A Civil Contract

Chapter XXII

Jenny’s baby was expected at the end of March, but before she was brought to bed Adam had narrowly escaped being involved in the Corn Law Riots, and an appalling piece of news had burst like a thunder-clap over Europe. On the first day of the month, the ex-Emperor Napoleon, having escaped from Elba and slipped through the British blockade, landed in the south of France with a small force, and issued proclamations calling on the faithful to trample the white cockade underfoot, and to return to their former allegiance.

After the first shock, it was felt by all but the most pessimistic that this attempt to regain command of France would prove abortive. Massena, from Marseilles, had sent two regiments to cut Bonaparte off on his march to Paris, and it did not seem, according to reports received in London, that the ex-Emperor’s return was being greeted with any marked display of enthusiasm. But the news: grew steadily more disquieting. Instead of following the main road through unfriendly Provence, Bonaparte chose the mountain road to Grenoble, and Massena’s troops failed to intercept him. At Grasse his reception was chilly; but as he proceeded northward through the Dauphiné men began to flock to his standard.

It was reassuring to learn that in Paris complete calm reigned, and if there were those who doubted the willingness of the Minister of War to take active measures against his old master their suspicions were soon allayed by the news that Marshal Soult had proposed to the Council to throw a large force into the southern provinces, under the command of Monsieur, the King’s brother, with three Marshals to support him. With this force in his front, and Massena’s regiments in his rear, Bonaparte must be trapped.

He met a battalion of Infantry of the Line on the road beyond Gap, and, with his unfailing instinct for the dramatic gesture, dismounted and walked forward alone. An officer shouted an order to fire, but it was not obeyed. “Men of the Fifth!” said Napoleon, standing squarely before the uneasy troops, “I am your Emperor! Know me! If there is one of you who would kill his Emperor, here I am!”

It was hardly surprising that men who had fought under the Eagles should not have availed themselves of this invitation. Instead, they broke their ranks, yelling Vive l’Empereur! and tearing off their white cockades.

After that the end was certain. The Parisians, enjoying a period of prosperity, due to the influx of wealthy English travellers to their city, were for the most part loyal to the Bourbons; at Vienna the Congress declared Bonaparte to be hors la loi; the King maintained his lethargy; and Marshal Ney, quite as dramatic a person as the ex-Emperor, heroically announced his intention of bringing Bonaparte to Paris in an iron cage; but Bonaparte continued to advance, gathering troops all the way, and entering Lyons without opposition. A letter inviting Ney to meet him, and promising that flamboyant gentleman a welcome as warm as after the Moskowa, was enough to persuade Ney, Prince of the Moskowa, to renounce his allegiance, and to take himself and his willing troops over to the ex-Emperor’s side. They met at Auxerre, on the 17th March; on the evening of the 19th the King, with his family and his Ministers, left Paris in ignominious haste, with Lord Fitzroy Somerset, the English Chargé d’Affaires during the absence of the Duke of Wellington in Vienna, and a horde of visitors to the capital; and on the 20th Napoleon was carried shoulder-high into the Palace of the Tuileries to begin a new reign.

“What did I tell you?” demanded Mr Chawleigh of his son-in-law, who was in London on a brief visit. “Didn’t I say we’d have him rampaging all over the Continent again before the cat could lock its ear?”

“You did, sir, but I’ll lay you handsome odds we don’t!”

“I’ve no wish to rob you, my lord!” said Mr Chawleigh grimly.

Mr Chawleigh was taking the gloomiest view of the entire political situation. He said he didn’t know what the country was coming to; and, exacerbated by Adam’s cheerful mien, recommended him to look at what had happened to us in America.

The news of the defeat and death of Sir Edward Pakenham at New Orleans, in January, had just reached London, and the reminder did bring a cloud to Adam’s brow: not because he doubted the ability of the Army to make a recover, but because no one who had served in the Peninsula could fail to sorrow at Pakenham’s death. But he only replied: “Come out of the dismals, sir! You should meet the fellows in my Regiment! I swear they’ve never been in better heart!”

The officers and men of the 52nd were indeed in good heart, and rendering thanks to Providence for having spared them the crashing disappointment of being absent from the coming battle d’outrance with the Frogs. Twice had the Regiment set sail for America, and twice had their transports been driven back to port by contrary winds. They were now preparing with the greatest enthusiasm to embark again, their destination this time being the Low Countries.

