Mr. Brooke put his hands behind him, walked to the window andstraightened his back with a little shake before he replied.
"That is easily said, Chettam, easily said, you know."
"My dear sir," persisted Sir James, restraining his indignation withinrespectful forms, "it was you who brought him here, and you who keephim here—I mean by the occupation you give him."
"Yes, but I can't dismiss him in an instant without assigning reasons,my dear Chettam. Ladislaw has been invaluable, most satisfactory. Iconsider that I have done this part of the country a service by bringinghim—by bringing him, you know." Mr. Brooke ended with a nod, turninground to give it.
"It's a pity this part of the country didn't do without him, that's all Ihave to say about it. At any rate, as Dorothea's brother-in-law, I feelwarranted in objecting strongly to his being kept here by any action onthe part of her friends. You admit, I hope, that I have a right to speakabout what concerns the dignity of my wife's sister?"
Sir James was getting warm.
"Of course, my dear Chettam, of course. But you and I have differentideas—different—"
"Not about this action of Casaubon's, I should hope," interrupted SirJames. "I say that he has most unfairly compromised Dorothea. I say thatthere never was a meaner, more ungentlemanly action than this—acodicil of this sort to a will which he made at the time of his marriagewith the knowledge and reliance of her family—a positive insult toDorothea!"
"Well, you know, Casaubon was a little twisted about Ladislaw.Ladislaw has told me the reason—dislike of the bent he took, youknow—Ladislaw didn't think much of Casaubon's notions, Thoth andDagon—that sort of thing: and I fancy that Casaubon didn't like theindependent position Ladislaw had taken up. I saw the letters betweenthem, you know. Poor Casaubon was a little buried in books—he didn'tknow the world."
"It's all very well for Ladislaw to put that color on it," said Sir James."But I believe Casaubon was only jealous of him on Dorothea's account,and the world will suppose that she gave him some reason; and that iswhat makes it so abominable—coupling her name with this youngfellow's."
"My dear Chettam, it won't lead to anything, you know," said Mr.Brooke, seating himself and sticking on his eye-glass again. "It's all of apiece with Casaubon's oddity. This paper, now, 'Synoptical Tabulation'and so on, 'for the use of Mrs. Casaubon,' it was locked up in the deskwith the will. I suppose he meant Dorothea to publish his researches,eh? and she'll do it, you know; she has gone into his studiesuncommonly."
"My dear sir," said Sir James, impatiently, "that is neither here northere. The question is, whether you don't see with me the propriety ofsending young Ladislaw away?"
"Well, no, not the urgency of the thing. By-and-by, perhaps, it maycome round. As to gossip, you know, sending him away won't hindergossip. People say what they like to say, not what they have chapter andverse for," said Mr Brooke, becoming acute about the truths that lay onthe side of his own wishes. "I might get rid of Ladislaw up to a certainpoint—take away the 'Pioneer' from him, and that sort of thing; but Icouldn't send him out of the country if he didn't choose to go—didn'tchoose, you know."
Mr. Brooke, persisting as quietly as if he were only discussing thenature of last year's weather, and nodding at the end with his usualamenity, was an exasperating form of obstinacy.
"Good God!" said Sir James, with as much passion as he evershowed, "let us get him a post; let us spend money on him. If he couldgo in the suite of some Colonial Governor! Grampus might take him—and I could write to Fulke about it."
"But Ladislaw won't be shipped off like a head of cattle, my dearfellow; Ladislaw has his ideas. It's my opinion that if he were to partfrom me to-morrow, you'd only hear the more of him in the country.With his talent for speaking and drawing up documents, there are fewmen who could come up to him as an agitator—an agitator, you know." "Agitator!" said Sir James, with bitter emphasis, feeling that thesyllables of this word properly repeated were a sufficient exposure of itshatefulness.
"But be reasonable, Chettam. Dorothea, now. As you say, she hadbetter go to Celia as soon as possible. She can stay under your roof, andin the mean time things may come round quietly. Don't let us be firingoff our guns in a hurry, you know. Standish will keep our counsel, andthe news will be old before it's known. Twenty things may happen tocarry off Ladislaw—without my doing anything, you know."
"Then I am to conclude that you decline to do anything?"
"Decline, Chettam?—no—I didn't say decline. But I really don't seewhat I could do. Ladislaw is a gentleman."
"I am glad to hear It!" said Sir James, his irritation making him forgethimself a little. "I am sure Casaubon was not."
"Well, it would have been worse if he had made the codicil to hinderher from marrying again at all, you know."
