# Lady Anne Granard/Chapter 24

LADY ANNE GRANARD;
OR
KEEPING UP APPEARANCES.
CHAPTER XXIV.
"Keeping up appearances" had been the business of Lady Anne's existence, not only in the vulgar cares commonly understood by the word, as relates to the debtor and creditor affairs of life, but the more delicate and complicated business which belongs to friendship and connubial happiness. She was fully persuaded that people could not present a respectable front to society, without being connected with high circles of the nobility, wealthy denizens of the circle immediately under them, talented persons who had earned notoriety, and good people of superior moral conduct; and it was now the great object of her life to keep up an appearance of being acquainted with those esteemed by all who were thus distinguished. When she was a married woman, although determined ​never to resign her own will, diminish her own extravagance, listen either to the remonstrances or the persuasions of her husband, she yet yielded to the necessity of keeping up the appearance of happiness, since the quarrelsome were never deemed the respectable in society. Always cold, selfish, and hollow, yet her hypocrisy had its use, and was that which has been described as the "homage which vice pays to virtue." As, however, such conduct implies considerable labour, as she advanced in life she shrunk from the toil of seeming, and bore her contracted sphere of action the better, because the demand for virtues was proportionably decreased. Still, the desire to be known, the ambition to be distinguished, was pre-eminent—"the world prevailed and its dread laugh" at poverty and pretension, at inveigling mothers and portionless beauties, at family union and suspected tyranny—and, therefore, to a given point, and with the least possible portion of self-exertion and self-controul, she had "kept up appearances," allowing herself a certain portion of tyrannical government over her daughters, as a kind of safety-valve to her temper and habits.
This was the more necessary, because it could not be practised on servants; at least, not upon the class of servants Lady Anne could afford to keep, which were of a very different description to her opposite neighbour's, being not of the Shakesperian genus, "who sweat for service, not for meed." As a certain great divine, in a moment of playfulness (cruelly ​misconstrued), told a rustic hearer, "a conscience was an expensive thing," so do those children of toil, when poorly paid and scantily fed, refuse to bear hard words and black looks into the bargain. "Siwility is vot's the due o’ sarwants, ven two quarters is gone by, an the colour o'yer money's unseen, 'specially vith so many cold wittles as ve has, and nothink but swipes," had been said or sung in the ears of Lady Anne, "many a time and oft;" and such was its effect that she knew and felt her daughters alone, the unchartered helots which Nature had given her, "to have and to hold," by a bond (which could never be cancelled until marriage had bound them by the still stronger chain which Death and Sin can alone unloose), must be the exclusive recipients of her ill-humour in trifles, her despotism in essentials.
That Lady Anne had assumed her rights, and proved her power to break her victim, mentally, on the rack, or consign her to the stake, was so evinced by the appearance of Helen (though much the lesser sufferer, as the lesser delinquent), that Louisa fully concurred in the resolution her husband evinced to go down to Rotheles Castle, and obtain from the Earl some relief to the prisoners, leaving it to his lordship's judgment to provide, or, at least, to suggest the means. He held it to be a service of great delicacy, for, whatever might be the demerits of Lady Anne, he neither desired that a shilling should be withdrawn from her income, nor her daughters removed from her ​guardianship, because he thought the former necessary for her rank, and the latter for the respectability of the sisters—Society forges fetters as strong as Nature, and neither can be foregone or despised.
The morning following the ebullition of which we have spoken, Lady Anne, contrary to her habits of late, summoned her daughters to breakfast. Helen, despite of the previous trouble, or, perhaps, in consequence of it (for the constitution in youth seeks reprisals), had slept well and looked tolerably; but Georgiana appeared like a faded flower—she neither spoke nor eat—there was not a shade of anger on her brow, but there was solicitude and sorrow in every lineament.
"I shall go to Brighton, to-morrow," said Lady Anne, laying down the paper she had been reading, "so you may both pack your things."