Encountering Lord Oversley in Brooks’s Club, Adam learned that my Lord and Lady Rockhill, enjoying a protracted honeymoon in Paris, had not been amongst those who had fled in such unseemly haste. The Marquis, a cynic, had placed no dependence whatsoever on the loyalty of King Louis’ soldiers, and when the news of Bonaparte’s landing reached Paris, he brought his bride home immediately, and without loss of dignity. He said languidly that he was quite unfitted to take part in the helter-skelter flight he foresaw, and had never, at any state of his career, derived amusement from watching the too-easily predictable behaviour of mobs.

Adam was glad to know that Julia was safe in England, but as he had never doubted Rockhill’s ability to take care of her the intelligence relieved his mind of no particular anxiety. Julia, taking Parisian society by storm, winning for herself the title of La Belle Marquise, had begun to seem remote. Jenny’s approaching confinement, the low prices on the agricultural market, the vexed question of the proposed new Corn Laws, were matters of more pressing moment; and added to these was the inevitable longing to be back with his Regiment, which no duty-officer as keen as Adam could escape. So urgent was this desire that if Jenny had not been so near her time he thought he must, by hedge or by stile, have rejoined, casting every prudent consideration to the winds. His good sense told him that to have done so would have been nothing more than a heroic gesture, but this neither quenched his desire nor alleviated the angry fret in his mind. He tried to conceal it from Jenny, and thought that he had succeeded, until she said, in her gruffest voice, and keeping her eyes lowered; “You don’t mean to volunteer, do you?”

“Good God, no!” he replied.

She glanced fleetingly up at him. “I know you’d like to, but I hope you won’t.”

“I give you my word I won’t. As though Old Hookey couldn’t do the thing without Captain Deveril’s assistance!”

Towards the end of the month, Mr Chawleigh arrived at Fontley to attend the birth of his grandchild. He found Jenny in good health, calmly awaiting the event, all her preparations made, and her house in order, but this in no way assuaged his too-evident anxiety. Adam thought that it would have been better for Jenny had he remained in London, but he had not had the heart to close his doors to him, and could only hope that he would not make Jenny nervous. But two days before Jenny began to be ill the household was cast into astonishment by the wholly unexpected arrival of the Dowager, who had come (she said) because she felt it to be her duty to support dear little Jenny through her ordeal, and who lost no time at all in bringing both Mr Chawleigh and Adam to a sense of their folly, uselessness, and total irrelevance. Adam greeted her with mixed feelings. He was grateful to her for overcoming her disinclination to exert herself on behalf of a daughter-in-law of whom she disapproved, but he feared that her descent upon Fontley would throw Jenny into disorder. He was mistaken. If the Dowager had a passion, it was for babies. She had doted on all her children during their infancies, and her bosom was now filled with grandmotherly fervour. Jenny’s failings were not forgotten, but they were set aside: the Dowager, assuming command of the household, was determined to ensure that nothing should be allowed to endanger the birth of her first grandchild, and nothing could have exceeded the gracious kindness with which she enveloped Jenny, or the indulgent contempt with which she dismissed male apprehensions.

Adam begged Jenny to tell him whether she would prefer to be rid of her mother-in-law, but she replied with unmistakable sincerity that the Dowager was being of the greatest support and comfort to her.

Like many women of invalidish habits, the Dowager had borne her children with perfect ease. She could perceive no reason for supposing that Jenny would suffer complications outside her own experience, and her conviction that the issue would be happy gave Jenny a confidence she had hitherto lacked.

Adam, finding himself reduced to schoolboy status, was much inclined to rebel; but Mr Chawleigh, observing him with a sympathetic eye, said gloomily: “It’s no manner of use nabbing the rust, my lord. You wait till Jenny starts in labour! The way females behave when one of ’em’s in the straw you’d think we was no better than a set of lobcocks they’d be very well-pleased to be rid of! And don’t you get to thinking you’d anything to do with this baby, lad, because all you’ll get will be a set-down if you start trying to put yourself forward!”

The arrival of the month-nurse made the female dominion at Fontley absolute, and drew Adam into close alliance with his father-in-law. “The only female in the whole house who doesn’t treat me as I was only just out of short coats is Jenny herself!” he told Mr Chawleigh wrathfully.

“I know,” nodded that worthy. “I remember when Mrs C. was brought to bed there wasn’t one of the maids, not even the kitchen-girl that wasn’t a day more than fourteen, that didn’t make me as mad as Bedlam, carrying on as if they were grandmothers, and me a booberkin!”