"I don't know that," said Sir James. "It would have been lessindelicate."
"One of poor Casaubon's freaks! That attack upset his brain a little.It all goes for nothing. She doesn't want to marry Ladislaw."
"But this codicil is framed so as to make everybody believe that shedid. I don't believe anything of the sort about Dorothea," said SirJames—then frowningly, "but I suspect Ladislaw. I tell you frankly, Isuspect Ladislaw."
"I couldn't take any immediate action on that ground, Chettam. Infact, if it were possible to pack him off—send him to Norfolk Island—that sort of thing—it would look all the worse for Dorothea to those whoknew about it. It would seem as if we distrusted her—distrusted her, youknow."
That Mr. Brooke had hit on an undeniable argument, did not tend tosoothe Sir James. He put out his hand to reach his hat, implying that hedid not mean to contend further, and said, still with some heat—
"Well, I can only say that I think Dorothea was sacrificed once,because her friends were too careless. I shall do what I can, as herbrother, to protect her now."
"You can't do better than get her to Freshitt as soon as possible,Chettam. I approve that plan altogether," said Mr. Brooke, well pleasedthat he had won the argument. It would have been highly inconvenientto him to part with Ladislaw at that time, when a dissolution mighthappen any day, and electors were to be convinced of the course bywhich the interests of the country would be best served. Mr. Brookesincerely believed that this end could be secured by his own return toParliament: he offered the forces of his mind honestly to the nation.
CHAPTER L.
"'This Loller here wol precilen us somewhat.'
'Nay by my father's soule! that schal he nat,'
Sayde the Schipman, 'here schal he not preche,
We schal no gospel glosen here ne teche.
We leven all in the gret God,' quod he.
He wolden sowen some diffcultee."—Canterbury Tales.
Dorothea had been safe at Freshitt Hall nearly a week before she hadasked any dangerous questions. Every morning now she sat with Celia inthe prettiest of up-stairs sitting-rooms, opening into a smallconservatory—Celia all in white and lavender like a bunch of mixedviolets, watching the remarkable acts of the baby, which were so dubiousto her inexperienced mind that all conversation was interrupted byappeals for their interpretation made to the oracular nurse. Dorothea satby in her widow's dress, with an expression which rather provoked Celia,as being much too sad; for not only was baby quite well, but really whena husband had been so dull and troublesome while he lived, and besidesthat had—well, well! Sir James, of course, had told Celia everything,with a strong representation how important it was that Dorothea shouldnot know it sooner than was inevitable.
But Mr. Brooke had been right in predicting that Dorothea would notlong remain passive where action had been assigned to her; she knew thepurport of her husband's will made at the time of their marriage, and hermind, as soon as she was clearly conscious of her position, was silentlyoccupied with what she ought to do as the owner of Lowick Manor withthe patronage of the living attached to it.
One morning when her uncle paid his usual visit, though with anunusual alacrity in his manner which he accounted for by saying that itwas now pretty certain Parliament would be dissolved forthwith,Dorothea said—
"Uncle, it is right now that I should consider who is to have theliving at Lowick. After Mr. Tucker had been provided for, I never heardmy husband say that he had any clergyman in his mind as a successor tohimself. I think I ought to have the keys now and go to Lowick toexamine all my husband's papers. There may be something that wouldthrow light on his wishes."
"No hurry, my dear," said Mr. Brooke, quietly. "By-and-by, youknow, you can go, if you like. But I cast my eyes over things in the desksand drawers—there was nothing—nothing but deep subjects, youknow—besides the will. Everything can be done by-and-by. As to theliving, I have had an application for interest already—I should say rathergood. Mr. Tyke has been strongly recommended to me—I had somethingto do with getting him an appointment before. An apostolic man, Ibelieve—the sort of thing that would suit you, my dear."
"I should like to have fuller knowledge about him, uncle, and judgefor myself, if Mr. Casaubon has not left any expression of his wishes. Hehas perhaps made some addition to his will—there may be someinstructions for me," said Dorothea, who had all the while had thisconjecture in her mind with relation to her husband's work.
"Nothing about the rectory, my dear—nothing," said Mr. Brooke,rising to go away, and putting out his hand to his nieces: "nor about hisresearches, you know. Nothing in the will."
Dorothea's lip quivered.
"Come, you must not think of these things yet, my dear. By-and-by,you know."
"I am quite well now, uncle; I wish to exert myself."
