# Wrecked in Port/Book III, Chapter X

Chapter X.Lady Caroline Advises on a Delicate Subject.
The communication which Mr. Benthall, in his bluff off-hand manner, had made to Walter Joyce, had surprised the latter very much, and embarrassed him not a little. Ever since the receipt of Marian Ashurst's letter announcing her intention of marrying Mr. Creswell, Joyce had lived absolutely free from any influence of "the cruel madness of love, the poison of honey flowers, and all the measureless ill." All his thoughts had been given up to labour and ambition, and, with the exception of his deep-rooted and genuine regard for Lady Caroline, and his friendly liking for the Creswell girls, he entertained no feeling for any woman living, unless a suspicion of and an aversion to Marian Creswell might be so taken into account. Had he this special partiality for Maud Creswell, of which Benthall had spoken so plainly? He set to work to catechise himself, to look back through the events of the past few months, noting what he remembered of their relations to each other.
Yes, he had seen a great deal of Maud; he remembered very frequent occasions on which they had been thrown together. He had not noticed it at the time; it seemed to come naturally enough. Gertrude, of course, was engaged with Benthall when he was in town, in writing to him or thinking of him when he was away, and Lady Caroline had to go through all the hard work which falls upon a great lady in society, work the amount of which can only be appreciated by those who have performed it or seen it performed. So that, as Joyce then recollected, he and Maud had been thrown a great deal together, and, as he further recollected, they had had a great many discussions on topics very far removed from the mere ordinary frivolity of society-talk; and he had noticed that she seemed to have clear ideas, which she understood how to express. What an odd thing, that what Benthall said had never struck him before! It must have been patent to other people, though; and that put the matter, unpleasantly, in rather a ridiculous light. After all, though, what was there ridiculous in it? Maud was a very handsome girl, a clever girl, and an unmistakable lady. What a pretty, slight, girlish figure she had! such a graceful outline! her head was so well posed upon her neck! And Joyce smiled as he found himself drawing lines in the air with the paper-knife which he was idly tossing in his hand.
And he had Benthall's assurance that the girl cared for him; that was something. Benthall was a man careful in the extreme as to what he said, and he would not have made such a statement where a girl was concerned, and that girl his own sister-in-law, unless he were tolerably certain of being right. His own sister-in-law; he had it then, of course, from Gertrude, who was Maud's second self, and would know all about it. It was satisfactory to know that there was a woman in the world who cared for him, and though without the smallest particle of vanity he accepted the belief very readily, for his rejection by Marian Ashurst and the indignity which he had suffered at her hands had by no means rendered him generally cynical or suspicious to the sex. Marian Ashurst! what an age ago it seemed since the days ​when the mention of that name would have sent the blood flowing to his cheek, and his heart thumping audibly, and now here he was staying in the old house where all the love scenes had taken place, walking round the garden where all the soft words had been spoken, all the vows made which she had thrown to the winds, when the last parting, with what he then, and for so long afterwards, though its never-to-be-forgotten agony had occurred, and he had not felt one single extra palpitation. Mrs. Creswell was staying away from Woolgreaves just then, at some inland watering-place; for the benefit of her health, which it was said had suffered somewhat from her constant attendance on her husband, or Joyce might have met her. Such a meeting would not have caused him an emotion. When he had encountered her in the lane, during the canvassing time, there was yet lingering within his breast a remembrance of the great wrong she had done him, and that was fanned into additional fury by the nature of her request and the insolence with which she made it. But all those feelings had died out now, and were he then, he thought, to come across Marian Creswell's path, she would be to him as the merest stranger, and no more.
If he were to marry, he knew of no one more likely to suit him in all ways than Maud. Pretty to look at, clever to talk to, sufficiently accustomed to him and his ways of life, she would make him a far better wife than nine-tenths of the young ladies he was accustomed to meet in such little society as he could spare the time to cultivate. Why should he marry at all? He answered the question almost as soon as he asked it. His life wanted brightening, wanted refining, was at present too narrow and confined; all his hopes, thoughts, and aspirations were centred on himself. He was all wrong. There should be some one who—the chambers were confoundedly dreary too, when he came home to them from the office or the House; he should travel when the House rose, somewhere abroad, he thought, and it would be dull work moving about by himself, and——
What pretty, earnest eyes Maud had, and shining hair, and delicate "bred" looking hands! She certainly was wonderfully nice, and if, as Benthall avowed, she really cared for him, he—who was this coming to break in on his pleasant day-dream? Oh, Gertrude.
