CHAPTER XXV

PREPARATIONS FOR A RESOLVE

That day receded like a spent billow, and lapsed among the others

advancing, but it left a print deeper than events would have stamped.

Aminta's pen declined to run to her lord; and the dipping it in ink was

no acceleration of the process. A sentence, bearing likeness to an

artless infant's trot of the half-dozen steps to mother's lap, stumbled

upon the full stop midway. Desperate determination pushed it along, and

there was in consequence a dead stop at the head of the next sentence. A

woman whose nature is insurgent against the majesty of the man to whom

she must, among the singular injunctions binding her, regularly write,

sees no way between hypocrisy and rebellion. For rebellion, she, with the

pen in her hand, is avowedly not yet ripe, hypocrisy is abominable.

If she abstained from writing, he might travel down to learn the cause; a

similar danger, or worse, haunted the writing frigidly. She had to be the

hypocrite or else--leap.

But an honest woman who is a feeling woman, when she consents to play

hypocrite, cannot do it by halves. From writing a short cold letter,

Aminta wrote a short warm one, or very friendly. Length she could avoid,

because she was unable to fill a page. It seemed that she could not

compose a friendly few lines without letting her sex be felt in them.

What she had put away from her, so as not to feel it herself, the

simulation of ever so small a bit of feeling brought prominently back;

and where she had made a cast for flowing independent simplicity, she was

feminine, ultra-feminine to her reading of it.

Better take the leap than be guilty of double-dealing even on paper! The

nature of the leap she did not examine.

Her keen apprehension of the price payable for his benevolent intentions

caught scent of them in the air. Those Ormont jewels shone as emblems of

a detested subjection, the penalty for being the beautiful woman rageing

men proclaimed. Was there no scheme of some other sort, and far less

agreeable, to make amends for Steignton? She was shrewd at divination;

she guessed her lord's design. Rather than meet Lady Charlotte, she

proposed to herself the 'leap' immediately; knowing it must be a leap in

the dark, hoping it might be into a swimmer's water. She had her own

pin-money income, and she loathed the chain of her title. So the leap

would at least be honourable, as it assuredly would be unregretted,

whatever ensued.

While Aminta's heart held on to this debate, and in her bed, in her boat,

across the golden valley meadows beside her peaceful little friend, she

gathered a gradual resolution without sight of agencies or consequences,

Lord Ormont was kept from her by the struggle to master his Charlotte a

second time--compared with which the first was insignificant. And this

time it was curious: he could not subdue her physique, as he did before;

she was ready for him each day, and she was animated, much more voluble,

she was ready to jest. The reason being, that she fought now on plausibly

good grounds: on behalf of her independent action.

Previously, her intelligence of the ultimate defeat hanging over the more

stubborn defence of a weak position had harassed her to death's door. She

had no right to retain the family jewels; she had the most perfect of

established rights to refuse doing an ignominious thing. She refused to

visit the so-called Countess of Ormont, or leave her card, or take one

step to warrant the woman in speaking of her as her sister-in-law. And

no,--it did not signify that her brother Rowsley was prohibited by her

from marrying whom he pleased. It meant, that to judge of his acts as

those of a reasoning man, he would have introduced his wife to his

relatives--the relatives he had not quarrelled with--immediately upon his

marriage unless he was ashamed of the woman; and a wife he was ashamed of

was no sister-in-law for her nor aunt for her daughters. Nor should she

come playing the Black Venus among her daughters' husbands, Lady

Charlotte had it in her bosom to say additionally.

Lord Ormont was disconcerted by her manifest pleasure in receiving him

every day. Evidently she consented to the recurrence of a vexatious

dissension for the enjoyment of having him with her hourly. Her

dialectic, too, was cunning. Impetuous with meaning, she forced her way

to get her meaning out, in a manner effective to strike her blow.

Anything for a diversion or a triumph of the moment! He made no way. She

was the better fencer at the tongue.

Yet there was not any abatement of her deference to her brother; and this

little misunderstanding put aside, he was the Rowsley esteemed by her as

the chief of men. She foiled him, it might seem, to exalt him the more.

