in the mean time florence mountjoy was not passing her time pleasantly at brussels. various troubles there attended her. all her friends around her were opposed to her marriage with harry annesley. harry annesley had become a very unsavory word in the mouths of sir magnus and the british embassy generally. mrs. mountjoy told her grief to her brother-in-law, who thoroughly took her part, as did also, very strongly, lady mountjoy. it got to be generally understood that harry was a mauvais sujet. such was the name that was attached to him, and the belief so conveyed was thoroughly entertained by them all. sir magnus had written to friends in london, and the friends in london bore out the reports that were so conveyed. the story of the midnight quarrel was told in a manner very prejudicial to poor harry, and both sir magnus and his wife saw the necessity of preserving their niece from anything so evil as such a marriage. but florence was very firm, and was considered to be very obstinate. to her mother she was obstinate but affectionate to sir magnus she was obstinate and in some degree respectful. but to lady mountjoy she was neither affectionate nor respectful. she took a great dislike to lady mountjoy, who endeavored to domineer; and who, by the assistance of the two others, was in fact tyrannical. it was her opinion that the girl should be compelled to abandon the man, and mrs. mountjoy found herself constrained to follow this advice. she did love her daughter, who was her only child. the main interest of her life was centred in her daughter. her only remaining ambition rested on her daughter's marriage. she had long revelled in the anticipation of being the mother-in-law of the owner of tretton park. she had been very proud of her daughter's beauty.
then had come the first blow, when harry annesley had come to montpelier place and had been welcomed by florence. mrs. mountjoy had seen it all long before florence had been aware of it. and the first coming of harry had been long before the absolute disgrace of captain scarborough,—at any rate, before the tidings of that disgrace had reached cheltenham. mrs. mountjoy had been still able to dream of tretton park, after the jews had got their fingers on it,—even after the jews had been forced to relinquish their hold. it can hardly be said that up to this very time mrs. mountjoy had lost all hope in her nephew, thinking that as the property had been entailed some portion of it must ultimately belong to him. she had heard that augustus was to have it, and her desires had vacillated between the two. then harry had positively declared himself, and augustus had given her to understand how wretched, how mean, how wicked had been harry's conduct. and he fully explained to her that harry would be penniless. she had indeed been aware that buston,—quite a trifling thing compared to tretton,—was to belong to him. but entails were nothing nowadays. it was part of the radical abomination to which england was being subjected. not even buston was now to belong to harry annesley. the small income which he had received from his uncle was stopped. he was reduced to live upon his fellowship,—which would be stopped also if he married. she even despised him because he was the fellow of a college;—she had looked for a husband for her daughter so much higher than any college could produce. it was not from any lack of motherly love that she was opposed to florence, or from any innate cruelty that she handed her daughter over to the tender mercies of lady mountjoy.
and since she had been at brussels there had come up farther hopes. another mode had shown itself of escaping harry annesley, who was of all catastrophes the most dreaded and hated. mr. anderson, the second secretary of legation,—he whose business it was to ride about the boulevard with sir magnus,—had now declared himself in form. "never saw a fellow so bowled over," sir magnus had declared, by which he had intended to signify that mr. anderson was now truly in love. "i've seen him spooney a dozen times," sir magnus had said, confidentially, to his sister-in-law, "but he has never gone to this length. he has asked a lot of girls to have him, but he has always been off it again before the week was over. he has written to his mother now."
and mr. anderson showed his love by very unmistakable signs. sir magnus too, and lady mountjoy, were evidently on the same side as mr. anderson. sir magnus thought there was no longer any good in waiting for his nephew, the captain, and of that other nephew, augustus, he did not entertain any very high idea. sir magnus had corresponded lately with augustus, and was certainly not on his side. but he so painted mr. anderson's prospects in life, as did also lady mountjoy, as to make it appear that if florence could put up with young anderson she would do very well with herself.
"he's sure to be a baronet some of these days, you know," said sir magnus.
"i don't think that would go very far with florence," said her mother.