"I was wondering where you were, Mr. Joyce! You said you wanted your holiday, and you seem to be passing it in slumber!"
"Nothing so commonplace, Mrs. Benthall——"
"One moment, why do you call me Mrs. Benthall? What has made you so formal and ridiculous all of a sudden? You used to call me Gertrude, in London?"
"Yes, but then you were an unmarried girl, now you are a wedded woman, and there's a certain amount of respect due to matronhood."
"What nonsense! Do call me Gertrude again, please, Mrs. Benthall sounds so horrid! I should like the boarders here in the house to call me Gertrude, only George says it wouldn't be proper! And so you weren't asleep?"
"Not the least bit! Although I'm ready to allow I was dreaming."
"Dreaming! what about?"
"About the old days which I spent in this place—and their association!"
"Oh yes, I know—I mean to say——"
"No, no, Gertrude, say what you had on your lips then! No prevarication and no hesitation; what was it?"
"No, really, nothing—it is only——"
"I insist!"
"Well, what I mean to say is, of course people will talk in a village, you know, and we've heard about your engagement, you know, and how it was broken off, and how badly you were treated, and—— Oh, how silly I was to say a word about it! I'm sure George would be horribly cross if he knew!"
"And did you imagine I was grizzling over my past, cursing the day when I first saw the faithless fair, and indulging in other poetic rhapsodies! My dear Gertrude, it's not a pleasant thing being jilted, but one lives to get over it and forget all about it; even to forgive her whom I believe it is correct to call the false one!"
"Yes, I dare say! In fact George and Maud both said you didn't think anything about it now, and——"
"Maud! did she know of it too?"
"Oh yes, we all knew of it! The old woman who had been housekeeper, or cook, or something here in the old Ashursts' time told George, and——"
"What did Maud say about it?" interrupted Joyce.
"She said—I forget what! No! I recollect! she said that—that Mrs. Creswell was just the sort of woman that would fail to appreciate you!"
"That may be taken in two senses, as ​a compliment or otherwise," said Joyce, laughing.
"I'm sure Maud meant it nicely," said Gertrude, earnestly. Then added, "By the way, I wanted to talk to you about Maud, Mr. Joyce."
"About Maud!" said Walter. Then thought to himself, "Is it possible that the seeds of match-making are already developing themselves in this three months' old matron?"
"Yes. I don't think George mentioned it to you, but he had a talk with Maud, just before our marriage, about her future. George, of course, told her that our house would be her home, her permanent home I mean; and he gave her the kindest message from Lady Caroline, who bargained that at least a portion of the year should be spent with her."
"What did your sister say to that?"
"Well, she was much obliged and all that, but she did not seem inclined to settle down. She has some horrible notions about duty and that sort of thing, and thinks her money has been given to her to do good with; and George is afraid she would get, what he calls, 'let in' by some of those dreadful hypocritical people, and we want you to talk to her and reason her out of it."
"I? Why I, my dear Gertrude?"
"Because she believes in you so much more than in anybody else, and is so much more likely to do what you advise her."
"She pays me a great compliment," said Joyce, rising, "and I'll see what's to be done. The first thing, I think, is to consult Lady Caroline, who would be sure to give good advice. I shall see her to-morrow, and I'll——"
"See Lady Caroline to-morrow! I thought you were not going back till Saturday?"
"I've just thought of some special business about which I must see Lady Caroline at once, and I'll mention this at the same time. Now, let us find George. Come for a turn."
They found George and went for their turn, and when their turn was over, and Gertrude was alone with her husband, she told him the conversation which she had had with Walter Joyce. The schoolmaster laughed heartily.
"'Pon my word, Gerty," he said, "match-making appears to be your forte, born and bred in you! I never believed in the reality of those old dowagers in Mrs. Trollope's novels, until I saw you."
"Well, I declare, George, you are complimentary! old dowager's, indeed! But, seriously, I wish Walter wasn't going to Lady Caroline!"
"Why, what on earth has that to do with it?"
"Well, I mean speaking in Maud's interest!"
