Bath Tangle

18

Mr Monksleigh reached Bath after dark, and in a thrasonical mood. When he had given the order to the post-boy to take the Bath road, he had done so in the white heat of his rage, but with a quake of fear in his heart. The experience he had passed through had set every nerve in his slight body quivering, for although he had been stung to fury by the lash of Rotherham’s tongue only pride had kept him from breaking down, and betraying the terror beneath his bravado. He was both timid and abnormally sensitive; and from having a keen and often morbid imagination was apt to fancy that persons who, in fact, never gave him a thought were criticizing him unkindly. Anticipation was more dreadful to him than performance; and to be harshly rated turned him sick. A wish to appear to be of consequence was unhappily allied to a lack of self-confidence which he tried to conceal under a boastful manner; and nothing could more surely have won for him the contempt of his guardian. There was never a more ill-assorted pair; and if Gerard was the last boy alive to appeal to Rotherham, no worse guardian than Rotherham could well have been found for a boy compact of timidity and vainglory. A much younger Gerard, at once anxious to impress an almost unknown guardian and afraid that he would be despised by him, encountered a look from those hard, bright eyes, and wilted under it. It was neither angry nor disdainful; it was almost incurious, but it utterly disconcerted Gerard. He had the feeling that it pierced right into his mind, and saw everything that he most wished to hide; and he never recovered from that first, disastrous meeting. Rotherham indifferent made him feel ill-at-ease; when, later, he saw Rotherham angry, he was terrified. A natural abruptness he mistook for a sign of dislike; he read a threat into every curt command; and if he was reprimanded, he was always sure that the brief but shattering scold was but the prelude to hideous retribution. The fact that on the only occasion when condign retribution had fallen upon him it was neither hideous nor even particularly severe quite irrationally failed to reassure him. He thought it a miracle that he had been let off lightly, just as he was convinced, every time he annoyed Rotherham, that he had escaped chastisement by no more than a hairsbreadth.

It was doubtful if Rotherham, with his nerves of steel, his tireless strength, and his impatience of weakness, would ever have felt much liking for so delicate and nervous a boy as Gerard; but he would not have been intolerant of him had it not been for Gerard’s unfortunate tendency to brag about himself. In the early days of his guardianship, he had frequently invited him to one or other of his country seats, feeling that however great a nuisance a schoolboy might be to him it was clearly his duty to take an interest in him, giving him a day’s hunting, teaching him how to handle a gun, or cast a line, and how to keep a straight left. He very soon realized that Gerard, so far from being grateful, regarded these benefits in the light of severe ordeals, and would have become merely bored had he not heard Gerard, after an ignominious day in the saddle, during the course of which he had contrived to evade all but the easiest of jumps, boasting to one of the servants of the regular raspers he had taken. Rotherham, caring nothing for anyone’s admiration or disapproval, and contemptuous of shams, was violently exasperated, and thereafter regarded his ward not with indifference but with scorn. Even Gerard’s docility irritated him. He preferred the more resilient Charles, whose predilection for getting into all the more damaging and perilous forms of mischief had made him declare that never again would he have the whelp to stay with him. But as soon as Charles had outgrown his destructive puppyhood he had every intention of opening his doors to him, and of taking him in hand. Charles provoked him to anger, but never to contempt. Severely castigated for setting a booby-trap for the butler, which resulted in a splendid breakage of crockery, the chances were that he would bounce into the room not half an hour later, announcing in conscience-stricken accents that he feared he had killed one of the peacocks with his bow and arrow. He found nothing unnerving in the look that made his elder brother shake in his shoes; and when threatened with frightful penalties he grinned. He was outrageously mischievous, maddeningly obstinate, and wholly averse from respecting prohibitions; and since these characteristics never failed to rouse his guardian to wrath neither Gerard nor Mrs Monksleigh could understand why he was quite unafraid of Rotherham, or why Rotherham, however angry, never withered him with the remarks which made Gerard writhe.

“Cousin Rotherham likes people who square up to him,” said Charles. “He’s a great gun.”

