CHAPTER X
KING COPHETUA’S CORRESPONDENCE
‘FORDYCE CASTLE,
‘LANARK.
‘June 26, 1801.
‘MY DEAR SON,
‘Your letter, with the very important matter it contains, took me somewhat by surprise, for although you had mentioned the name of the young lady and that of Lady Eliza Lamont, I was hardly prepared to hear that you intended to do her the honour you contemplate. A father’s approval is not to be lightly asked or rashly bestowed, and I have taken time to consider my reply. You tell me that Miss Raeburn is peculiarly fitted, both in mind and person, to fill the position she will, as your wife, be called upon to occupy. With regard to her birth I am satisfied. She is, we know, connected with families whose names are familiar to all whose approval is of any value. I may say, without undue pride, that my son’s exceptional prospects might have led him to form a more brilliant alliance, and I have no doubt that Miss Cecilia Raeburn, possessing such qualities of mind as you describe, will understand how high a compliment you pay to her charms in overlooking the fact. Your statement that she is dowerless is one upon which we need not dwell; it would be hard indeed were the family you represent dependent upon the purses of those who have the distinction of entering it. I am happy to say that my eldest son need be hampered by no such considerations, and that Mrs. Crauford Fordyce will lack nothing suitable to her station, and to the interest that she must inevitably create in the society of this county. It now only remains for me to add that, having expressed my feelings upon your choice, I am prepared to consent.
‘Your mother is, I understand, writing to you, though I have only your sister’s authority for saying so, for I have been so much occupied during the last day or two as to be obliged to lock the door of my study. I am afraid, my dear Crauford (between ourselves), that, though she knows my decision, your mother is a little disappointed—upset, I should say. I think that she had allowed herself to believe, from the pleasure you one day expressed in the society of Lady Maria Milwright when she was with us, that you were interested in that direction. Personally, though Lord Milborough is an old friend of the family, and his daughter’s connection with it would have been eminently suitable, her appearance would lead me to hesitate, were I in your place and contemplating marriage. But that is an objection, perhaps, that your mother hardly understands.
‘I am, my dear Crauford,
‘Your affectionate father,
‘THOMAS FORDYCE.’
‘P.S.—Agneta and Mary desire their fond love to their brother.’
Fordyce was sitting in his room at Fullarton with his correspondence in front of him; he had received two letters and undergone a purgatory of suspense, for, by the time he reached Morphie, his uncle had been kept waiting for him some time. Finding nothing for himself in his private mail-bag, Fullarton had it put under the driving-seat, and the suggestion hazarded by his nephew that it should be brought out only resulted in a curt refusal. The elder man hated to be kept waiting, and the culprit had been forced to get through the homeward drive with what patience he might summon.
Lady Fordyce’s letter lay unopened by that of Sir Thomas, and Crauford, in spite of his satisfaction with the one he had just read, eyed it rather apprehensively. But, after all, the main point was gained, or what he looked upon as the main point, for to the rest of the affair there could be but one issue. He broke the seal of his mother’s envelope, and found a second communication inside it from one of his sisters.
‘MY DEAR CRAUFORD (began Lady Fordyce),
‘As your father is writing to you I will add a few words to convey my good wishes to my son upon the decided step he is about to take. Had I been consulted I should have advised a little more reflection, but as you are bent on pleasing yourself, and your father (whether rightly or wrongly I cannot pretend to say) is upholding you, I have no choice left but to express my cordial good wishes, and to hope that you may never live to regret it. Miss Cecilia Raeburn may be all you say, or she may not, and I should fail in my duty if I did not remind you that a young lady brought up in a provincial neighbourhood is not likely to step into such a position as that of the wife of Sir Thomas Fordyce’s eldest son without the risk of having her head turned, or, worse still, of being incapable of maintaining her dignity. As I have not had the privilege of speaking to your father alone for two days, and as he has found it convenient to sit up till all hours, I do not know whether the consent he has (apparently) given is an unwilling one, but I should be acting against my conscience were I to hide from you that I suspect it most strongly. With heartfelt wishes for your truest welfare,
‘I remain, my dear Crauford,
‘Your affectionate mother,
‘LOUISA CHARLOTTE FORDYCE.’
‘P.S.—Would it not be wise to delay your plans until you have been once more at home, and had every opportunity of thinking it over? You might return here in a few days, and conclude your visit to your uncle later on—say, at the end of September.’
Crauford laid down the sheet of paper; he was not apt to seize on hidden things, but the little touch of nature which cropped up, like a daisy from a rubbish-heap, in the end of his father’s letter gave him sympathy to imagine what the atmosphere of Fordyce Castle must have been when it was written. He respected his mother, not by nature, but from habit, and the experiences he had sometimes undergone had never shaken his feelings, but only produced a sort of distressed bewilderment. He was almost bewildered now. He turned again to Sir Thomas’s letter, and re-read it for comfort.
The enclosure he had found from his sister was much shorter.