When Jenny’s labour began the month nurse warned Adam that she-was not going to be quick in her time. A few hours later she said, with a bright cheerfulness which drove the colour from Mr Chawleigh’s cheeks, that she would be glad if his lordship would send a message to fetch Dr Purley from Peterborough. Adam had, in fact, sent for both this recommended accoucheur, and for Dr Tilford, as soon as Jenny’s pains began; and within a very few minutes Dr Tilford drove up in his gig. In due course he was joined by Dr. Purley, who, having been engaged to attend throughout labour, brought both his night-bag and his servant with him.. His air of confidence exercised a beneficial effect upon Mr Chawleigh, but it seemed an alarmingly long time before he redeemed his promise to report to my lady’s husband and father what his opinion was of her case. However, when he and Dr Tilford joined the anxious gentlemen in the library he appeared quite untroubled, and assured my lord that although he feared it would be some time before her ladyship was safely delivered neither he nor his colleague (with a courteous bow to Dr Tilford) could discover any cause for undue apprehension. Mr Chawleigh could not like the qualifying epithet, and immediately put Dr Purley in possession of the details of his own wife’s several disastrous experiences. Without precisely saying so, Dr Purley managed to convey the impression that the late Mrs Chawleigh had been unfortunate in not having been a patient of his, and he left Mr Chawleigh, if not wholly reassured, at least more inclined to take a hopeful view of the situation.

But midway through the second day, after a sleepless night, Mr Chawleigh, whose nerves had been growing rapidly more disordered, lost his precarious hold over his temper, and tried his best to provoke Adam into a quarrel. Adam entered the room after an absence of an hour to be greeted with, a ferocious glare, and a demand to know where he had been.

“Only in the estate-room, sir,” he replied. “My bailiff has been here with some business needing my attention.”

Mr Chawleigh’s jaw worked. His son-in-law’s quiet voice far from acting as a damper, violently irritated him. “Oh, you have, have you?” he retorted, with bitter sarcasm. “And as cool as a cucumber, I make no doubt! Business needing your attention! Why, you don’t know the meaning of the word! You and your piddling farms! Much you care for my Jenny!”

Adam stood rigidly silent.

“Ay, you may look down your nose!” Mr Chawleigh flung at him. “As proud as a cock on your own dunghill, ain’t you, my lord? But if it weren’t for me you’d have no dunghill — and what’s more, if my Jenny snuffs it, I’ll see to it you don’t have it, as sure as my name’s Jonathan Chawleigh, because it’ll be your blame, giving Croft the go-by, like you did — bringing her down here — not caring the snap of your fingers what might come of it! Well, that’s where you’ll find you’ve made your mistake! And she not thinking of anything but how to please you, and be worthy of you! Worthy of you! She’s too good for you, and so I tell you to your head!”

Anger, colder than Mr Chawleigh’s, but quite as deadly, had welled up in Adam. As he looked at that coarse red face, he felt for a moment almost sick with loathing. Then he saw that large tears were rolling down Mr Chawleigh’s cheeks, and was suddenly sorry for him. He did not know that the things he said were unpardonable, or that self-control in moments of stress was incumbent on him. He had fought his way up in the world with no other weapons than his hard head and his ruthless will. He was brutal but generous, overbearing yet curiously humble, and he gave way to his emotions with the ease of a child.

It was a moment or two before Adam could master himself enough to answer temperately. He limped over to the table on which Dunster had set down decanters and glasses, and said, as he poured out some Madeira: “Yes, sir: she is much too good for me.”

Mr Chawleigh blew his nose defiantly into a large and lavishly embroidered handkerchief. He took the glass that was being held out to him with a muttered Thank’ee! and gulped down the wine.

“I do care, you know,” Adam said; “If anything were to go amiss now, you won’t blame me as much as I shall blame myself.”

Mr Chawleigh grabbed his hand. “Nay, you did what you thought right! I’d no call to fly out at you. It’s being regularly worn down with worrying over my girl, and nothing I can do to help. I’m not one to sit kicking my heels, the way you and me have been doing, not without getting into high fidgets. Don’t you heed me, my lord, for I promise you I don’t mean the rough things I say when I’m in a passion! Well, I don’t rightly know what I do say, and that’s a fact!” He shifted ponderously in his chair, to restore his handkerchief to his pocket, and said, with an apologetic glance up at Adam: “She’s all I’ve got, you see.”