"but it ought. look about in the world and you'll see that it does go a long way. he'd be the fifth baronet."
"but his elder brother is alive."
"the queerest fellow you ever saw in your born days, and his life is not worth a year's purchase. he's got some infernal disease,—nostalgia, or what 'd'ye call it?—which never leaves him a moment's peace, and then he drinks nothing but milk. sure to go off;—cock sure."
"i shouldn't like florence to count upon that."
"and then hugh anderson, the fellow here, is very well off as it is. he has four hundred pounds here, and another five hundred pounds of his own. florence has, or will have, four hundred pounds of her own. i should call them deuced rich. i should, indeed, as beginners. she could have her pair of ponies here, and what more would she want?"
these arguments did go very far with mrs. mountjoy, the farther because in her estimation sir magnus was a great man. he was the greatest englishman, at any rate, in brussels, and where should she go for advice but to an englishman? and she did not know that sir magnus had succeeded in borrowing a considerable sum of money from his second secretary of legation.
"leave her to me for a little;—just leave her to me," said lady mountjoy.
"i would not say anything hard to her," said the mother, pleading for her naughty child.
"not too hard, but she must be made to understand. you see there have been misfortunes. as to mountjoy scarborough, he's past hoping for."
"you think so?"
"altogether. when a man has disappeared there's an end of him. there was lord baltiboy's younger son disappeared, and he turned out to be a zouave corporal in a french regiment. they did get him out, of course, but then he went preaching in america. you may take it for granted, that when a man has absolutely vanished from the clubs, he'll never be any good again as a marrying man."
"but there's his brother, who, they say, is to have the property."
"a very cold-blooded sort of young man, who doesn't care a straw for his own family." he had received very sternly the overtures for a loan from sir magnus. "and he, as i understand, has never declared himself in florence's favor. you can't count upon augustus scarborough."
"not just count upon him."
"whereas there's young anderson, who is the most gentleman-like young man i know, all ready. it will have been such a turn of luck your coming here and catching him up."
"i don't know that it can be called a turn of luck. florence has a very nice fortune of her own—"
"and she wants to give it to this penniless reprobate. it is just one of those cases in which you must deal roundly with a girl. she has to be frightened, and that's about the truth of it."
after this, lady mountjoy did succeed in getting florence alone with herself into her morning-room. when her mother told her that her aunt wished to see her, she answered first that she had no special wish to see her aunt. her mother declared that in her aunt's house she was bound to go when her aunt sent for her. to this florence demurred. she was, she thought, her aunt's guest, but by no means at her aunt's disposal. but at last she obeyed her mother. she had resolved that she would obey her mother in all things but one, and therefore she went one morning to her aunt's chamber.
but as she went she was, on the first instance, caught by her uncle, and taken by him into a little private sanctum behind his official room. "my dear," he said, "just come in here for two minutes."
"i am on my way up to my aunt."
"i know it, my dear. lady mountjoy has been talking it all over with me. upon my word you can't do anything better than take young anderson."
"i can't do that, uncle magnus."
"why not? there's poor mountjoy scarborough, he has gone astray."
"there is no question of my cousin."
"and augustus is no better."
"there is no question of augustus either."
"as to that other chap, he isn't any good;—he isn't indeed."
"you mean mr. annesley?"
"yes; harry annesley, as you call him. he hasn't got a shilling to bless himself with, or wouldn't have if he was to marry you."
"but i have got something."
"not enough for both of you, i'm afraid. that uncle of his has disinherited him."
"his uncle can't disinherit him."
"he's quite young enough to marry and have a family, and then annesley will be disinherited. he has stopped his allowance, anyway, and you mustn't think of him. he did something uncommonly unhandsome the other day, though i don't quite know what."
"he did nothing unhandsome, uncle magnus."
"of course a young lady will stand up for her lover, but you will really have to drop him. i'm not a hard sort of man, but this was something that the world will not stand. when he thought the man had been murdered he didn't say anything about it for fear they should tax him with it. and then he swore he had never seen him. it was something of that sort."