"Why, one would think that Lady Caroline was in love with Walter Joyce herself!"
"Exactly!"
"Why—why—you don't think so, my dear?"
"I'm sure so, my dear!"
And, as response, the Reverend George Benthall whistled in a loud and unclerical manner.
When Walter Joyce arrived in Chesterfield-street, he found Lady Caroline was absent, passing the holidays with Lord and Lady Hetherington at Westhope, and, after a little hesitation, he determined to go down there and see her. He had not seen anything of the Hetheringtons since his election: his lordship was occupied with some new fad which kept him in the country, and her ladyship did not care to come to town until after Easter. Lord Hetherington had viewed the progress of his ex-secretary with great satisfaction. His recollections of Joyce were all pleasant; the young man had done his work carefully and cleverly, had always been gentlemanly and unobtrusive, and had behaved deuced well—point of fact, deuced well, brave, and all that kind of thing, in that matter of saving Car'line on the ice. Her ladyship's feelings were very different. She disliked self-made people more than any others, and those who were reckoned clever were specially obnoxious to her. She had heard much, a great deal too much, of Joyce from Mr. Gould, who, in his occasional visits, delighted in dilating on his recent foeman's abilities, eloquence, and pluck, partly because he respected such qualities wherever he met with them, but principally because he knew that such comments were very aggravating to Lady Hetherington (no great favourite of his); and she was not more favourably disposed towards him, because he had adopted political principles diametrically opposed to those in which she believed. But what actuated her most in her ill-feeling towards Mr. Joyce was a fear that, now that he had obtained a certain position, he might aspire to Lady Caroline Mansergh, who, as Lady ​Hetherington always suspected, would be by no means indisposed to accept him. Hitherto the difference in their social status had rendered any such proceeding thoroughly unlikely; a tutor, or a, what did they call it?—reporter to a newspaper, could scarcely have the impertinence to propose for an earl's sister; but, as a member of parliament, the man enjoyed a position in society, and nothing could be said against him on that score. There was Lady Violet Magnier, Lord Haughton-forest's daughter. Well, Mr. Magnier sold ribbons, and pocket-handkerchiefs, and things, in the City; but then he was member for some place, and was very rich, and it was looked upon as a very good match for Lady Violet. Mr. Joyce was just the man to assert himself in a highly disagreeable manner; he always held views about the supremacy of intellect, and that kind of rubbish; and the more he kept away from them the less chance he would have of exercising any influence over Lady Caroline Mansergh.
It may be imagined, then, that her ladyship was not best pleased when her sister-in-law informed her that she had had a telegram from Walter Joyce, asking whether he might come down to Westhope to see her on special business, and that she "supposed Margaret had no objection." Margaret had strong objections, but did not think it politic to say so just then, so merely intimated that she would be happy to see Mr. Joyce whenever he chose to come. The tone in which this intimation was conveyed was so little pleasing to Lady Caroline that she took care to impress on her sister-in-law the fact that Joyce's visit was to her, Lady Caroline, and that she had merely mentioned his coming as a matter of politeness to her hostess, which did not tend to increase Lady Hetherington's regard for Walter Joyce.
But the bienséances were never neglected on account of any personal feeling, and when Joyce arrived at the station he recognised the familiar livery on the platform, and found a carriage in waiting to convey him to Westhope. During the drive he occupied himself in thinking over the wondrous changes which had taken place since his first visit to that neighbourhood, when, with a wardrobe provided by old Jack Byrne, and a scanty purse supplied from the same source, he had come down in a dependant position, not knowing any of those amongst whom his lot in life was to be passed, and without the least idea as to the kind of treatment he might expect at their hands. That treatment, he knew, would have been very different had it not been for Lady Caroline Mansergh. But for her counsel, too, he would have suffered himself to have remained completely crushed and vanquished by Marian Ashurst's conduct, would have subsided into a mere drudge without energy or hope. Yes, all the good in his life he owed to the friendship, to the kindly promptings of that sweetest and best of women. He felt that thoroughly, and yet it never struck him that in asking her to advise him as to his marriage with some one else, he was committing, to say the least of it, a solecism. The axiom which declares that the cleverest men have the smallest amount of common sense, has a broader foundation than is generally believed.
