your having the pony chaise just at this time will make everybody see that you are quite comfortable yourself."
"Thank you, yes; good-bye, Mrs. Arkwright." And then she made a great effort, feeling aware that she was betraying herself, and that it behoved her to say something which might remove the suspicion which her emotion must have created. "The very name of that lawsuit19 is so dreadful to me that I can hardly bear it. The memory of it is so terrible to me, that even my enemies would hardly wish that it should commence again."
"Of course it is merely a report," said Mrs. Arkwright, almost trembling at what she had done.
"That is all—at least I believe so. I had heard myself that some such threat had been made, but I did not think that any tidings of it had got abroad."
"It was Mrs. Whiting told me. She is a great busybody, you know." Mrs. Whiting was the wife of the present doctor.
"Dear Mrs. Arkwright, it does not matter in the least. Of course I do not expect that people should hold their tongue on my account. Good-bye, Mrs. Arkwright." And then she got into the little carriage, and did contrive20 to drive herself home to Orley Farm.
"Dear, dear, dear, dear!" said Mrs. Arkwright to herself when she was left alone. "Only to think of that; that she should be knocked in a heap by a few words—in a moment, as we may say." And then she began to consider of the matter. "I wonder what there is in it! There must be something, or she would never have looked so like a ghost. What will they do if Orley Farm is taken away from them after all!" And then Mrs. Arkwright hurried out on her daily little toddle21 through the town, that she might talk about and be talked to on the same subject. She was by no means an ill-natured woman, nor was she at all inclined to direct against Lady Mason any slight amount of venom22 which might alloy23 her disposition24. But then the matter was of such importance! The people of Hamworth had hardly yet ceased to talk of the last Orley Farm trial; and would it not be necessary that they should talk much more if a new trial were really pending25? Looking at the matter in that light, would not such a trial be a godsend to the people of Hamworth? Therefore I beg that it may not be imputed26 to Mrs. Arkwright as a fault that she toddled27 out and sought eagerly for her gossips.
Lady Mason did manage to drive herself home; but her success in the matter was more owing to the good faith and propriety28 of her pony, than to any skilful29 workmanship on her own part. Her first desire had been to get away from Mrs. Arkwright, and having made that effort she was now for a time hardly able to make any other. It was fast coming upon her now. Let Sir Peregrine say what comforting words he might, let Mr. Furnival assure her that she was safe with ever so much confidence, nevertheless she could not but believe, could not but feel inwardly convinced, that that which she so dreaded30 was to happen. It was written in the book of her destiny that there should be a new trial.
And now, from this very moment, the misery31 would again begin. People would point at her, and talk of her. Her success in obtaining Orley Farm for her own child would again be canvassed32 at every house in Hamworth; and not only her success, but the means also by which that success had been obtained. The old people would remember and the young people would inquire; and, for her, tranquillity33, repose34, and that retirement35 of life which had been so valuable to her, were all gone.
There could be no doubt that Dockwrath had spread the report immediately on his return from Yorkshire; and had she well thought of the matter she might have taken some comfort from this. Of course he would tell the story which he did tell. His confidence in being able again to drag the case before the Courts would by no means argue that others believed as he believed. In fact the enemies now arraigned36 against her were only those whom she already knew to be so arraigned. But she had not sufficient command of her thoughts to be able at first to take comfort from such a reflection as this. She felt, as she was being carried home, that the world was going from her, and that it would be well for her, were it possible, that she should die.
But she was stronger when she reached her own door than she had been at Mrs. Arkwright's. There was still within her a great power of self-maintenance, if only time were allowed to her to look about and consider how best she might support herself. Many women are in this respect as she was. With forethought and summoned patience they can endure great agonies; but a sudden pang37, unexpected, overwhelms them. She got out of the pony carriage with her ordinary placid38 face, and walked up to her own room without having given any sign that she was uneasy; and then she had to determine how she should bear herself before her son. It had been with her a great object that both Sir Peregrine and Mr. Furnival should first hear of the tidings from her, and that they should both promise her their aid when they had heard the story as she would tell it. In this she had been successful; and it now seemed to her that prudence39 would require her to act in the same way towards Lucius. Had it been possible to keep this matter from him altogether, she would have given much to do so; but now it would not be possible. It was clear that Mr. Dockwrath had chosen to make the matter public, acting40 no doubt with forethought in doing so; and Lucius would be sure to hear words which would become common in Hamworth. Difficult as the task would be to her, it would be best that she should prepare him. So she sat alone till dinner-time planning how she would do this. She had sat alone for hours in the same way planning how she would tell her story to Sir Peregrine; and again as to her second story for Mr. Furnival. Those whose withers41 are unwrung can hardly guess how absolutely a sore under the collar will embitter42 every hour for the poor jade43 who is so tormented44!