"he never feared that any one would suspect him."
"and now young anderson has proposed. i should not have spoken else, but it's my duty to tell you about young anderson. he's a gentleman all round."
"so is mr. annesley."
"and anderson has got into no trouble at all. he does his duty here uncommonly well. i never had less trouble with any young fellow than i have had with him. no licking him into shape,—or next to none,—and he has a very nice private income. you together would have plenty, and could live here till you had settled on apartments. a pair of ponies would be just the thing for you to drive about and support the british interests. you think of it, my dear, and you'll find that i'm right." then florence escaped from that room and went up to receive the much more severe lecture which she was to have from her aunt.
"come in, my dear," said lady mountjoy, in her most austere voice. she had a voice which could assume austerity when she knew her power to be in the ascendant. as florence entered the room miss abbott left it by a door on the other side. "take that chair, florence. i want to have a few minutes' conversation with you." then florence sat down. "when a young lady is thinking of being married, a great many things have to be taken into consideration." this seemed to be so much a matter of fact that florence did not feel it necessary to make any reply. "of course i am aware you are thinking of being married."
"oh yes," said florence.
"but to whom?"
"to harry annesley," said florence, intending to imply that all the world knew that.
"i hope not; i hope not. indeed, i may say that it is quite out of the question. in the first place, he is a beggar."
"he has begged from none," said florence.
"he is what the world calls a beggar, when a young man without a penny thinks of being married."
"i'm not a beggar, and what i've got will be his."
"my dear, you're talking about what you don't understand. a young lady cannot give her money away in that manner; it will not be allowed. neither your mother, nor sir magnus, nor will i permit it." here florence restrained herself, but drew herself up in her chair as though prepared to speak out her mind if she should be driven. lady mountjoy would not permit it! she thought that she would feel herself quite able to tell lady mountjoy that she had neither power nor influence in the matter, but she determined to be silent a little longer. "in the first place, a gentleman who is a gentleman never attempts to marry a lady for her money."
"but when a lady has the money she can express herself much more clearly than she could otherwise."
"i don't quite understand what you mean by that, my dear."
"when mr. annesley proposed to me he was the acknowledged heir to his uncle's property."
"a trumpery affair at the best of it."
"it would have sufficed for me. then i accepted him."
"that goes for nothing from a lady. of course your acceptance was contingent on circumstances."
"it was so;—on my regard. having accepted him, and as my regard remains just as warm as ever, i certainly shall not go back because of anything his uncle may do. i only say this to explain that he was quite justified in his offer. it was not for my small fortune that he came to me."
"i'm not so sure of that."
"but if my money can be of any use to him, he's quite welcome to it. sir magnus spoke to me about a pair of ponies. i'd rather have him than a pair of ponies."
"i'm coming to that just now. here is mr. anderson."
"oh yes; he's here."
there was certainly a touch of impatience in the tone in which this was uttered. it was as though she had said that mr. anderson had so contrived that she could have no doubt whatever about his continued presence. mr. anderson had made himself so conspicuous as to be visible to her constantly. lady mountjoy, who intended at present to sing mr. anderson's praises, felt this to be impertinent.
"i don't know what you mean by that. mr. anderson has behaved himself quite like a gentleman, and you ought to be very proud of any token you may receive of his regard and affection."
"but i'm not bound to return to it."
"you are bound to think of it when those who are responsible for your actions tell you to do so."
"mamma, you mean?"
"i mean your uncle, sir magnus mountjoy." she did not quite dare to say that she had meant herself. "i suppose you will admit that sir magnus is a competent judge of young men's characters?"