After he had left the house, visibly annoyed and somewhat stupefied, she

talked of him to her husband, of the soul of chivalry Rowsley was, the

loss to his country. Mr. Eglett was a witness to one of the altercations,

when she, having as usual the dialectical advantage, praised her brother,

to his face, for his magnanimous nature; regretting only that it could be

said he was weak on the woman side of him--which was, she affirmed, a

side proper to every man worth the name; but in his case his country

might complain. Of what?--Well, of a woman.--What had she done, for the

country to complain of her?--Why, then, arts or graces, she had bewitched

and weaned him from his public duty, his military service, his patriotic

ambition.

Lord Ormont's interrogations, heightening the effect of Charlotte's

charge, appeared to Mr. Eglett as a giving of himself over into her

hands; but the earl, after a minute of silence, proved he was a tricky

combatant. It was he who had drawn on Charlotte, that he might have his

opportunity to eulogize--'this lady, whom you continue to call the woman,

after I have told you she is my wife.' According to him, her appeals, her

entreaties, that he should not abandon his profession or let his ambition

rust, had been at one period constant.

He spoke fervently, for him eloquently; and he gained his point; he

silenced Lady Charlotte's tongue, and impressed Mr. Eglett.

When the latter and his wife were alone, he let her see that the Countess

of Ormont was becoming a personage in his consideration.

Lady Charlotte cried out: 'Hear these men where it's a good-looking woman

between the winds! Do you take anything Rowsley says for earnest? You

ought to know he stops at no trifle to get his advantage over you in a

dispute. That 's the soldier in him. It 's victory at any cost!--and I

like him for it. Do you tell me you think it possible my brother Rowsley

would keep smothered years under a bushel the woman he can sit here

magnifying because he wants to lime you and me: you to take his part, and

me to go and call the noble creature decked out in his fine fiction my

sister-in-law. Nothing 'll tempt me to believe my brother could behave in

such a way to the woman he respected!'

So Mr. Eglett opined. But he had been impressed.

He relieved his mind on the subject in a communication to Lord Adderwood;

who habitually shook out the contents of his to Mrs. Lawrence Finchley,

and she, deeming it good for Aminta to have information of the war waging

for her behoof, obtained her country address, with the resolve to drive

down, a bearer of good news to the dear woman she liked to think of, look

at, and occasionally caress; besides rather tenderly pitying her, now

that a change of fortune rendered her former trials conspicuous.

An incident, considered grave even in the days of the duel and the kicks

against a swelling public reprehension of the practice, occurred to

postpone her drive for four-and-twenty hours. London was shaken by

rumours of a tragic mishap to a socially well-known gentleman at the

Chiallo fencing rooms. The rumours passing from mouth to mouth acquired,

in the nature of them, sinister colours as they circulated. Lord Ormont

sent Aminta word of what he called 'a bad sort of accident at Chiallo's,'

without mentioning names or alluding to suspicions.

He treated it lightly. He could not have written of it with such

unconcern if it involved the secretary! Yet Aminta did seriously ask

herself whether he could; and she flew rapidly over the field of his

character, seizing points adverse, points favourably advocative,

balancing dubiously--most unjustly: she felt she was unjust. But in her

condition, the heart of a woman is instantly planted in jungle when the

spirits of the two men closest to her are made to stand opposed by a

sudden excitement of her fears for the beloved one. She cannot see

widely, and is one of the wild while the fit lasts; and, after it, that

savage narrow vision she had of the unbeloved retains its vivid print in

permanence. Was she unjust? Aminta cited corroboration of her being

accurate: such was Lord Ormont! and although his qualities of gallantry,

courtesy, integrity, honourable gentleman, presented a fair low-level

account on the other side, she had so stamped his massive selfishness and

icy inaccessibility to emotion on her conception of him that the

repulsive figure formed by it continued towering when her mood was

kinder.

Love played on love in the woman's breast. Her love had taken a fever

from her lord's communication of the accident at Chiallo's, and she

pushed her alarm to imagine the deadliest, and plead for the right of

confession to herself of her unrepented regrets. She and Matey Weyburn

had parted without any pressure of hands, without a touch. They were,

then, unplighted if now the grave divided them! No touch: mere glances!

