The Testing of Diana Mallory by Mrs. Humphry Ward (dark books to read txt) 📕

she added: "And what about that procrastinating fellow Oliver? Is he engaged yet?"

"Not to my knowledge," said Mr. Ferrier, after a pause.

"Then he ought to be! What on earth is he shilly-shallying for? In my days young men had proper blood in their veins."

Ferrier did not pursue the subject, and Lady Niton at once jumped to the conclusion that something had happened. By five o'clock she was in Eaton Square.

Only Alicia Drake was in the drawing-room when she was announced.

"I hear Lucy's seedy," said the old lady, abruptly, after vouchsafing a couple of fingers to Miss Drake. "I suppose she's been starving herself, as usual?"

Oliver's mother enjoyed an appetite as fastidious as her judgments on men and morals, and Lady Niton had a running quarrel with her on the subject.

Alicia replied that it had been, indeed, unusually difficult of late to persuade Lady Lucy to eat.

"The less you eat the less you may eat," said Lady Niton, with vigor. "The stomach contracts unless you give it something to do. That's what's the matter with Lucy, my dear--though, of course, I never dare name the organ. But I suppose she's been worrying herself about something?"

"I am afraid she has."

"Is Oliver engaged?" asked Lady Niton, suddenly, observing the young lady.

Alicia replied demurely that that question had perhaps better be addressed to Lady Lucy.

"What's the matter? Can't the young people make up their minds? Do they want Lucy to make them up for them?"

Alicia looked at her companion a little under her brows, and did not reply. Lady Niton was so piqued by the girl's expression that she immediately threw herself on the mystery she divined--tearing and scratching at it, like a dog in a rabbit-hole. And very soon she had dragged it to the light. Miss Drake merely remarked that it was very sad, but it appeared that Miss Mallory was not really a Mallory at all, but the daughter of a certain Mrs. Sparling--Juliet Sparling, who--"

"Juliet Sparling!" cried Lady Niton, her queer small eyes starting in their sockets. "My dear, you must be mad!"

Alicia smiled, though gravely. She was afraid Lady Niton would find that what she said was true.

A cross-examination followed, after which Lady Niton sat speechless for a while. She took a fan out of her large reticule and fanned herself, a proceeding by which she often protested against the temperature at which Lady Lucy kept her drawing-room. She then asked for a window to be opened, and when she had been sufficiently oxygenated she delivered herself:

"Well, and why not? We really didn't have the picking and choosing of our mothers or fathers, though Lucy always behaves as though we had--to the fourth generation. Besides, I always took the side of that poor creature, and Lucy believed the worst--as usual. Well, and so she's going to make Oliver back out of it?"

At this point the door opened, and Lady Lucy glided in, clad in a frail majesty which would have overawed any one but Elizabeth Niton. Alicia discreetly disappeared, and Lady Niton, after an inquiry as to her friend's health--delivered, as it were, at the point of the bayonet, and followed by a flying remark on the absurdity of treating your body as if it were only given you to be harried--plunged headlong into the great topic. What an amazing business! Now at last one would see what Oliver was made of!

Lady Lucy summoned all her dignity, expounded her view, and entirely declined to be laughed or rated out of it. For Elizabeth Niton, her wig much awry, her old eyes and cheeks blazing, took up the cause of Diana with alternate sarcasm and eloquence. As for the social disrepute--stuff! All that was wanting to such a beautiful creature as Diana Mallory was a story and a scandal. Positively she would be the rage, and Oliver's fortune was made.

Lady Lucy sat in pale endurance, throwing in an occasional protest, not budging by one inch--and no doubt reminding herself from time to time, in the intervals of her old friend's attacks, of the letter she had just despatched to Beechcote--until, at last, Lady Niton, having worked herself up into a fine frenzy to no purpose at all, thought it was time to depart.

"Well, my dear," she said, leaning on her stick, the queerest rag-bag of a figure--crooked wig, rusty black dress, and an unspeakable bonnet--"you are a saint, of course, and I am a quarrelsome old sinner; I like society, and you, I believe, regard it as a grove of barren fig-trees. I don't care a rap for my neighbor if he doesn't amuse me, and you live in a puddle of good works. But, upon my word, I wouldn't be you when it comes to the sheep and the goats business! Here is a young girl, sweet and good and beautifully brought up--money and manners and everything handsome about her--she is in love with Oliver, and he with her--and just because you happen to find out that she is the daughter of a poor creature who made a tragic mess of her life, and suffered for it infinitely more than you and I are ever likely to suffer for our intolerably respectable peccadilloes--you will break her heart and his--if he's the good-luck to have one!--and there you sit, looking like a suffering angel, and expecting all your old friends, I suppose, to pity and admire you. Well, I won't, Lucy!--I won't! That's flat. There's my hand. Good-bye!"