"he may be a judge of mr. anderson, because mr. anderson is his clerk."
there was something of an intention to depreciate in the word "clerk." florence had not thought much of mr. anderson's worth, nor, as far as she had seen them, of the duties generally performed at the british embassy. she was ignorant of the peculiar little niceties and intricacies which required the residence at brussels of a gentleman with all the tact possessed by sir magnus. she did not know that while the mere international work of the office might be safely intrusted to mr. blow and mr. bunderdown, all those little niceties, that smiling and that frowning, that taking off of hats and only half taking them off, that genial, easy manner, and that stiff hauteur, formed the peculiar branch of sir magnus himself,—and, under sir magnus, of mr. anderson. she did not understand that even to that pair of ponies which was promised to her were to be attached certain important functions, which she was to control as the deputy of the great man's deputy and now she had called the great man's deputy a clerk!
"mr. anderson is no such thing," said lady mountjoy.
"his young man, then,—or private secretary;—only somebody else is that."
"you are very impertinent and very ungrateful. mr. anderson is second secretary of legation. there is no officer attached to our establishment of more importance. i believe you say it on purpose to anger me. and then you compare this gentleman to mr. annesley, a man to whom no one will speak."
"i will speak to him." had harry heard her say that, he ought to have been a happy man in spite of his trouble.
"you! what good can you do him?" florence nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, but still there was a nod, signifying more than she could possibly say. she thought that she could do him a world of good if she were near him, and some good, too, though she were far away. if she were with him she could hang on to his arm,—or perhaps at some future time round his neck,—and tell him that she would be true to him though all others might turn away. and she could be just as true where she was, though she could not comfort him by telling him so with her own words. then it was that she resolved upon writing that letter. he should already have what little comfort she might administer in his absence. "now, listen to me, florence. he is a thorough reprobate."
"i will not hear him so called. he is no reprobate."
"he has behaved in such a way that all england is crying out about him. he has done that which will never allow any gentleman to speak to him again."
"then there will be more need that a lady should do so. but it is not true."
"you put your knowledge of character against that of sir magnus."
"sir magnus does not know the gentleman; i do. what's the good of talking of it, aunt? harry annesley has my word, and nothing on earth shall induce me to go back from it. even were he what you say i would be true to him."
"you would?"
"certainly i would. i could not willingly begin to love a man whom i knew to be base; but when i had loved him i would not turn because of his baseness;—i couldn't do it. it would be a great—a terrible misfortune; but it would have to be borne. but here—i know all the story to which you allude."
"i know it too."
"i am quite sure that the baseness has not been on his part. in defence of my name he has been silent. he might have spoken out, if he had known all the truth then. i was as much his own then as i am now. one of these days i suppose i shall be more so."
"you mean to marry him, then?"
"most certainly i do, or i will never be married; and as he is poor now, and i must have my own money when i am twenty-four, i suppose i shall have to wait till then."
"will your mother's word go for nothing with you?"
"poor mamma! i do believe that mamma is very unhappy, because she makes me unhappy. what may take place between me and mamma i am not bound, i think, to tell you. we shall be away soon, and i shall be left to mamma alone."
and mamma would be left alone to her daughter, lady mountjoy thought. the visit must be prolonged so that at last mr. anderson might be enabled to prevail.
the visit had been originally intended for a month, but was now prolonged indefinitely. after that conversation between lady mountjoy and her niece two or three things happened, all bearing upon our story. florence at once wrote her letter. if things were going badly in england with harry annesley, harry should at any rate have the comfort of knowing what were her feelings,—if there might be comfort to him in that. "perhaps, after all, he won't mind what i may say," she thought to herself; but only pretended to think it, and at once flatly contradicted her own "perhaps." then she told him most emphatically not to reply. it was very important that she should write. he was to receive her letter, and there must be an end of it. she was quite sure that he would understand her. he would not subject her to the trouble of having to tell her own people that she was maintaining a correspondence, for it would amount to that. but still when the time came for the answer she had counted it up to the hour. and when sir magnus sent for her and handed to her the letter,—having discussed that question with her mother,—she fully expected it, and felt properly grateful to her uncle. she wanted a little comfort, too, and when she had read the letter she knew that she had received it.
there had been a few words spoken between the two elder ladies after the interview between florence and lady mountjoy. "she is a most self-willed young woman," said lady mountjoy.