But Rotherham today had shown no signs of liking it, thought Gerard bitterly, unable to perceive the gulf that lay between his rehearsed defiance, and his graceless brother’s innate pugnacity. It had angered him into uttering words so scathing that for several stark minutes Gerard had been thrown into such a storm of shocked fury that he was jerked out of his shams, and hurled his defiance at Rotherham without the smallest thought of impressing him. He was angry, and frightened, and deeply mortified; and for quite some time continued in this frame of mind. But as the distance increased between himself and Claycross the tone of his mind became gradually restored, and from quaking at the realization that he was flatly disobeying Rotherham, and wondering what the result would be, he began to believe that he had acquitted himself well in his distressing interview with him. From thinking of all the retorts he might have made it was a very short step to imagining that he really had made them; and by the time he reached Bath he was almost set up again in his own conceit, and much inclined to think that he had taught Rotherham a lesson.

Since nothing would be more disagreeable than to be obliged to apply to Rotherham for more funds, he prudently sought out a modest hostelry in the less fashionable part of the town, and installed himself there with every intention of discovering Emily’s whereabouts on the following morning. In the event, it was not until two days later that he saw her entering the Pump Room with her grandmother, and was at last able to approach her. The task of locating the house of a lady whose name he had never been told had proved to be unexpectedly difficult.

Emily was very much surprised to see him, and accorded him an ingenuously delighted welcome. He was a pretty youth, with pleasing manners, and such an air of fashion that his company could not but add to her consequence. His passion for her, moreover, was expressed with the greatest decorum, and took the form of humble worship, which was quite unalarming. Upon her first going to London, he had been assiduous in his attentions, and she had enjoyed with him her first flirtation. Not a profound thinker, if she remembered the vows she had exchanged with him, she supposed that he had meant them no more seriously than she had. She did recollect that she had felt very low for quite a week after Mama had forbidden him to visit them again, but Mama had assured her that she would soon recover from her disappointment, which, in fact, she had. Among the crowd of Pinks, Tulips, Blades, Beaux, and High Sticklers with whom she rapidly became acquainted, Gerard was to a great extent forgotten.

But she liked him very well, and was happy to meet him again, and at once presented him to Mrs Floore.

Mrs Floore came as a shock to him, for although he had frequently heard his mama stigmatize Lady Laleham as a vulgar creature he had paid very little heed to a stricture he had heard often before, and which generally denoted merely that Mrs Monksleigh had quarrelled with whichever lady was in question. He had expected nothing as unrefined as Mrs Floore, who was arrayed in a gown of such a powerful shade of purple that he almost blinked. However, he had very good manners, and he quickly concealed his astonishment, and made her a civil bow.

Mrs Floore was inclined to favour him. She liked young persons, and Gerard struck her as a pretty-behaved beau, dressed as fine as fivepence, and plainly of the first respectability. But her shrewd gaze had not failed to perceive the ardour in his face when he had come hurrying up to Emily, and she determined not to encourage him. It would never do, she thought, for him to be dangling after Emily in a lovelorn way calculated to set Bath tongues wagging. There was no saying but what Emily’s grand Marquis might not like it above half, if it came to his ears. So when she heard him asking Emily if she would be at the Lower Rooms that evening, she interposed, saying that Emily must stay at home to recruit her strength for the Gala night at the Sydney Gardens on the following evening. Gerard, on his guard from the instant he realized this amazing old lady’s relationship to his adored, took this with perfect propriety. It was Emily who exclaimed against the prohibition, but so much more in the manner of a child denied a treat than in that of a damsel bent on flirting with a personable admirer, that Mrs Floore relented a little, and said that they would see. It naturally did not occur to her that Emily could have a tendre for any other man than her betrothed, but she was well aware that Emily was apt (in the most innocent way) to give rather more encouragement than was seemly in her situation to her admirers. It was all very well for the chit to talk in that misleadingly confiding way of hers to a steady young fellow like Ned Goring, whom one could trust to take no liberties; quite another for her to be giving this smart town sprig to think that she would welcome a flirtation.

But when, after Gerard had escorted the two ladies back to Beaufort Square, very politely giving Mrs Floore his arm, she told Emily that it would not do for her to be too friendly with such a handsome young beau, Emily looked surprised, and said: “But he is such a splendid dancer, Grandmama! Must I not stand up with him? Why ought I not? He is quite the thing, you know!”