Lady Lucy took it patiently, though from no other person in the world save Elizabeth Niton would she have so taken it.

"I thought, Elizabeth, you would have tried to understand me."

Elizabeth Niton shook her head.

"There's only your Maker could do that, Lucy. And He must be pretty puzzled to account for you sometimes. Good-bye. I thought Alicia looked uncommonly cheerful!"

This last remark was delivered as a parting shot as Lady Niton hobbled to the door. She could not, however, resist pausing to see its effect. Lady Lucy turned indignantly.

"I don't know what you mean by that remark. Alicia has behaved with great kindness and tact!"

"I dare say! We're all darlings when we get our way. What does Ferrier say?"

Lady Lucy hesitated.

"If my old friends cannot see it as I do--if they blame me--I am very sorry. But it is my responsibility."

"A precious good thing, my dear, for everybody else! But as far as I can make out, they _are_ engaged?"

"Nothing is settled," said Lady Lucy, hastily; "and I need not say, Elizabeth, that if you have any affection for us--or any consideration for Miss Mallory--you will not breathe a word of this most sad business to anybody."

"Well, for Oliver's sake, if he doesn't intend to behave like a man, I do certainly hope it may be kept dark!" cried Lady Niton. "For if he does desert her, under such circumstances, I suppose you know that a great many people will be inclined to cut him? I shall hold my tongue. But, of course, it will come out."

With which final shaft she departed, leaving Lady Lucy a little uneasy. She mentioned Elizabeth Niton's "foolish remark" to Mrs. Fotheringham in the course of the evening. Isabel Fotheringham laughed it to scorn.

"You may be quite sure there will be plenty of ill-natured talk either way, whether Oliver gives her up or doesn't. The real thing to bear in mind is that if Oliver yields to your wishes, mamma--as you certainly deserve that he should, after all you have done for him--he will be delivered from an ignorant and reactionary wife who might have spoiled his career. I like to call a spade a spade. Oliver belongs to his _party_, and his party have a right to count upon him. He has no right to jeopardize either his opinions or his money; _we_ have a claim on both."

Lady Lucy gave an unconscious sigh. She was glad of any arguments, from anybody, that offered her support. But it did occur to her that if Diana Mallory had not shown a weakness for the soldiers of her country, and if her heart had been right on Women's Suffrage, Isabel would have judged her case differently; so that her approval was not worth all it might have been.

* * * * *

Meanwhile, in the House of Commons, Isabel Fotheringham's arguments was being put in other forms.

On the Tuesday morning Marsham went down to the House, for a Committee, in a curious mood--half love, half martyrdom. The thought of Diana was very sweet; it warmed and thrilled his heart. But somehow, with every hour, he realized more fully what a magnificent thing he was doing, and how serious was his position.

In a few hurried words with Ferrier, before the meeting of the House, Marsham gave the result of his visit to Beechcote. Diana had been, of course, very much shaken, but was bearing the thing bravely. They were engaged, but nothing was to be said in public for at least six months, so as to give Lady Lucy time to reconsider.

"Though, of course, I know, as far as that is concerned, we might as well be married to-morrow and have done with it!"

"Ah!--but it is due to her--to your mother."

"I suppose it is. But the whole situation is grotesque. I must look out for some way of making money. Any suggestions thankfully received!"

Marsham spoke with an irritable flippancy. Ferrier's hazel eyes, set and almost lost in spreading cheeks, dwelt upon him thoughtfully.

"All right; I will think of some. You explained the position to Miss Mallory?"

"No," said Marsham, shortly. "How could I?"

The alternatives flew through Ferrier's mind: "Cowardice?--or delicacy?" Aloud, he said: "I am afraid she will not be long in ignorance. It will be a big fight for her, too."

Marsham shrugged his thin shoulders.

"Of course. And all for nothing. Hullo, Fleming!--do you want me?"

For the Liberal Chief Whip had paused beside them where they stood, in a corner of the smoking-room, as though wishing to speak to one or other of them, yet not liking to break up their conversation.

"Don't let me interrupt," he said to Marsham. "But can I have a word presently?"

"Now, if you like."

"Come to the Terrace," said the other, and they went out into the gray of a March afternoon. There they walked up and down for some time, engaged in an extremely confidential conversation. Signs of a general election were beginning to be strong and numerous. The Tory Government was weakening visibly, and the Liberals felt themselves in sight of an autumn, if not a summer, dissolution. But--funds!--there was the rub. The party coffers were very poorly supplied, and unless they could be largely replenished, and at once, the prospects of the election were not rosy.

Marsham had hitherto counted as one of the men on whom the party could rely. It was known that his own personal resources were not great, but he commanded his mother's ample purse. Lady Lucy had always shown herself both loyal and generous, and at her death it was, of course, assumed that he would be her heir. Lady Lucy's check, in fact, sent, through her son, to the leading party club, had been of considerable importance in the election five years