These simple words went straight to Adam’s heart. He said nothing, but laid his hand on Mr Chawleigh’s shoulder for a moment. One of Mr Chawleigh’s own, ham-like hands came up to pat it clumsily. “You’re a kind lad,” he said gruffly. “I’ll take another glass of wine, for I need something to pluck me up!”

He did not again allow his anxiety to get the better of him, though he paced up and down the floor a good deal, until, as the evening wore slowly on, he perceived that Adam was looking very haggard, and realized that there was one thing at least which he could do. He remembered that Adam had shaken his head at every dish offered him at the dinner-table, and went plunging off in search of Dunster, returning presently with a plate of sandwiches, which he bullied Adam into eating. He then applied himself to the task of convincing him that there was no need to get in a stew, because it stood to reason Dr Tilford wouldn’t have shabbed off home if Jenny wasn’t going on promisingly.

Just before midnight the Dowager entered the library, with a swathed bundle in her arms, which she held out to Adam, saying in thrilling accents that showed clearly whence Lydia derived her histrionic talent: “Lynton! I have brought your son to you!”

He had sprang up at the opening of the door, but he did not attempt to take the infant, which was just as well, since the Dowager had no real intention of entrusting so precious a burden to his inexpert handling. “Jenny?” he said sharply.

“Quite comfortable!” replied the Dowager. “Sadly exhausted, poor little thing, but Dr Purley assures me that we have no need to feel alarm. I must tell you that you are very much obliged to him, my dear Adam: most skilled! So gentlemanlike, too!”

“May I see her?” Adam interrupted.

“Yes, for a very few minutes.”

He went towards the door, but was checked. “Dearest!” said his mother, in pained reproof. “Have you no thought to spare for your son?”

He turned back. “Yes, of course! Let me see him, Mama!”

“The most beautiful little boy!” she said fondly.

He thought he had never seen anything less beautiful than the red and crumpled countenance of his son, and for a moment suspected her of irony. Fortunately, since he could think of nothing whatsoever to say, Mr Chawleigh, who had been obliged to blow his nose for the second time that day, now surged forward, wreathed in smiles, and diverted the Dowager’s attention from her son’s deplorable want of enthusiasm by tickling the infant’s cheek with the tip of an enormous finger, and uttering sounds which put Adam in mind of one calling hens to be fed.

“Eh, the young rascal!” said Mr Chawleigh, apparently delighted by the infant’s lack of response. “So you won’t take notice of your granddad! Top-lofty, ain’t you?” He looked at Adam, and chuckled. “Pluck up, lad!” he advised him. “I know what you’re thinking, but never you fear! Lor’, when I first clapped eyes on my Jenny I pretty near suffered a palsy-stroke!”

Adam laughed, but said: “I must own I don’t think him beautiful! How tiny he is! Is he — is he healthy, Mama?”

“Tiny?” repeated the Dowager incredulously. “He is a splendid little fellow! Aren’t you, my precious?”

Mr Chawleigh winked at Adam, and jerked his thumb towards the door. “You go on up to Jenny!” he said. “My dear love to her, and don’t go putting it into her head she’s got a sickly baby, mind!”

Only too glad to escape from the besotted grandparents, Adam slipped out of the room, to find that he had to run the gauntlet of his household, all lying in wait to felicitate him.

He entered Jenny’s room very quietly, and paused for a moment, looking across at her. He saw how white she was, and how wearily she smiled at him. Pity stirred in him, and with it tenderness. He crossed the room, and bent over her, kissing her, and saying softly: “My poor dear! Better now, Jenny?”

“Oh, yes!” she said in the thread of a voice. “Just so very tired. But it is a son, Adam!”

“A very fine son,” he agreed. “Clever Jenny!”

She laughed weakly, but her eyes searched his face. “Are you pleased?” she asked anxiously.

“Very pleased.”

She gave a little relieved sigh, “Your mama says he’s like your brother. Would you like to have him christened Stephen?”

“No, not at all. We’ll have him christened Giles, after my grandfather, and Jonathan, after his,” he replied.

Her eyes lit up. “Do you mean that? Thank you! Papa will be so pleased and proud! You’ll give him my love, won’t you, and tell him that I am very well.”

“I will. He sent his love to you — his dear love. I left him making the most peculiar noises to his grandson, who treated them with utter contempt — very understandably, I thought!” That made her laugh so much that Nurse, who had tactfully joined Martha at the far end of the room, brought Adam’s visit to an end, informing him in a voice that in no way matched the respectful curtsy she dropped, that my lady must go to sleep now, and would be glad to see him in the morning.