And she sighed not, as she pleaded, for the touch, but for the plighting

it would have been. If now she had lost him, he could never tell herself

that since the dear old buried and night-walking schooldays she had said

once Matey to him, named him once to his face Matey Weyburn. A sigh like

the roll of a great wave breaking against a wall of rock came from her

for the possibly lost chance of naming him to his face Matey,--oh, and

seeing his look as she said it!

The boldness might be fancied: it could not be done. Agreeing with the

remote inner voice of her reason so far, she toned her exclamatory

foolishness to question, in Reason's plain, deep, basso-profundo

accompaniment tone, how much the most blessed of mortal women could do to

be of acceptable service to a young schoolmaster?

There was no reply to the question. But it became a nestling centre for

the skiey flock of dreams, and for really temperate soundings of her

capacities, tending to the depreciatory. She could do little. She

entertained the wish to work, not only 'for the sake of Somebody,' as her

favourite poet sang, but for the sake of working and serving--proving

that she was helpfuller than a Countess of Ormont, ranged with all the

other countesses in china and Dresden on a drawing-room mantelpiece for

show. She could organize, manage a household, manage people too, she

thought: manage a husband? The word offends. Perhaps invigorate him, here

and there perhaps inspire him, if he would let her breathe. Husbands

exist who refuse the right of breathing to their puppet wives. Above all,

as it struck her, she could assist, and be more than an echo of one

nobler, in breathing manliness, high spirit, into boys. With that idea

she grazed the shallows of reality, and her dreams whirred from the nest

and left it hungrily empty.

Selina Collett was writing under the verandah letters to her people in

Suffolk, performing the task with marvellous ease. Aminta noted it as a

mark of superior ability, and she had the envy of the complex nature

observing the simple. It accused her of some guiltiness, uncommitted and

indefensible. She had pushed her anxiety about 'the accident at

Chiallo's' to an extreme that made her the creature of her sensibilities.

In the midst of this quiet country life and landscape; these motionless

garden flowers headed by the smooth white river, and her gentle little

friend so homely here, the contemplation of herself was like a shriek in

music. Worse than discordant, she pronounced herself inferior, unfit

mentally as well as bodily for the dreams of companionship with any noble

soul who might have the dream of turning her into something better. There

are couples in the world, not coupled by priestly circumstance, who are

close to the true; union, by reason of generosity on the one part,

grateful devotion, as for the gift of life, on the other. For instance,

Mrs. Lawrence Finchley and Lord Adderwood, which was an instance without

resemblance; but Aminta's heart beat thick for what it wanted, and they

were the instance of two that did not have to snap false bonds of a

marriage-tie in order to walk together composedly outside it--in honour?

Oh yes, yes! She insisted on believing it was in honour.

She saw the couple issue from the boathouse. She had stepped into the

garden full of a presentiment; so she fancied, the moment they were seen.

She had, in fact, heard a noise in the boathouse while thinking of them,

and the effect on her was to spring an idea of mysterious interventions

at the sight.

Mrs. Lawrence rushed to her, and was embraced. 'You 're not astonished to

see me? Adder drove me down, and stopped his coach at the inn, and rowed

me the half-mile up. We will lunch, if you propose; but presently. My

dear, I have to tell you things. You have heard?'

'The accident?'

Aminta tried to read in Mrs. Lawrence's eyes whether it closely concerned

her.

Those pretty eyes, their cut of lids hinting at delicate affinities with

the rice-paper lady of the court of China, were trying to peer seriously.

'Poor man! One must be sorry for him: he--'

'Who?'

'You 've not heard, then?' Mrs. Lawrence dropped her voice: 'Morsfield.'

Aminta shivered. 'All I have heard-half a line from my lord this morning:

no name. It was at the fencing-rooms, he said.'

'Yes, he wouldn't write more;' said Mrs. Lawrence, nodding. 'You know, he

would have had to do it himself if it had not been done for him. Adder

saw him some days back in a brown consultation near his club with Captain

May. Oh, but of course it was accident! Did he call it so in his letter

to you?'

