AFTER this a sudden veil and silence fell upon Markham. Nothing could be more natural than that this should be the case. Paul went to town with his uncle Fleetwood and the family lawyer, and shortly after the boys went back to school, and perfect silence fell upon the mourning house. The woods began to be touched by that finger of autumn which is chill rather than fiery, notwithstanding Mr. Tennyson—a yellow flag hung out here and there to warn the summer world, still in full brightness, of what was coming; but no crack of gun was to be heard among the covers. The county persistently and devotedly came to call, but Lady Markham was not yet able to see visitors. She was visible at church and sometimes driving, but never otherwise, which was all quite natural too, seeing that she was a woman who had always been a tender wife. No whisper of any complication, of anything that made grief harder to bear had escaped from the house. Or so at least they thought who lived an anxious life there, not knowing what was to happen. But nevertheless by some strange magnetism in the air it was known from one end to another of the county that there was something mysterious going on. The servants had felt it in the air almost before the family themselves knew. When Brown helped “the little furrin gentleman” on with his coat on the evening of the funeral day do you think he did not know that this was his future master? The knowledge breathed even about the cottages and into the village, where generally the rustic public was obtuse enough in mastering any new fact. The young master who had been Sir Paul for one brief day sank into Mr. Paul again, nobody knowing how, and what was still more wonderful, nobody asking why. Among the higher classes there was more distinct curiosity, and many floating rumours. That there was a new claimant everybody was aware; and that there was to be a great trial unfolding all the secrets of the family for generations and showing a great many respectable personages to the world in an entirely new light, most people hoped. It was generally divined and understood that the odd little foreigner (as everybody thought him) who had made himself conspicuous at the funeral, and whom many people had met walking about the roads, was the new heir. But how he came by his claim few people understood. Sir William was not the man to be the hero of any doubtful story, or to leave any uncertainty upon the succession to his property. This was just the one evil which no one, not even his political enemies, could think him capable of; therefore the imagination of his county neighbours threw itself further back upon his two brothers who had preceded him. Of these Sir Paul was known to have borne no spotless reputation in his youth, and even Sir Harry might have had antecedents that would not bear looking into. From one or other of these, the county concluded, and not through Sir William, this family misfortune must have come.
One morning during this interval, when Paul was absent and all the doings of the household at Markham were mysteriously hidden from the world, a visitor came up the avenue who was not of the usual kind. She seemed for some time very doubtful whether to go to the great door, or to seek an entrance in a more humble way. She was a tall and slim young woman, dressed in a black alpacca gown, with a black hat and feather, and a shawl over her arm, a nondescript sort of person, not altogether a lady, yet whom Charles, the footman, contemplated more or less respectfully, not feeling equal to the impertinence of bidding her go round to the servants’ door; for how could any one tell, he said? there were governesses and that sort that stood a deal more on their dignity than the ladies themselves. Mrs. Fry, who happened to see her from a window in the wing where she was superintending the great autumn cleaning in the nursery, concluded that it was some one come about the lady’s-maid’s place, for Alice’s maid was going to be married. “But if you get it,” said Mrs. Fry mentally, “I can tell you it’s not long you’ll go trolloping about with that long feather, nor wear a bit of a hat stuck on the top of your head.” While, however, Mrs. Fry was forming this rapid estimate of her, Charles looked at the young person with hesitating respect, and behaved with polite condescension, coming forward as she approached. When she asked if she could see Lady Markham, Charles shook his head. “My lady don’t see nobody,” he replied with an ease of language which was the first symptom he showed of feeling himself on an equality with the visitor. It was the tone of her voice which had produced this effect. Charles knew that this was not how a lady spoke.
“But she’ll see me, if she knows who I am,” said the girl. “I know she’ll see me if you’ll be so kind as to take up my name. Say Miss Janet Spears—as she saw in Oxford—”
“If you’ve come about the lady’s-maid’s place,” said Charles, “there’s our housekeeper, Mrs. Fry, she’ll see you.”
“I haven’t come about no lady’s-maid’s place. You had better take up my name, or it will be the worse for you after,” cried the girl angrily. She gave him such a look that Charles shook in his shoes. He begged her pardon humbly, and went off to seek Brown, leaving her standing at the door.
Then Brown came and inspected her from the further side of the hall. “I don’t know why you should bother me, or me go and bother my lady,” said Brown, not satisfied with the inspection; “take her to Missis Fry.”
