Fred's spirit could not bear this: rising and looking at Mr.Featherstone, he said, "Shall my mother and I leave the room, sir, thatyou may be alone with your friends?"
"Sit down, I tell you," said old Featherstone, snappishly. "Stop whereyou are. Good-by, Solomon," he added, trying to wield his stick again,but failing now that he had reversed the handle. "Good-by, Mrs. Waule.Don't you come again."
"I shall be down-stairs, Brother, whether or no," said Solomon. "Ishall do my duty, and it remains to be seen what the Almighty willallow."
"Yes, in property going out of families," said Mrs. Waule, incontinuation,—"and where there's steady young men to carry on. But Ipity them who are not such, and I pity their mothers. Good-by, BrotherPeter."
"Remember, I'm the eldest after you, Brother, and prospered from thefirst, just as you did, and have got land already by the name ofFeatherstone," said Solomon, relying much on that reflection, as onewhich might be suggested in the watches of the night. "But I bid yougood-by for the present."
Their exit was hastened by their seeing old Mr. Featherstone pull hiswig on each side and shut his eyes with his mouth-widening grimace, asif he were determined to be deaf and blind.
None the less they came to Stone Court daily and sat below at thepost of duty, sometimes carrying on a slow dialogue in an undertone inwhich the observation and response were so far apart, that any onehearing them might have imagined himself listening to speakingautomata, in some doubt whether the ingenious mechanism would reallywork, or wind itself up for a long time in order to stick and be silent.Solomon and Jane would have been sorry to be quick: what that led tomight be seen on the other side of the wall in the person of BrotherJonah.
But their watch in the wainscoted parlor was sometimes varied bythe presence of other guests from far or near. Now that PeterFeatherstone was up-stairs, his property could be discussed with all thatlocal enlightenment to be found on the spot: some rural andMiddlemarch neighbors expressed much agreement with the family andsympathy with their interest against the Vincys, and feminine visitorswere even moved to tears, in conversation with Mrs. Waule, when theyrecalled the fact that they themselves had been disappointed in timespast by codicils and marriages for spite on the part of ungrateful elderlygentlemen, who, it might have been supposed, had been spared forsomething better. Such conversation paused suddenly, like an organwhen the bellows are let drop, if Mary Garth came into the room; and alleyes were turned on her as a possible legatee, or one who might getaccess to iron chests.
But the younger men who were relatives or connections of thefamily, were disposed to admire her in this problematic light, as a girlwho showed much conduct, and who among all the chances that wereflying might turn out to be at least a moderate prize. Hence she had hershare of compliments and polite attentions.
Especially from Mr. Borthrop Trumbull, a distinguished bachelor andauctioneer of those parts, much concerned in the sale of land and cattle:a public character, indeed, whose name was seen on widely distributedplacards, and who might reasonably be sorry for those who did not knowof him. He was second cousin to Peter Featherstone, and had beentreated by him with more amenity than any other relative, being usefulin matters of business; and in that programme of his funeral which theold man had himself dictated, he had been named as a Bearer. There wasno odious cupidity in Mr. Borthrop Trumbull—nothing more than asincere sense of his own merit, which, he was aware, in case of rivalrymight tell against competitors; so that if Peter Featherstone, who so faras he, Trumbull, was concerned, had behaved like as good a soul as everbreathed, should have done anything handsome by him, all he could saywas, that he had never fished and fawned, but had advised him to thebest of his experience, which now extended over twenty years from thetime of his apprenticeship at fifteen, and was likely to yield a knowledgeof no surreptitious kind. His admiration was far from being confined tohimself, but was accustomed professionally as well as privately to delightin estimating things at a high rate. He was an amateur of superiorphrases, and never used poor language without immediately correctinghimself—which was fortunate, as he was rather loud, and given topredominate, standing or walking about frequently, pulling down hiswaistcoat with the air of a man who is very much of his own opinion,trimming himself rapidly with his fore-finger, and marking each newseries in these movements by a busy play with his large seals. There wasoccasionally a little fierceness in his demeanor, but it was directedchiefly against false opinion, of which there is so much to correct in theworld that a man of some reading and experience necessarily has hispatience tried. He felt that the Featherstone family generally was oflimited understanding, but being a man of the world and a publiccharacter, took everything as a matter of course, and even went toconverse with Mr. Jonah and young Cranch in the kitchen, not doubtingthat he had impressed the latter greatly by his leading questionsconcerning the Chalky Flats. If anybody had observed that Mr. BorthropTrumbull, being an auctioneer, was bound to know the nature ofeverything, he would have smiled and trimmed himself silently with thesense that he came pretty near that. On the whole, in an auctioneeringway, he was an honorable man, not ashamed of his business, and feelingthat "the celebrated Peel, now Sir Robert," if introduced to him, wouldnot fail to recognize his importance.