'One word of Mr. Morsfield: he is wounded?'

'Past cure: he has the thing he cried for, spoilt boy as he was from his

birth. I tell you truth, m' Aminta, I grieve to lose him. What with his

airs of the foreign-tinted, punctilious courtly gentleman covering a

survival of the ancient British forest boar or bear, he was a picture in

our modern set, and piquant. And he was devoted to our sex, we must

admit, after the style of the bears. They are for honey, and they have a

hug. If he hadn't been so much of a madman, I should have liked him for

his courage. He had plenty of that, nothing to steer it. A second cousin

comes in for his estates.'

'He is dead?' Aminta cried.

'Yes, dear, he is gone. What the women think of it I can't say. The

general feeling among the men is that some one of them would have had to

send him sooner or later. The curious point, Adder says, is his letting

it be done by steel. He was a dead shot, dangerous with the small sword,

as your Mr. Weyburn said, only soon off his head. But I used to be

anxious about the earl's meeting him with pistols. He did his best to

provoke it. Here, Adder,'--she spoke over her shoulder,--'tell Lady

Ormont all you know of the Morsfield-May affair.'

Lord Adderwood bowed compliance. His coolness was the masculine of Mrs.

Lawrence's hardly feminine in treating of a terrible matter, so that the

dull red facts had to be disengaged from his manner of speech before they

sank into Aminta's acceptance; of them as credible.

'They fought with foils, buttons off, preliminary ceremonies perfect;

salute in due order; guard, and at it.

Odd thing was, nobody at Chiallo's had a notion of the business till

Morsfield was pinked. He wouldn't be denied; went to work like a fellow

meaning to be skewered, if he couldn't do the trick: and he tried it. May

had been practising some weeks. He's well on the Continent by this time.

It'll blow over. Button off sheer accident. I wasn't lucky enough to see

the encounter: came in just when Chiallo was lashing his poll over

Morsfield flat on the ground. He had it up to the hilt. We put a buttoned

foil by the side of Morsfield, and all swore to secrecy. As it is, it 'll

go badly against poor Chiallo. Taste for fencing won't be much improved

by the affair. They quarrelled in the dressing room, and fetched the

foils and knocked off the buttons there. A big rascal toady squire of

Morsfield's did it for him. Morsfield was just up from Yorkshire. He said

he was expecting a summons elsewhere, bound to await it, declined

provocation for the present. May filliped him on the cheek.'

'Adder conveyed the information of her husband's flight to the consolable

Amy,' said Mrs. Lawrence.

'He had to catch the coach for Dover,' Adderwood explained. 'His wife was

at a dinner-party. I saw her at midnight.'

'Fair Amy was not so very greatly surprised?'

'Quite the soldier's wife!'

'She said she was used to these little catastrophes. But, Adder, what did

she say of her husband?'

'Said she was never anxious about him, for nothing would kill him.'

Mrs. Lawrence shook a doleful head at Aminta.

'You see, my dear Aminta, here's another, and probably her last, chance

of sharing the marquisate gone. Who can fail to pity her, except old

Time! And I 'm sure she likes her husband well enough. She ought: no

woman ever had such a servant. But the captain has not been known to

fight without her sanction, and the inference is--'Alas! woe! Fair Amy is

doomed to be the fighting captain's bride to the end of the chapter.

Adder says she looked handsome. A dinner-party suits her cosmetic

complexion better than a ball. The account of the inquest is in the day's

papers, and we were tolerably rejoiced we could drive out of London

without having to reply to coroner's questions.'

'He died-soon?' Aminta's voice was shaken.

Mrs. Lawrence touched at her breast, it might be for heart or lungs.

Judging by Aminta's voice and face, one could suppose she was harking

back, in woman's way, to her original sentiment for the man, now that he

lay prostrate.

Aminta read the unreproachful irony in the smile addressed to her. She

was too convulsed by her many emotions and shouting thoughts to think of

defending herself.