“But she won’t go. It’s my lady she wants, and just you look at her, what she wants she’ll have, that’s sure; she says it’ll be the worse for us after.”
“What name did you say?” asked Brown. “I’ll tell Mrs. Martin, and she can do as she thinks proper.” Mrs. Martin was Lady Markham’s own maid. Thus it was through a great many hands that the name of Janet Spears reached Lady Markham’s seclusion. Charles was very triumphant when the message reached him that the young person was to go up stairs. “I told you,” he said to Mr. Brown. But Brown on his part was satisfied to know that it was only “a young person,” not a lady, whom his mistress admitted. His usual discrimination had not deserted him. As for Janet, the great staircase overawed her more than even the exterior of the house; the size and the grandeur took away her breath; and though she felt no respect for Charles, the air as of a dignified clergyman with which Mr. Brown stepped out before her, to guide her to Lady Markham’s room, not deigning to say anything, impressed her more than words could tell. No clergyman she had ever encountered had been half so imposing; though Janet from a general desire to better herself in the world, and determination not to lower herself to the level of her father’s companions, had always been a good churchwoman and eschewed Dissenters. But Mr. Brown, it may well be believed, in the gloss of his black clothes and the perfection of his linen, was not to be compared with a hardworking parish priest exposed to all weathers. By the time she had reached Lady Markham’s door her breath was coming quick with fright and excitement. Lady Markham herself had made no such strong impression. Her dress had not been what Janet thought suitable for a great lady. She had felt a natural scorn for a woman who, having silks and satins at her command, could come out in simple stuff no better than her own. Mrs. Martin, however, had a black silk which “could have stood alone,” and everything combined to dazzle the rash visitor. Now that she had got so far her knees began to tremble beneath her. Lady Markham was standing awaiting her, in deep mourning, looking a very different person from the beautiful woman whom Janet had seen standing in the sunshine in her father’s shop. She made a step forward to receive her visitor, a movement of anxiety and eagerness; then waited till the door was shut upon her attendant. “You have come—from your father?” she said.
“No, my lady.” Now that it had come to the point Janet felt an unusual shyness come over her. She cast down her eyes and twisted her fingers round the handle of the umbrella she carried. “My father was away: I had a day to spare: and I thought I’d come and ask you——”
“Do not be afraid. Tell me what it is you want; is it——” Lady Markham hesitated more than Janet did. Was it something about Paul? What could it be but about Paul? but she would not say anything to open that subject again.
“It is about Mr. Paul, my lady. There isn’t any reason for me to hesitate. It was you that first put it into my head——”
Now it was Lady Markham’s turn to droop. “I am very sorry,” she said involuntarily. “I was—misled——”
“Oh, I don’t know as there’s anything to be sorry about. Mr. Paul—I suppose he is Sir Paul, now?”
As Janet’s gaze, no longer shy, dwelt pointedly on her dress by way of justifying the question, Lady Markham shrank back a little. “It is not—quite settled,” she said faintly; “there are some—unexpected difficulties.”
“Oh!” Janet’s eyes grew round as her exclamation, an expression of surprise and profound disappointment went over her face. “Will he not be a baronet then, after all?” she said.
“These are family matters which I have not entered into with any one,” said Lady Markham, recovering herself. “I cannot discuss them now—unless——” here her voice faltered, “you have any right——”
“I should think a girl just had a right where all her prospects are concerned,” said Janet. “It was that brought me here. I wanted you to know, my lady, that I’ve advised Mr. Paul against it—against the emigration plan. If he goes it won’t be to please me. I don’t want him to go. I don’t want to go myself—and that’s what I’ve come here for. If so be,” said Janet, speaking deliberately, “as anything is to come of it between him and me, I should be a deal happier and a deal better pleased to stay on at home; and I thought if you knew that you’d give up opposing. I’ve said it to him as plain as words can say. And if he will go, it will be your blame and not mine. It will be because he thinks you’ve set your face so against it, that that’s the only way.”
Lady Markham trembled so much that she could not stand. She sank down upon a chair. “Pardon me,” she said involuntarily, “I have not been well.”
“Oh, don’t mention it, my lady,” said Janet, taking a chair too. “I was just a going to ask you if you wouldn’t sit down and make yourself comfortable.” She had got over her shyness; but that which liberated her threw Lady Markham into painful agitation. It seemed to her that she had the fate of her son thrown back into her hands. If she withdrew all opposition to this marriage, would he indeed give up his wild ideas and stay at home? If she opposed it, would he persevere? and how could she oppose anything he had set his heart upon after all he had to renounce on his side, poor boy? She did not know how to reply or how to face such a dilemma. To help to make this woman Paul’s wife—or to lose Paul altogether—what a choice it was to make! Her voice was choked by the fluttering of her heart.