"of course she loves her lover," said mrs. mountjoy, desirous of making some excuse for her own daughter. the girl was very troublesome, but not the less her daughter. "i don't know any of them that don't who are worth anything."
"if you regard it in that light, sarah, she'll get the better of you. if she marries him she will be lost; that is the way you have got to look at it. it is her future happiness you must think of—and respectability. she is a headstrong young woman, and has to be treated accordingly."
"what would you do?"
"i would be very severe."
"but what am i to do? i can't beat her; i can't lock her up in her room."
"then you mean to give it up?"
"no, i don't. you shouldn't be so cross to me," said poor mrs. mountjoy. when it had reached this the two ladies had become intimate. "i don't mean to give it up at all; but what am i to do?"
"remain here for the next month, and—and worry her; let mr. anderson have his chance with her. when she finds that everything will smile with her if she accepts him, and that her life will be made a burden to her if she still sticks to her harry annesley, she'll come round, if she be like other girls. of course a girl can't be made to marry a man, but there are ways and means." by this lady mountjoy meant that the utmost cruelty should be used which would be compatible with a good breakfast, dinner, and bedroom. now, mrs. mountjoy knew herself to be incapable of this, and knew also, or thought that she knew, that it would not be efficacious.
"you stay here,—up to christmas, if you like it," said sir magnus to his sister-in-law. "she can't but see anderson every day, and that goes a long way. she, of course, puts on a resolute air as well as she can. they all know how to do that. do you be resolute in return. the deuce is in it if we can't have our way with her among us. when you talk of ill usage nobody wants you to put her in chains. there are different ways of killing a cat. you get friends to write to you from england about young annesley, and i'll do the same. the truth, of course, i mean."
"nothing can be worse than the truth," said mrs. mountjoy, shaking her head, sorrowfully.
"just so," said sir magnus, who was not at all sorrowful to hear so bad an account of the favored suitor. "then we'll read her the letters. she can't help hearing them. just the true facts, you know. that's fair; nobody can call that cruel. and then, when she breaks down and comes to our call, we'll all be as soft as mother's milk to her. i shall see her going about the boulevards with a pair of ponies yet." mrs. mountjoy felt that when sir magnus spoke of florence coming to his call he did not know her daughter. but she had nothing better to do than to obey sir magnus. therefore she resolved to stay at brussels another period of six weeks and told florence that she had so resolved. just at present brussels and cheltenham would be all the same to florence.
"it will be a dreadful bore having them so long," said poor lady mountjoy, piteously, to her husband. for in the presence of sir magnus she was by no means the valiant woman that she was with some of her friends.
"you find everything a bore. what's the trouble?"
"what am i to do with them?"
"take 'em about in the carriage. lord bless my soul! what have you got a carriage for?"
"then, with miss abbott, there's never room for any one else."
"leave miss abbott at home, then. what's the good of talking to me about miss abbott? i suppose it doesn't matter to you whom my brother's daughter marries?" lady mountjoy did not think that it did matter much; but she declared that she had already evinced the most tender solicitude. "then stick to it. the girl doesn't want to go out every day. leave her alone, where anderson can get at her."
"he's always out riding with you."
"no, he's not; not always. and leave miss abbott at home. then there'll be room for two others. don't make difficulties. anderson will expect that i shall do something for him, of course."
"because of the money," said lady mountjoy, whispering.
"and i've got to do something for her too." now, there was a spice of honesty about sir magnus. he knew that as he could not at once pay back these sums, he was bound to make it up in some other way. the debts would be left the same. but that would remain with providence.
then came harry's letter, and there was a deep consultation. it was known to have come from harry by the buntingford post-mark. mrs. mountjoy proposed to consult lady mountjoy; but to that sir magnus would not agree. "she'd take her skin off her if she could, now that she's angered," said the lady's husband, who no doubt knew the lady well. "of course she'll learn that the letter has been written, and then she'll throw it in our teeth. she wouldn't believe that it had gone astray in coming here. we should give her a sort of a whip-hand over us." so it was decided that florence should have her letter.