But she met him at dinner with a smiling face. He loved to see her smile, and often told her so, almost upbraiding45 her when she would look sad. Why should she be sad, seeing that she had everything that a woman could desire? Her mind was burdened with no heavy thoughts as to feeding coming multitudes. She had no contests to wage with the desultory46 chemists of the age. His purpose was to work hard during the hours of the day,—hard also during many hours of the night; and it was becoming that his mother should greet him softly during his few intervals47 of idleness. He told her so, in some words not badly chosen for such telling; and she, loving mother that she was, strove valiantly48 to obey him.
During dinner she could not speak to him, nor immediately after dinner. The evil moment she put off from half-hour to half-hour, still looking as though all were quiet within her bosom49 as she sat beside him with her book in her hand. He was again at work before she began her story; he thought at least that he was at work, for he had before him on the table both Prichard and Latham, and was occupied in making copies from some drawings of skulls50 which purposed to represent the cerebral51 development of certain of our more distant Asiatic brethren.
"Is it not singular," said be, "that the jaws52 of men born and bred in a hunter state should be differently formed from those of the agricultural tribes?"
"Are they?" said Lady Mason.
"Oh yes; the maxillary profile is quite different. You will see this especially with the Mongolians, among the Tartar tribes. It seems to me to be very much the same difference as that between a man and a sheep, but Prichard makes no such remark. Look here at this fellow; he must have been intended to eat nothing but flesh; and that raw, and without any knife or fork."
"I don't suppose they had many knives or forks."
"By close observation I do not doubt that one could tell from a single tooth not only what food the owner of it had been accustomed to eat, but what language he had spoken. I say close observation, you know. It could not be done in a day."
"I suppose not." And then the student again bent54 over his drawing. "You see it would have been impossible for the owner of such a jaw53 as that to have ground a grain of corn between his teeth, or to have masticated55 even a cabbage."
"Lucius," said Lady Mason, becoming courageous56 on the spur of the moment, "I want you to leave that for a moment and speak to me."
"Well," said he, putting down his pencil and turning round. "Here I am."
"You have heard of the lawsuit which I had with your brother when you were an infant?"
"Of course I have heard of it; but I wish you would not call that man my brother. He would not own me as such, and I most certainly would not own him. As far as I can learn he is one of the most detestable human beings that ever existed."
"You have heard of him from an unfavourable side, Lucius; you should remember that. He is a hard man, I believe; but I do not know that he would do anything which he thought to be unjust."
"Why then did he try to rob me of my property?"
"Because he thought that it should have been his own. I cannot see into his breast, but I presume that it was so."
"I do not presume anything of the kind, and never shall. I was an infant and you were a woman,—a woman at that time without many friends, and he thought that he could rob us under cover of the law. Had he been commonly honest it would have been enough for him to know what had been my father's wishes, even if the will had not been rigidly57 formal. I look upon him as a robber and a thief."
"I am sorry for that, Lucius, because I differ from you. What I wish to tell you now is this,—that he is thinking of trying the question again."
"What!—thinking of another trial now?" and Lucius Mason pushed his drawings and books from him with a vengeance58.
"So I am told."
"And who told you? I cannot believe it, If he intended anything of the kind I must have been the first person to hear of it. It would be my business now, and you may be sure that he would have taken care to let me know his purpose."
And then by degrees she explained to him that the man himself, Mr. Mason of Groby, had as yet declared no such purpose. She had intended to omit all mention of the name of Mr. Dockwrath, but she was unable to do so without seeming to make a mystery with her son. When she came to explain how the rumour had arisen and why she had thought it necessary to tell him this, she was obliged to say that it had all arisen from the wrath15 of the attorney. "He has been to Groby Park," she said, "and now that he has returned he is spreading this report."
"I shall go to him to-morrow," said Lucius, very sternly.
"No, no; you must not do that. You must promise me that you will not do that."
"But I shall. You cannot suppose that I shall allow such a man as that to tamper59 with my name without noticing it! It is my business now."
"No, Lucius. The attack will be against me rather than you;—that is, if an attack be made. I have told you because I do not like to have a secret from you."
"Of course you have told me. If you are attacked who should defend you, if I do not?"
"The best defence, indeed the only defence till they take some active step, will be silence. Most probably they will not do anything, and then we can afford to live down such reports as these. You can understand, Lucius, that the matter is grievous enough to me; and I am sure that for my sake you will not make it worse by a personal quarrel with such a man as that."
"I shall go to Mr. Furnival," said he, "and ask his advice."
"I have done that already, Lucius. I thought it best to do so, when first I heard that Mr. Dockwrath was moving in the matter. It was for that that I went up to town."
"And why did you not tell me?"
"I then thought that you might be spared the pain of knowing anything of the matter. I tell you now because I hear to-day in Hamworth that people are talking on the subject. You might be annoyed, as I was just now, if the first tidings had reached you from some stranger."