Georgiana had taken her seat in such a direction that the light fell full on her side face, and Lady Anne almost started to see how pale and thin that face had become. "It is time we went somewhere, for you, Georgiana, are really a shocking object, and I don't suppose I am much better myself!—we shall be better at Brighton; you will get air and exercise, and I shall get rid of the annoyance I have sustained from impertinent letters, which tear my nerves to pieces."
"Impertinent letters!" Oh! it was plain Arthur had not forgotten her, for those were the very words applied to her brother Penrhyn's letter, when he asked ​for Louisa. "Could it be that mamma had refused him?" Nothing was more probable; but, even in that case, it was inexpressible relief to believe she had been sought for, to know that her feelings were indeed reciprocated, that she had not thrown away her young heart's first affections on the insensible, or been deceived in her surmises by the insidious and deceitful. "Oh, no! Arthur was all she had thought him;" in daring to rely on his love and give confiding esteem to his character, more than half her sorrows were overcome, and hope whispered that the rest might be; her eyes became lighted up by the joy of her heart, and her whole frame seemed suddenly renovated.
"How strange," whispered Lady Anne to herself; "the girl is already in a consumption; there is the bright eye and the hectic flush of the disease, yet it was never in my family, never! Mary was long weak, but she didn't die, as one expected—it will never do for me to take her here and there, but the Marquis may. Surely, if a newspaper-man in the city could engage a vessel to take his wife to Lisbon for her health, the Marchioness of Wentworthdale might have two. I wish he would come up from the country today, that I might hasten the affair by telling him the disease is actually begun.
"Hold! that will not do. No man of family would choose to have a consumptive heir. It is a difficulty to know what view one should adopt; she may drag on for two whole years; in that time her ​good fortune, with all its concomitant advantages, would be insured to her connexions, after which her death would be the most interesting thing possible, and make an astounding impression. The worst of it is, if teazed too much, the complaint may turn to a galloping consumption, and she may die before any thing can be done. How horrible to have death in one's own house? But that must be guarded against; she shall die in a lodging, I am determined!"
Whilst thus soliloquizing, the doomed one was certainly making the best effort to live which had taken place for three weeks, by eating a good breakfast, to the great delight of Helen, who, encouraged by a glance of permission, took up the newspaper, and was not long ere she saw in the list of departures from Mivart's hotel:—
"Viscount Meersbrook for Portsmouth, the Hon. Lieutenant Arthur Hales for his ship, the Thetis;" news which she contrived the eye of Georgiana should glance at; and although an idea of a voyage to she knew not whither presented threats of an interminable parting, this painful knowledge confirmed, in all respects, the facts she had assumed. She doubted not that she was the object of Arthur's tender and honourable love—a love she certainly returned; that he had made her an offer of his hand, which she earnestly, though modestly, desired to accept, since his fortunes were at all events superior to her own, and could by no means include the personal and ​pressing poverty under which she had suffered the whole term of her existence, with partial relief, and of this information, so necessary for her happiness, she had been cruelly deprived—deprived for a purpose she would die rather than accomplish.
If any doubts remained on this head, they were dispersed by finding a letter in the first drawer she opened, and which had unquestionably been placed there during the time she was at breakfast. She had never seen the handwriting before; but it was sealed with a crest, and the letters A. J. H. beneath it. His name was Arthur James—he, the dear, emphatic he, alone could be the writer!
Yes, he was, and the letter was written as "the Doctor"—he "who looks all through the affairs of men" tells us, love-letters should be written "freely, fully, artlessly, passionately, and sincerely," the protestations of love being followed by an account of the kindness of his brother, grandsire, and aunt—the utter impracticableness of Lady Anne, his certainty of the persecution she was undergoing for his sake, and his earnest desire that she would seek refuge with her uncle at Rotheles Castle, until his return, when it was probable that he should have a ship, in which case Lady Anne could not possibly refuse him; he concluded with saying, that he trusted her sister was very kind, and would neither counteract his wishes, nor encourage those of any other lover during his painful absence; and his hopes on that point were ​the higher, because Meersbrook, who had seen more of her than himself, assured him that Helen's disposition was every way excellent, and her love for her sister as decided as the attachment which bound themselves to each other.