"I don't mind if I have a slice of that ham, and a glass of that ale,Miss Garth, if you will allow me," he said, coming into the parlor at half-past eleven, after having had the exceptional privilege of seeing oldFeatherstone, and standing with his back to the fire between Mrs. Wauleand Solomon.
"It's not necessary for you to go out;—let me ring the bell."
"Thank you," said Mary, "I have an errand."
"Well, Mr. Trumbull, you're highly favored," said Mrs. Waule.
"What! seeing the old man?" said the auctioneer, playing with hisseals dispassionately. "Ah, you see he has relied on me considerably."Here he pressed his lips together, and frowned meditatively.
"Might anybody ask what their brother has been saying?" saidSolomon, in a soft tone of humility, in which he had a sense of luxuriouscunning, he being a rich man and not in need of it.
"Oh yes, anybody may ask," said Mr. Trumbull, with loud and good-humored though cutting sarcasm. "Anybody may interrogate. Any onemay give their remarks an interrogative turn," he continued, hissonorousness rising with his style. "This is constantly done by goodspeakers, even when they anticipate no answer. It is what we call afigure of speech—speech at a high figure, as one may say." The eloquentauctioneer smiled at his own ingenuity.
"I shouldn't be sorry to hear he'd remembered you, Mr. Trumbull,"said Solomon. "I never was against the deserving. It's the undeserving I'magainst."
"Ah, there it is, you see, there it is," said Mr. Trumbull, significantly."It can't be denied that undeserving people have been legatees, and evenresiduary legatees. It is so, with testamentary dispositions." Again hepursed up his lips and frowned a little.
"Do you mean to say for certain, Mr. Trumbull, that my brother hasleft his land away from our family?" said Mrs. Waule, on whom, as anunhopeful woman, those long words had a depressing effect.
"A man might as well turn his land into charity land at once as leaveit to some people," observed Solomon, his sister's question having drawnno answer.
"What, Blue-Coat land?" said Mrs. Waule, again. "Oh, Mr. Trumbull,you never can mean to say that. It would be flying in the face of theAlmighty that's prospered him."
While Mrs. Waule was speaking, Mr. Borthrop Trumbull walkedaway from the fireplace towards the window, patrolling with his fore-finger round the inside of his stock, then along his whiskers and thecurves of his hair. He now walked to Miss Garth's work-table, opened abook which lay there and read the title aloud with pompous emphasis asif he were offering it for sale:
"'Anne of Geierstein' (pronounced Jeersteen) or the 'Maiden of theMist, by the author of Waverley.'" Then turning the page, he begansonorously—"The course of four centuries has well-nigh elapsed since theseries of events which are related in the following chapters took place onthe Continent." He pronounced the last truly admirable word with theaccent on the last syllable, not as unaware of vulgar usage, but feelingthat this novel delivery enhanced the sonorous beauty which his readinghad given to the whole.
And now the servant came in with the tray, so that the moments foranswering Mrs. Waule's question had gone by safely, while she andSolomon, watching Mr. Trumbull's movements, were thinking that highlearning interfered sadly with serious affairs. Mr. Borthrop Trumbullreally knew nothing about old Featherstone's will; but he could hardlyhave been brought to declare any ignorance unless he had been arrestedfor misprision of treason.
"I shall take a mere mouthful of ham and a glass of ale," he said,reassuringly. "As a man with public business, I take a snack when I can.I will back this ham," he added, after swallowing some morsels withalarming haste, "against any ham in the three kingdoms. In my opinion itis better than the hams at Freshitt Hall—and I think I am a tolerablejudge."