“My son,” she said, faintly, “has never spoken to me on the subject.”
“It is not likely,” said Janet, “when he knows he would meet with nothing but opposition. For my part I’m willing, very willing, to stay at home. I never went in with the emigration plan. Father is a good man, and very steady, and has been a good father to us; but whenever it comes to planning, there’s no telling the nonsense he’s got in his head.”
“Does your father know that you have come to see me?” Lady Markham said. With Spears himself she had some standing-ground. She knew how to talk to the demagogue, understood him, and he her; but the young woman she did not understand. Paul’s mother, notwithstanding all her experience, was half afraid of this creature, so straightforward, so free of prejudice, so—sensible. Yes, it was sense, no doubt. Janet did not want to go away. She had no faith in her father, nor in the man who was going, she hoped, to be her husband. Lady Markham, herself capable of enthusiasm and devotion, and who could so well, in her maturity, have understood the folly of a girl ready to follow to the end of the world for love, was almost afraid of Janet. She was cowed by her steady look, the bargain she evidently wished to make. She took refuge as it were, in Spears, mentally appealing to him in her heart.
“No,” said Janet, “no one knows. He is away from home on one of his speechifyings. Don’t think I hold with that, my lady. England’s good enough for me, and things as they are; and if so be as you will make up your mind not to go against us, Mr. Paul shall never go to foreign parts through me. But he is Sir Paul, ain’t he?” the young woman said.
“I will do nothing—to make my son unhappy,” said Lady Markham. How could she help but sigh to think that this was the woman that could make him happy? “He is not at home,” she added with a tone of relief.
“But he is Sir Paul? What is the good of deceiving me, when I can hear from any one—the gentleman down stairs, or any one.”
“Is there a gentleman down stairs?” Lady Markham thought some one must have come bringing news, perhaps, while she was shut up here.
Janet blushed crimson. Now she had indeed made a mistake. She avoided all reply which might have led to the discovery that Brown was the gentleman she meant; but this glaring error made her humbler.
“You are very kind, my lady, to speak so reasonable,” she said. “And if you like to tell Mr. Paul that I’m as set against emigration as you are—I am not one that will be put upon,” said Janet; “but if we’re both to be the same, you and me, both Lady Markhams,” here she paused a moment to draw a long breath, half overcome by the thought which in this scene became so dazzlingly real and possible, “I think it would be a real good thing if we could be friends.”
This thought, which fluttered Janet, made Lady Markham faint. The blood seemed to ebb away from her heart as she heard these words. She could not make any reply. It was true enough what the girl said, and if she should ever be Paul’s wife, no doubt his mother would be bound to be her friend. But she could not speak in reply. There was a pause. And Janet looked round the richly-furnished, luxurious room which was not indeed by any means so fine as she would have thought natural, with much curiosity and interest. The sight of all its comforts revealed to her the very necessities they were intended to supply, and which had no existence in her primitive state. Janet was not unreasonable. She was content with the acquiescence she had elicited. Lady Markham had not resisted her nor denounced her, as it was quite on the cards that she might have done. “You have a very grand house, and a beautiful place here, my lady,” she said. Lady Markham, more than ever subdued, made a faint sound of assent in reply. “I should like to see over it,” Janet said.
“Miss—Spears!”
“Oh, I don’t mind, if you would rather not! Some people don’t like them that is to come after them. I have said all I came to say, my lady. So perhaps I had better just say good-bye.”
And Janet rose and put forth a moist hand in a black glove. She had got these black gloves and the hat out of compliment to the family. Never had a friendly and hospitable woman been in a greater difficulty. “I am not seeing any one,” Lady Markham faltered; “but—should you not like some refreshment before you go?”
Janet paused. She would have liked to have eaten in such a house. What they eat there must be different from the common fare with which she was acquainted, and a man in livery to wait behind her chair was an idea which thrilled her soul; but when Lady Markham rang the bell, and ordered Mrs. Martin to have a tray brought up stairs, she started in high offence.
“No, my lady; if I’m not good enough to take my meals with you, I’ll have nothing in this house,” she cried, and flounced indignant out of the room. This was the summary end of the first visit paid to Markham by Janet Spears.