On his arrival at Westhope, Joyce was informed by the butler that Lord Hetherington had gone round the Home Farm with the bailiff, and that her ladyship was out driving, but that they would both be home to luncheon, when they expected the pleasure of his company; meanwhile would he walk into the library, where Lady Caroline Mansergh would join him? He went into the library, and had just looked round the room and viewed his old associations, glanced at the desk where he had sat working away for so many hours at a stretch, at the big tomes whence he had extracted the subject-matter for that great historical work, still, alas! incomplete, at the line of Shakespearean volumes which formed Lady Caroline Mansergh's private reading, when the door opened, and Lady Caroline came in. Country air had not had its usual beneficial effect, Joyce thought as he looked at her; for her face was very pale and her manner nervous and odd. Yet she shook him warmly by the hand, and bade him be seated in her old cheery tone.
"It is very good of you to let me come down here, breaking in upon the rest which I have no doubt you want, and boring you with my own private affairs," said Joyce, seating himself in the window-sill close by the arm-chair which Lady Caroline had taken.
"It is not very good of you to talk conventionalities, and to pretend that you don't know I have a deep interest in all that concerns you," replied Lady Caroline.
"I have every reason to know it, and my last words were merely a foolish utterance of society-talk——"
​"Which you always declare you despise, and which you know I detest."
"Quite true; think it unspoken and absolve me."
"I do; but if we are to have what you used to call a 'business talk,' we must have it at once. In half an hour Lord and Lady Hetherington and the luncheon will arrive simultaneously, and our chance is at an end. And you did not come from London, I suppose, to discuss tenant right, or to listen to Lady Hetherington's diatribes against servants?"
"No, indeed; with all deference to them, I came to see you, and you alone, to ask your advice, and to take it, which is quite a different thing, as I have done before in momentous periods of my life."
"And this is a momentous period?"
"Undoubtedly, as much, if not more so, than any."
Had she any notion of what was coming? Her pale face grew paler; she pushed back her chesnut hair, and her large eyes were fixed on him in grave attention.
"You alone of any one in the world, man or woman, know the exact story of my first love. You knew my confidence and trust, you knew how they were abused. You saw how I suffered at the time, and you cannot be ignorant of what is absolute fact; that to your advice and encouragement I owe not merely recovery from that wretched state, but the position to which I have since attained!"
"Well?"
"That first love fell dead; you know when! Ambition, the passion that supplied its place, was sufficient for a time to absorb all my thoughts, hopes, and energies. But, to a certain extent it has been gratified, and it suffices me no longer. My heart wants some one to love, and turns to one to whom it owes gratitude, but whom it would sooner meet with a warmer feeling. Are you not well, Lady Caroline?"
"Quite well, thanks, and—and interested. Pray go on!"
"To go on is difficult. It is so horrible in a man to have to say that he sees he has awakened interest in a woman, that she shows all unknowingly to herself, but still sufficiently palpable, that he is the one person in the world to her, that she rejoices in his presence, and grieves at his absence; worst of all that all this is pointed out to him by other people——"
Lady Caroline's cheeks flushed as she echoed the words, "Pointed out to him by other people!"
"Exactly. That's the worst of it. However, all this being so, and my feelings such as I have described, I presume I shouldn't be repeating my former error, inviting a repetition of my previous fate, in asking her to be my wife?"
"I—I should think not." The flush still in her cheeks. "Do I know the lady?"
"Do you know her? No one knows her so well! Ah, Lady Caroline, kindest and dearest of friends, why should I keep you longer in suspense? It is Maud Creswell!"
Her face blanched in an instant. Her grasp tightened rigidly over the arm of the chair on which it lay, but she gave no other sign of emotion. Even her voice, though hollow and metallic, never shook as she repeated the name, "Maud Creswell!"
"Yes. Maud Creswell! You are surprised, I see, but I don't think you will blame me for my choice! She is eminently ladylike, and clever, and nice, and—— "
"I don't think you could possibly—— what is it, Thomas?"
"Luncheon, my lady."
"Very well. I must get you to go in to luncheon without me, Mr. Joyce; you will find Lord and Lady Hetherington in the dining-room, and I will come down directly. We will resume our talk afterwards."
And she left the room, and walked swiflly and not too steadily up the hall towards the staircase.