“I daresay he’s one of the first stare, pet, but would his lordship like it? That’s what you ought to think of, only you’re such a flighty little puss—well, there!”

“Oh, but Lord Rotherham could have not the least objection!” Emily assured her. “Gerard is his ward. They are cousins.”

That, of course, put a very different complexion on the matter, and made Mrs Floore exclaim against Emily for not having told her so in time for her to have invited Mr Monksleigh to dine with them. But that was soon rectified. She took Emily to the ball, and there was Mr Monksleigh, nattier than ever in evening dress, his ordered locks glistening with Russia Oil, and the many swathes of his neckcloth obliging him to hold his head very much up. Several young ladies watched his progress across the room with approval, most of the gentlemen with tolerant amusement, and Mr Guynette, who had attempted unavailingly to present him to a lady lacking a partner for the boulanger, with strong disapprobation.

Gerard was in no mood for dancing, but since there seemed to be no other way of detaching Emily from her grandmother, he led her into the set that was just forming, saying urgently: “I must see you alone! How may it be contrived?”

She shook her head wonderingly. “Grandmama would not like it! Besides, everyone would stare!”

“Not here! But we must meet! Emily, I have only just learnt of this—this engagement you have entered into! Have been forced into! I know you cannot—I have come all the way from Scarborough to see you! Quickly, where may we meet?”

Her hand trembled in his; she whispered: “Oh—! I don’t know! It is so dreadful! I am very unhappy!”

He caught his breath. “I knew it!”

There was no time for more; they were obliged to take their places in the set; to school their countenances; and to exchange such conversation as was suitable to the occasion. When the movement of the dance brought them together, Gerard said: “Will your grandmama permit me to visit her?”

“Yes, but pray take care! She said I must not be too friendly, only then I told her you were Lord Rotherham’s ward, and so she will ask you to dine with us, and go to the Sydney Gardens tomorrow. Oh, Gerard, I do not know what to do!”

He squeezed her fingers. “I have come to save you!”

She found nothing to smile at in this announcement, but threw him a look brimful of gratitude and admiration as they parted again, and waited hopefully to know how her rescue was to be accomplished.

She had to remain in suspense until the following evening; and when he was at last able to disclose his plans to her, she found them disappointing.

After dining in Beaufort Square, and taking immense pains to ingratiate himself with Mrs Floore, Gerard accompanied the ladies to the Sydney Gardens, where various entertainments, ranging from illuminations to dancing, were provided for Bath’s visitors. Here, by great good fortune, a crony of Mrs Floore’s was encountered, who had been staying at Lyme Regis for some weeks. The two ladies naturally had much gossip to exchange; and when they were fairly launched in intimate conversation, Gerard seized the opportunity to beg permission to take Emily to look at the waterfalls, which had all been illuminated for the occasion. “I will take good care of her, ma’am!” he promised.

Mrs Floore nodded indulgently. She still thought him an agreeable youth, but he would have been affronted had he known how swiftly and how accurately she had summed him up. He was, in her estimation, a harmless boy, scarcely fledged as yet, but anxious to convince everyone that he was a buck of the first head. She had been much amused, at dinner, by the carelessness with which he related anecdotes of ton; and when, encouraged by a good nature which he mistook for respect, he played off a few of the airs of an exquisite, her eyes twinkled appreciatively, and she decided that however much pride and sensibility the Marquis might have he could scarcely take exception to Emily’s accepting the escort of so callow a young gentleman.

Since two or three thousand persons were in the Gardens, it was some little time before Gerard could find a vacant and sufficiently secluded nook to appropriate. All his mind was concentrated on this, but Emily, who possessed the faculty of living only in the immediate present, kept on stopping to exclaim at Merlin grottoes, or cascades, or festoons of coloured lanterns. However, he eventually discovered a discreet arbour, persuaded her to enter it, and to sit down upon the rustic bench there. Seating himself beside her, he clasped her mittened hand, and uttered: “Tell me the whole!”