‘MY DEAR BROTHER,
‘Mary and I wish to send you our very kind love, and we hope that you will be happy. Is Miss Raeburn dark or fair? We hope she is fond of tambour-work. We have some new patterns from Edinburgh which are very pretty. We shall be very glad when you return. Our mother is not very well. There is no interesting news. Mrs. Fitz-Allen is to give a fête-champêtre with illuminations next week, but we do not know whether we shall be allowed to go as she behaved most unbecomingly to our mother, trying to take precedence of her at the prize-giving in the Lanark flower show. Lady Maria Milwright is coming to visit us in September. We shall be very pleased.
‘Your affectionate sister,
‘AGNETA FORDYCE.’
Fullarton’s good-humour was quite restored as uncle and nephew paced up and down the twilit avenue that evening. A long silence followed the announcement which the young man had just made.
‘Do you think I am doing wisely, sir?’ he said at last.
Fullarton smiled faintly before he replied; Crauford sometimes amused him.
‘In proposing to Cecilia? One can hardly tell,’ he replied; ‘that is a thing that remains to be seen.’
Perplexity was written in Crauford’s face.
‘But surely—surely—’ he began, ‘have you not a very high opinion of Miss Raeburn?’
‘The highest,’ said the other dryly.
‘But then——’
‘What I mean is, do you care enough to court a possible rebuff? You are not doing wisely if you don’t consider that. I say, a possible rebuff,’ continued his uncle.
‘Then you think she will refuse me?’
‘Heaven knows,’ responded Robert. ‘I can only tell you that to-day, when Miss Robertson inquired where you were, and I said that you were walking home from Morphie kirk with Cecilia, Speid was standing by looking as black as thunder.’
To those whose ill-fortune it is never to have been crossed in anything, a rival is another name for a rogue. Fordyce felt vindictive; he breathed heavily.
‘Do you think that Miss Raeburn is likely to—notice Speid?’
Robert’s mouth twitched. ‘It is difficult not to notice Gilbert Speid,’ he replied.
‘I really fail to see why everyone seems so much attracted by him.’
‘I am not sure that he attracts me,’ said the elder man.
‘He looks extremely ill-tempered—most unlikely to please a young lady.’
‘There I do not altogether agree with you. We are always being told that women are strange things,’ said Fullarton.
‘I am astonished at the view you take, uncle. After all, I am unable to see why my proposal should be less welcome than his—that is, if he intends to make one.’
‘You certainly have solid advantages. After all, that is the main point with women,’ said the man for whose sake one woman, at least, had lost all. The habit of bitterness had grown strong.
‘I shall go to Morphie to-morrow, and ride one of your horses, sir, if you have no objection.’
‘Take one, by all means; you will make all the more favourable impression. It is a very wise way of approaching your goddess—if you have a good seat, of course. Speid looks mighty well in the saddle.’
He could not resist tormenting his nephew.
The very sound of Gilbert’s name was beginning to annoy Fordyce, and he changed the subject. It was not until the two men parted for the night that it was mentioned again.
‘I am going out early to-morrow,’ said Robert, ‘so I may not see you before you start. Good luck, Crauford.’
Fordyce rode well, and looked his best on horseback, but Cecilia having gone into the garden, the only eye which witnessed his approach to Morphie next day was that of a housemaid, for Lady Eliza sat writing in the long room.
She received him immediately.
‘I am interrupting your ladyship,’ he remarked apologetically.
‘Not at all, sir, not at all,’ said she, pushing her chair back from the table with a gesture which had in it something masculine; ‘you are always welcome, as you know very well.’
‘That is a pleasant hearing,’ replied he, ‘but to-day it is doubly so. I have come on business of a—I may say—peculiar nature. Lady Eliza, I trust you are my friend?’
‘I shall be happy to serve you in any way I can, Mr. Fordyce.’
‘Then I may count on your good offices? My uncle is so old a friend of your ladyship’s that I am encouraged to——’
‘You are not in any difficulty with him, I hope,’ said Lady Eliza, interrupting him rather shortly.
‘Far from it; indeed, I have his expressed good wishes for the success of my errand.’
‘Well, sir?’ she said, setting her face and folding her beautiful hands together. She was beginning to see light.
‘You may have rightly interpreted the frequency of my visits here. In fact, I feel sure that you have attributed them—and truly—to my admiration for Miss Raeburn.’
‘I have hardly attributed them to admiration for myself,’ she remarked, with a certain grim humour.
Crauford looked rather shocked.
‘Have you said anything to my niece?’ she inquired, after a moment.
‘I have waited for your approval.’
‘That is proper enough.’
Her eyes fixed themselves, seeing beyond Crauford’s clean, solemn face, beyond the panelled walls, into the dull future when Cecilia should have gone out from her daily life. How often her spirits had flagged during the months she had been absent in Edinburgh!
‘Cecilia shall do as she likes. I will not influence her in any way,’ she said at last.