The letter was dated three days before it was found; and Helen, who had read it all through with interest, and scanned the latter part with eyes that dwelt on every letter, was of opinion that it had been placed in the hands of the page, who could find no opportunity or excuse for going to their bed-room, until he knew they were in the breakfast-parlour, from whence they had long been banished.
At the moment these conjectures were going forward, Lady Anne's foot was heard ascending their stairs; it was a positive event, for no ordinary circumstance, whether of threatened or actual sickness, had ever brought her, and on all occasions of anger the young ladies were sent for to be scolded, as Georgiana of late was well aware. The guilty are always cowards; and both of them at this very moment felt so oppressed by their awful secret, that they were ready to believe mamma had actually planned the whole affair, and was about to pounce upon them in the very fact of receiving a love-letter by surreptitious means. Most fortunately the exigence of despair prompted Georgiana to instant action—she seized the letter and thrust it under the bed-clothes, at the moment the door was opened, ​and Helen, from whom it was snatched, stood the very picture of shame and confusion, with her hands held up before her face, as if suddenly petrified in the act of treason.
But no discovery was made, for no volley of reproach was uttered, and could they have looked in their mother's face they might have seen that strange defeatures were written there. As it was, neither of them looked or moved, until they heard the words—
"My dears, when I had a party you brought me a considerable part of the money Mr. Glentworth gave you, but you could not, did not, give me all, I hope?"
"Not all, mamma, because you told us we must find our own dresses, and so we did of course; we bought our winter clothing, and then our summer bonnets, and our challis pour demi saison, and our——"
"Well, well, but you have something left? give it me all, all. I borrow it of you till your uncle sends his usual pension. I must have every shilling!"
Georgiana hastily unlocked her work-box. "Mamma should have every sovereign she had," for giving money was, indeed, a little matter, so that she could escape unblamed and unrobbed of the treasure no jewels could redeem; and Helen seeing how eagerly the prize was seized, how entirely money was the thing sought for, and how diligently every little recess in the work-box was searched for more, endeavoured ​to turn over the possibility of saving a little (were it ever so little) from her own depository, when in turn it should be thus rummaged; for, said she to herself, "if I have not an odd half-crown to give to Georgiana, poor girl, how can she pay the postage for a letter to Arthur? If I can save a half sovereign, what a thing it will be!"
Keeping, therefore, an eye to the main chance, stimulated by the best possible motive, Helen emptied her purse on the bed, in such a manner, as to allow a stray half sovereign to escape, when she added the shillings and half-crowns to the little heap, and said, in a tremulous voice, "Here is my money." Lady Anne instantly took it up, and observed, "You have not been so prudent as Georgiana—at least you have got less of your present left."
"Georgiana being so young bought only muslin, when I got a mouselin de laine, like Louisa's, mamma, as you recommended."
"I remember that; but I also remember, miss, that you are the very worst of my girls (and all are bad enough) as regards charity. I tell you, Miss Helen Granard, once for all, that no money ought, or shall be given in my house for charity—no, not a shilling!"
"Madame is wanted below. Le vilain n’attendez pas," said Fanchette.
"Let me see—five, ten, twelve. Oh! there is thirty-nine pounds twelve. I have seventeen; we ​shall manage," said Lady Anne; "the brute cannot arrest me!"
With these words, which were only half uttered, but heard distinctly by the young and excited ears of her daughters, Lady Anne flew down stairs. The poor girls, deeply interested and alarmed in these few moments, had entirely changed the object of their fears and feelings. Their mother's words had awoke a new current of thought, a new subject of terror. Mamma arrested, dragged to prison, confined to a subterranean dungeon, starved, and probably murdered, whilst disgrace, as infectious and fatal as the plague, burying all the hopes and prospects of their lives, all the fond affections and expectations of their hearts, rose simultaneously before them, and alike forgetting their own sorrows in hers, who was, at all events, their mother, they simultaneously uttered the words, "Poor mamma!" dropt into each other's arms, and burst into a flood of tears.