"Well, well, we shall see. But I must run away now—I have no end ofwork now—it's a crisis—a political crisis, you know. And here is Celiaand her little man—you are an aunt, you know, now, and I am a sort ofgrandfather," said Mr. Brooke, with placid hurry, anxious to get awayand tell Chettam that it would not be his (Mr. Brooke's) fault if Dorotheainsisted on looking into everything.
Dorothea sank back in her chair when her uncle had left the room,and cast her eyes down meditatively on her crossed hands.
"Look, Dodo! look at him! Did you ever see anything like that?" saidCelia, in her comfortable staccato.
"What, Kitty?" said Dorothea, lifting her eyes rather absently.
"What? why, his upper lip; see how he is drawing it down, as if hemeant to make a face. Isn't it wonderful! He may have his little thoughts.I wish nurse were here. Do look at him."
A large tear which had been for some time gathering, rolled downDorothea's cheek as she looked up and tried to smile.
"Don't be sad, Dodo; kiss baby. What are you brooding over so? I amsure you did everything, and a great deal too much. You should be happynow."
"I wonder if Sir James would drive me to Lowick. I want to look overeverything—to see if there were any words written for me."
"You are not to go till Mr. Lydgate says you may go. And he has notsaid so yet (here you are, nurse; take baby and walk up and down thegallery). Besides, you have got a wrong notion in your head as usual,Dodo—I can see that: it vexes me."
"Where am I wrong, Kitty?" said Dorothea, quite meekly. She wasalmost ready now to think Celia wiser than herself, and was reallywondering with some fear what her wrong notion was. Celia felt heradvantage, and was determined to use it. None of them knew Dodo aswell as she did, or knew how to manage her. Since Celia's baby wasborn, she had had a new sense of her mental solidity and calm wisdom.It seemed clear that where there was a baby, things were right enough,and that error, in general, was a mere lack of that central poising force. "I can see what you are thinking of as well as can be, Dodo," saidCelia. "You are wanting to find out if there is anything uncomfortable foryou to do now, only because Mr. Casaubon wished it. As if you had notbeen uncomfortable enough before. And he doesn't deserve it, and youwill find that out. He has behaved very badly. James is as angry with himas can be. And I had better tell you, to prepare you."
"Celia," said Dorothea, entreatingly, "you distress me. Tell me at oncewhat you mean." It glanced through her mind that' Mr. Casaubon hadleft the property away from her—which would not be so very distressing.
"Why, he has made a codicil to his will, to say the property was all togo away from you if you married—I mean—"
"That is of no consequence," said Dorothea, breaking in impetuously.
"But if you married Mr. Ladislaw, not anybody else," Celia went onwith persevering quietude. "Of course that is of no consequence in oneway—you never would marry Mr. Ladislaw; but that only makes it worseof Mr. Casaubon."
The blood rushed to Dorothea's face and neck painfully. But Celiawas administering what she thought a sobering dose of fact. It wastaking up notions that had done Dodo's health so much harm. So shewent on in her neutral tone, as if she had been remarking on baby'srobes.
"James says so. He says it is abominable, and not like a gentleman.And there never was a better judge than James. It is as if Mr. Casaubonwanted to make people believe that you would wish to marry Mr.Ladislaw—which is ridiculous. Only James says it was to hinder Mr.Ladislaw from wanting to marry you for your money—just as if he everwould think of making you an offer. Mrs. Cadwallader said you might aswell marry an Italian with white mice! But I must just go and look atbaby," Celia added, without the least change of tone, throwing a lightshawl over her, and tripping away.
Dorothea by this time had turned cold again, and now threw herselfback helplessly in her chair. She might have compared her experience atthat moment to the vague, alarmed consciousness that her life was takingon a new form that she was undergoing a metamorphosis in whichmemory would not adjust itself to the stirring of new organs. Everythingwas changing its aspect: her husband's conduct, her own duteous feelingtowards him, every struggle between them—and yet more, her wholerelation to Will Ladislaw. Her world was in a state of convulsive change;the only thing she could say distinctly to herself was, that she must waitand think anew. One change terrified her as if it had been a sin; it was aviolent shock of repulsion from her departed husband, who had hadhidden thoughts, perhaps perverting everything she said and did. Thenagain she was conscious of another change which also made hertremulous; it was a sudden strange yearning of heart towards WillLadislaw. It had never before entered her mind that he could, under anycircumstances, be her lover: conceive the effect of the sudden revelationthat another had thought of him in that light—that perhaps he himselfhad been conscious of such a possibility,—and this with the hurrying,crowding vision of unfitting conditions, and questions not soon to besolved.