Selina, in the drawing-room, diligently fingered and classed brown-black

pressed weeds of her neophyte's botany-folios. The sight of her and her

occupation struck Aminta as that of a person in another world beyond this

world of blood, strangely substantial to view; and one heard her speak.

Guilty?--no. But she had wished to pique her lord. After the term of a

length of months, could it be that the unhappy man and she were punished

for the half-minute's acting of some interest in him? And Lord Ormont had

been seen consulting Captain May; or was it giving him directions?

Her head burned. All the barren interrogations were up, running and

knocking for hollow responses; and, saving a paleness of face, she

cloaked any small show of the riot. She was an amiable hostess. She had

ceased to comprehend Mrs. Lawrence, even to the degree of thinking her

unfeminine. She should have known that the 'angelical chimpanzee,' as a

friend, once told of his being a favourite with the lady, had called her,

could not simulate a feeling, and had not the slightest power of pretence

to compassion for an ill-fated person who failed to quicken her

enthusiasm. In that, too, she was a downright boy. Morsfield was a kind

of Bedlamite to her; amusing in his antics, and requiring to be

manoeuvred and eluded while he lived: once dead, just a tombstone, of

interest only to his family.

She beckoned Aminta to follow her; and, with a smirk of indulgent fun,

commended Lord Adderwood to a study of Selina Collett's botany-folios,

which the urbanest of indifferent gentlemen had slid his eyes over his

nose to inspect before the lunch.

'You ought to know what is going on in town, my dear Aminta. You have won

the earl to a sense of his duty, and he 's at work on the harder task of

winning Lady Charlotte Eglett to a sense of hers. It 's tremendous. Has

been forward some days, and no sign of yielding on either side. Mr.

Eglett, good man, is between them, catching it right and left; and he

deserves his luck for marrying her. Vows she makes him the best of wives.

If he 's content, I 've nothing to complain of. You must be ready to

receive her; my lord is sure to carry the day. You gulp. You won't be

seeing much of her. I 'm glad to say he is condescending to terms of

peace with the Horse Guards. We hear so. You may be throning it

officially somewhere next year. And all 's well that ends well! Say that

to me!'

'It is, when the end comes,' Aminta replied.

Mrs. Lawrence's cool lips were pressed to her cheek. The couple and their

waterman rowed away to the party they had left with the four-in-hand at

their inn.

A wind was rising. The trees gave their swish of leaves, the river

darkened the patch of wrinkles, the bordering flags amid the reed-blades

dipped and streamed.

Surcharged with unassimilated news of events, that made a thunder in her

head, Aminta walked down the garden path, meeting Selina and bearing her

on. She had a witch's will to rouse gales. Hers was not the woman's

nature to be driven cowering by stories of men's bloody deeds. She took

the field, revolted, dissevering herself from the class which tolerated

them--actuated by a reflective moralty, she believed; and loathed herself

for having aspired, schemed, to be a member of the class. But it was not

the class, it was against her lord as representative of the class, that

she was now the rebel, neither naming him nor imaging him. Her enveloping

mind was black on him. Such as one of those hard slaughtering men could

call her his own? She breathed short and breathed deep. Her bitter reason

had but the common pity for a madman despatched to his rest. Yet she knew

hatred of her lord in his being suspected as instigator or accomplice of

the hand that dealt the blow. He became to her thought a python whose

coils were about her person, insufferable to the gaze backward.

Moments like these are the mothers in travail of a resolve joylessly

conceived, undesired to clasp, Necessity's offspring. Thunderclouds have

as little love of the lightnings they fling.

Aminta was aware only of her torment. The trees were bending, the water

hissing, the grasses all this way and that, like hands of a delirious

people in surges of wreck. She scorned the meaningless shake of the

garments of earth, and exclaimed: 'If we were by the sea to-night!'

'I shall be to-morrow night,' said Selina. 'I shall think of you. Oh!

would you come with me?'

'Would you have me?'

'My mother will indeed be honoured by your consenting to come.'

'Write to her before the post is out.'

'We shall travel down together?'

Aminta nodded and smiled, and Selina kissed her hand in joy, saying, that

down home she would not be so shy of calling her Aminta. She was bidden

to haste.