‘But you are willing, Lady Eliza?’
‘——Yes.’
There was not the enthusiasm he expected in her voice, and this ruffled him; a certain amount was due to him, he felt.
‘You are aware that I can offer Miss Raeburn a very suitable establishment,’ he said. ‘I should not have taken this step otherwise.’
‘Have you private means, sir?’ asked Lady Eliza, drumming her fingers upon the table, and looking over his head.
‘No; but that is of little importance, for I wrote to my father a short time ago, and yesterday, after leaving you, I received his reply. He has consented, and he assures me of his intention to be liberal—especially liberal, I may say.’
She was growing a little weary of his long words and his unvaried air of being official. She was disposed to like him personally, mainly from the fact that he was the nephew of his uncle, but the prospect of losing Cecilia hung heavily over any satisfaction she felt at seeing her settled. Many and many a time had she lain awake, distressed and wondering, how to solve the problem of the girl’s future, were she herself to die leaving her unmarried; it had been her waking nightmare. Now there might be an end to all that. She knew that she ought to be glad and grateful to fate—perhaps even grateful to Crauford Fordyce. Tears were near her eyes, and her hot heart ached in advance to think of the days to come. The little share of companionship and affection, the wreckage she had gathered laboriously on the sands of life, would soon slip from her. Her companion could not understand the pain in her look; he was smoothing out a letter on the table before her.
She gathered herself together, sharp words coming to her tongue, as they generally did when she was moved.
‘I suppose my niece and I ought to be greatly flattered,’ she said; ‘I had forgotten that part of it.’
‘Pray do not imagine such a thing. If you will read this letter you will understand the view my father takes. The second sheet contains private matters; this is the first one.’
‘Sit down, Mr. Fordyce; the writing is so close that I must carry it to the light.’
She took the letter to one of the windows at the end of the room, and stood by the curtain, her back turned.
A smothered exclamation came to him from the embrasure, and he was wondering what part of the epistle could have caused it when she faced him suddenly, looking at him with shining eyes, and with a flush of red blood mounting to her forehead.
‘In all my life I have never met with such an outrageous piece of impertinence!’ she exclaimed, tossing the paper to him. ‘How you have had the effrontery to show me such a thing passes my understanding! Take it, sir! Take it, and be obliging enough to leave me. You are never likely to “live to regret” your marriage with Miss Raeburn, for, while I have any influence with her, you will never have the chance of making it. You may tell Lady Fordyce, from me, that the fact that she is a member of your family is sufficient reason for my forbidding my niece to enter it!’
Crauford stood aghast, almost ready to clutch at his coat like a man in a gale of wind, and with scarcely wits left to tell him that he had given Lady Eliza the wrong letter. The oblique attacks he had occasionally suffered from his mother when vexed were quite unlike this direct onslaught. He went towards her, opening his mouth to speak. She waved him back.
‘Not a word, sir! not a word! I will ring the bell and order your horse to be brought.’
‘Lady Eliza, I beg of you, I implore you, to hear what I have got to say!’
He was almost breathless.
‘I have heard enough. Do me the favour to go, Mr. Fordyce.’
‘It is not my fault! I do assure you it is not my fault! I gave you the wrong letter, ma’am. I had never dreamed of your seeing that.’
‘What do I care which letter it is? That such impertinence should have been written is enough for me. Cecilia “unable to support the dignity of being your wife”! Faugh!’
‘If you would only read my father’s letter,’ exclaimed Crauford, drawing it out of his pocket, ‘you would see how very different it is. He is prepared to do everything—anything.’
‘Then he may be prepared to find you a wife elsewhere,’ said Lady Eliza.
At this moment Cecilia’s voice was heard in the passage. He took up his hat.
‘I will go,’ he said, foreseeing further disaster. ‘I entreat you, Lady Eliza, do not say anything to Miss Raeburn. I really do not know what I should do if she were to hear of this horrible mistake!’
He looked such a picture of dismay that, for a moment, she pitied him.
‘I should scarcely do such a thing,’ she replied.
‘You have not allowed me to express my deep regret—Lady Eliza, I hardly know what to say.’
‘Say nothing, Mr. Fordyce. That, at least, is a safe course.’
‘But what can I do? How can I induce you or Miss Raeburn to receive me? If she were to know of what has happened, I should have no hope of her ever listening to me! Oh, Lady Eliza—pray, pray tell me that this need not destroy everything!’
The storm of her anger was abating a little, and she began to realize that the unfortunate Crauford was deserving of some pity. And he was Robert’s nephew.
‘I know nothing of my niece’s feelings,’ she said, ‘but you may be assured that I shall not mention your name to her. And you may be assured of this also: until Lady Fordyce writes such a letter as I shall approve when you show it to me, you will never approach her with my consent.’
‘She will! she shall!’ cried Crauford, in the heat of his thankfulness.
But it was a promise which, when he thought of it in cold blood as he trotted back to Fullarton, made his heart sink.