"Some don't like so much sugar in their hams," said Mrs. Waule. "Butmy poor brother would always have sugar."
"If any person demands better, he is at liberty to do so; but, Godbless me, what an aroma! I should be glad to buy in that quality, I know.There is some gratification to a gentleman"—here Mr. Trumbull's voiceconveyed an emotional remonstrance—"in having this kind of ham set onhis table."
He pushed aside his plate, poured out his glass of ale and drew hischair a little forward, profiting by the occasion to look at the inner sideof his legs, which he stroked approvingly—Mr. Trumbull having all thoseless frivolous airs and gestures which distinguish the predominant racesof the north.
"You have an interesting work there, I see, Miss Garth," he observed,when Mary re-entered. "It is by the author of 'Waverley': that is SirWalter Scott. I have bought one of his works myself—a very nice thing, avery superior publication, entitled 'Ivanhoe.' You will not get any writerto beat him in a hurry, I think—he will not, in my opinion, be speedilysurpassed. I have just been reading a portion at the commencement of'Anne of Jeersteen.' It commences well." (Things never began with Mr.Borthrop Trumbull: they always commenced, both in private life and onhis handbills.) "You are a reader, I see. Do you subscribe to ourMiddlemarch library?"
"No," said Mary. "Mr. Fred Vincy brought this book."
"I am a great bookman myself," returned Mr. Trumbull. "I have noless than two hundred volumes in calf, and I flatter myself they are wellselected. Also pictures by Murillo, Rubens, Teniers, Titian, Vandyck, andothers. I shall be happy to lend you any work you like to mention, MissGarth."
"I am much obliged," said Mary, hastening away again, "but I havelittle time for reading."
"I should say my brother has done something for her in his will," saidMr. Solomon, in a very low undertone, when she had shut the doorbehind her, pointing with his head towards the absent Mary.
"His first wife was a poor match for him, though," said Mrs. Waule."She brought him nothing: and this young woman is only her niece,—andvery proud. And my brother has always paid her wage."
"A sensible girl though, in my opinion," said Mr. Trumbull, finishinghis ale and starting up with an emphatic adjustment of his waistcoat. "Ihave observed her when she has been mixing medicine in drops. Sheminds what she is doing, sir. That is a great point in a woman, and agreat point for our friend up-stairs, poor dear old soul. A man whose lifeis of any value should think of his wife as a nurse: that is what I shoulddo, if I married; and I believe I have lived single long enough not tomake a mistake in that line. Some men must marry to elevate themselvesa little, but when I am in need of that, I hope some one will tell me so—Ihope some individual will apprise me of the fact. I wish you goodmorning, Mrs. Waule. Good morning, Mr. Solomon. I trust we shall meetunder less melancholy auspices."
When Mr. Trumbull had departed with a fine bow, Solomon, leaningforward, observed to his sister, "You may depend, Jane, my brother hasleft that girl a lumping sum."
"Anybody would think so, from the way Mr. Trumbull talks," saidJane. Then, after a pause, "He talks as if my daughters wasn't to betrusted to give drops."
"Auctioneers talk wild," said Solomon. "Not but what Trumbull hasmade money."
CHAPTER XXXIII.
"Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close;
And let us all to meditation."
—2 Henry VI.
That night after twelve o'clock Mary Garth relieved the watch in Mr.Featherstone's room, and sat there alone through the small hours. Sheoften chose this task, in which she found some pleasure, notwithstandingthe old man's testiness whenever he demanded her attentions. Therewere intervals in which she could sit perfectly still, enjoying the outerstillness and the subdued light. The red fire with its gently audiblemovement seemed like a solemn existence calmly independent of thepetty passions, the imbecile desires, the straining after worthlessuncertainties, which were daily moving her contempt. Mary was fond ofher own thoughts, and could amuse herself well sitting in twilight withher hands in her lap; for, having early had strong reason to believe thatthings were not likely to be arranged for her peculiar satisfaction, shewasted no time in astonishment and annoyance at that fact. And she hadalready come to take life very much as a comedy in which she had aproud, nay, a generous resolution not to act the mean or treacherouspart. Mary might have become cynical if she had not had parents whomshe honored, and a well of affectionate gratitude within her, which wasall the fuller because she had learned to make no unreasonable claims.