He sat silent for a while, turning his pencil in his hand, and looking as though he were going to settle the matter off hand by his own thoughts. "I tell you what it is, mother; I shall not let the burden of this fall on your shoulders. You carried on the battle before, but I must do so now. If I can trace any word of scandal to that fellow Dockwrath, I shall indict60 him for a libel."
"Oh, Lucius!"
"I shall, and no mistake!"
What would he have said had he known that his mother had absolutely proposed to Mr. Furnival to buy off Mr. Dockwrath's animosity, almost at any price?
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1
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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postponed
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| vt.& vi.延期，缓办，（使）延迟vt.把…放在次要地位；[语]把…放在后面（或句尾）vi.（疟疾等）延缓发作（或复发） | |
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specially
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| adv.特定地；特殊地；明确地 | |
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favourable
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| adj.赞成的，称赞的，有利的，良好的，顺利的 | |
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pony
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| adj.小型的；n.小马 | |
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intruding
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| v.侵入，侵扰，打扰( intrude的现在分词)；把…强加于 | |
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estranged
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| adj.疏远的，分离的 | |
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intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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justify
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| vt.证明…正当(或有理)，为…辩护 | |
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gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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villa
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| n.别墅，城郊小屋 | |
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rumour
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| n.谣言，谣传，传闻 | |
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allude
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| v.提及，暗指 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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wrath
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| n.愤怒，愤慨，暴怒 | |
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proceedings
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| n.进程，过程，议程；诉讼(程序)；公报 | |
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alluded
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| 提及，暗指( allude的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vexed
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| adj.争论不休的；（指问题等）棘手的；争论不休的问题；烦恼的v.使烦恼( vex的过去式和过去分词 )；使苦恼；使生气；详细讨论 | |
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lawsuit
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| n.诉讼，控诉 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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toddle
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| v.（如小孩）蹒跚学步 | |
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venom
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| n.毒液，恶毒，痛恨 | |
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alloy
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| n.合金，(金属的)成色 | |
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disposition
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| n.性情，性格；意向，倾向；排列，部署 | |
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pending
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| prep.直到，等待…期间；adj.待定的；迫近的 | |
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imputed
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| v.把（错误等）归咎于( impute的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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toddled
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| v.（幼儿等）东倒西歪地走( toddle的过去式和过去分词 )；蹒跚行走；溜达；散步 | |
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propriety
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| n.正当行为；正当；适当 | |
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skilful
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| (=skillful)adj.灵巧的，熟练的 | |
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dreaded
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| adj.令人畏惧的；害怕的v.害怕，恐惧，担心( dread的过去式和过去分词) | |
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misery
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| n.痛苦，苦恼，苦难；悲惨的境遇，贫苦 | |
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canvassed
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| v.（在政治方面）游说( canvass的过去式和过去分词 )；调查（如选举前选民的）意见；为讨论而提出（意见等）；详细检查 | |
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tranquillity
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| n. 平静, 安静 | |
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repose
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| v.(使)休息；n.安息 | |
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retirement
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| n.退休，退职 | |
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arraigned
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| v.告发( arraign的过去式和过去分词 )；控告；传讯；指责 | |
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pang
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| n.剧痛，悲痛，苦闷 | |
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placid
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| adj.安静的，平和的 | |
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prudence
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| n.谨慎，精明，节俭 | |
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40
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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withers
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| 马肩隆 | |
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embitter
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| v.使苦；激怒 | |
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jade
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| n.玉石；碧玉；翡翠 | |
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tormented
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| 饱受折磨的 | |
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45
upbraiding
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| adj.& n.谴责（的）v.责备，申斥，谴责( upbraid的现在分词 ) | |
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46
desultory
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| adj.散漫的，无方法的 | |
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47
intervals
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| n.[军事]间隔( interval的名词复数 )；间隔时间；[数学]区间；（戏剧、电影或音乐会的）幕间休息 | |
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48
valiantly
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| adv.勇敢地，英勇地；雄赳赳 | |
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49
bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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50
skulls
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| 颅骨( skull的名词复数 )； 脑袋； 脑子； 脑瓜 | |
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51
cerebral
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| adj.脑的，大脑的；有智力的，理智型的 | |
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52
jaws
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| n.口部；嘴 | |
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53
jaw
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| n.颚，颌，说教，流言蜚语；v.喋喋不休，教训 | |
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54
bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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55
masticated
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| v.咀嚼( masticate的过去式和过去分词 )；粉碎，磨烂 | |
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56
courageous
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| adj.勇敢的，有胆量的 | |
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rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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58
vengeance
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| n.报复，报仇，复仇 | |
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59
tamper
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| v.干预，玩弄，贿赂，窜改，削弱，损害 | |
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60
indict
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| v.起诉，控告，指控 | |
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