For such daughters as these was the world, with its idle vanities, its real inflictions, and unreal pleasures, preferred. But we will not stay to moralize, for surely "he who runs may read."
The time came when they ceased to cry and began to think; by the way, if Georgiana had not, from a concurrence of circumstances, been enabled to eat her breakfast, this operation of the mind could not have been engaged in without further injury, for she was, indeed, weak and exhausted; but having no actual ​disease, was capable of the renovation peculiar to youth; and the letter was an able physician, and might soon have effected a cure, if this new trouble had not arisen. Their first immediate care was how to dispose of it. Georgiana could not have destroyed it even if she had had the means; but she felt that hidden it must be, for all their sakes; the possession of a document clandestinely obtained, which, although considerately written, indirectly blamed her mother, and was in direct opposition to her wishes in the point where she claimed obedience, was, in their eyes, a kind of immorality, which was made much worse now she was known to be in trouble. Helen took charge of it in the first place, as being much the less likely to be suspected and examined; but hard indeed did the beloved and reassured one feel the necessity to part with the sweetest treasure she had ever possessed, and which she wished to place next her heart, and hold there till it had throbbed its last.
No young person of either sex, who ever pressed to their lips, for the first time, "the one loved name," inscribed on that sheet which has revealed the softest, sweetest fears, hopes, and tender solicitudes of the heart (in those days of early life when its feelings and wishes are new, undefined, but yet powerful and profound) will fail to sympathise with poor Georgiana. The letter had raised her from death to life, from despair to hope; it had given her confidence, not only ​in one but all mankind; it had converted a world of gloom into one of comparative brilliance, despite the clouds which overcast it. No wonder that "some natural tears she dropped, but wiped them soon," in consequence of Helen's observations.
"You see, Georgiana, it is not the party alone which cost mamma a good deal of money, for that was made up on every side, as it were, like the penny wedding in the print, for we paid for the fruit and gave her that beautiful velvet dress and cap, which cost nearly forty pounds; but it is the little matters which have occurred since. The marquess has dined here twice or thrice en famille, but still very expensively, as there was a French cook, and fine wines, and hired plate, because she did not choose the Palmers to know any thing about it. Then, finding he totally disapproved of Lady Penrhyn and that class of women, which he evinced very sensibly by repeating, in an approving tone, what Lord Meersbrook had said (which was, in truth, excellent), she took, all at once, to Lady Betty Laroche, and Miss Radcliffe, and their set of friends. She has had three parties since we were confined in the attic, which, although only in an evening and without music, were not without expence, for there was always a costly petit souper, which came from the hotel; and you know, whenever she began having things from that place, she always went on with it, until the scene was changed, and we removed either to Brighton or the Castle. It may be a good thing ​to keep up appearances, perhaps, by now and then giving an entertainment you can ill afford; but I can never be made to think it a good thing to run bills for personal dainties you are unable to pay for. I would rather live on a crust; and, indeed, comparatively speaking, we girls have done so ever since I can remember in our own house."
"True, Helen, but still if, in her mistaken wish to secure our happiness, mamma does foolish things for our advancement, surely we ought to be grateful. I greatly fear she entertained the marquess for my sake, and I desire to thank her for it, though I had rather die than profit by the match she seeks to procure me. No power on earth shall make me marry him, but I would not grieve or offend her by marrying Arthur, even if I could do it; and, alas! I have little chance of seeing him for years to come."
"If my mother thought you were resolute, and that she never could bring the plan to bear, she would be very glad to give you to him she calls the 'sailor fellow,' who is unquestionably a very good connexion for unportioned girls like us, but she reckons on your facile temper and acute feelings, Georgiana; you know you are of a yielding disposition."
"I was, you mean; now I have become the possessor of a heart like Arthur's, I feel as strong as a lion, as firm as a rock."
"And as white as the counterpane," said Helen, shaking her head.