She was not articulate, and found this command hard to obey. Her account of her engagement was neither fluent nor coherent, but by dint of frequently interpolated questions he was able to piece the story together, if not entirely to understand the circumstances which had induced her to enter into an engagement with a man for whom she felt not a scrap of affection. He believed that her mother’s tyranny accounted for all, and failed to perceive that the prospect of becoming a Marchioness had strongly attracted her. Nor had he the smallest suspicion that her sentiments towards himself had undergone a change.

She had been taken quite by surprise. She had had no notion that Rotherham had a decided preference for her, for although he had been her host at the Rotherham House ball, it had been Mrs Monksleigh whose name had figured on the invitation card, and she had quite thought that he had had nothing to say in the matter.

“He never troubled himself at all, that you may be sure of!” said Gerard. “I made Mama invite you!”

“Oh, did you? How very kind that was of you! I never enjoyed anything half as much, did you? It was a magnificent ball! I had no notion how grand Rotherham House is! So many handsome saloons, and hundreds of footmen, and that huge crystal chandelier in the ballroom, sparkling like diamonds, and your Mama standing at the head of the great staircase—”

“Yes, yes, I know!” Gerard said, a trifle impatiently. “But Rotherham didn’t even solicit you to dance, did he?”

“Oh, no! He only said how do you do to me, and of course I had no expectation of his asking me to stand up with him, with so many grand people there! In fact, until we—we became engaged, I never did dance with him, except that once, at Quenbury. We were for ever meeting, at parties, you know, and he was always very civil to me, and sometimes he paid me a compliment, only—only—I don’t know how it is, but when he says a thing that sounds pretty, he does so in a way that—well, in a way that makes one feel that he is being satirical!”

“You need not tell me that!” said Gerard, with a darkling look. “When did he commence making up to you?”

“Oh, never! In fact, I had no notion he was disposed to like me, for whenever he talked to me it was in a quizzing way, which put me quite out of countenance. So you may imagine my astonishment when Mama told me he had offered for me! Mama says he behaved with the greatest propriety, exactly as he ought.”

“Behaved with the greatest propriety?” echoed Gerard incredulously. “Cousin Rotherham? Why, he doesn’t give a groat for such stuff! He always does just as he chooses, and doesn’t care for ceremony, or for having distinguished manners, or for showing people proper observance, or anything like that!”

“Oh, yes, Gerard, he does!” Emily said earnestly, raising her eyes to his face. “He becomes dreadfully vexed if one does not behave just as he says one ought, or—or if one is shy, and does not know how to talk to people! He—says very cutting things, d-doesn’t he? If one angers him!”

“So he has treated you to his devilish ill-humour already, has he?” demanded Gerard, his eyes kindling. “Pretty conduct towards his betrothed, upon my word! It is just as I thought! He does not love you! I believe he wishes to marry you only to spite me!”

She shook her head, turning away her face. “No, no! He does love me, only—Oh, I don’t want to be married to him!”

“Good God, you shall not be!” he said vehemently, seizing her hand, and kissing it. “I cannot think how you could have consented! That he should have behaved to you in such a way—!”

“Oh, no! Not then!” she explained, “How could I say I would not, when Mama had arranged it, and was so pleased with me? It is very wrong not to obey one’s parents, and even Papa was pleased, too, for he said that after all I was not such a complete zero as he had thought. And Mama said I should learn to love Lord Rotherham, and he would give me everything I could possibly desire, besides making me a great lady, with all those houses, and my own carriage, and a Marchioness’s robes, if there should happen to be a Coronation; which, of course, there must be, mustn’t there? Because the poor King—”

“But, Emily, all that is nothing!” protested Gerard. “You would not sell yourself for a Marchioness’s coronet!”

“No,” agreed Emily, rather doubtfully. “I did think at first that perhaps—But that was when Lord Rotherham was behaving with propriety.”

Aghast, and quite thunderstruck, Gerard demanded: “Do you mean to tell me that Rotherham—that Rotherham used you improperly? It is worse even than I guessed! Good God, I would never have believed—”

“No, no!” stammered Emily, blushing fierily, and hanging down her head. “It was only that he is a man of strong passions! Mama explained it to me, and she said I must be flattered by—by the violence of his feelings. But—I don’t like to be k-kissed so roughly, and that m-makes him angry, and—Oh, Gerard, I am afraid of him!”

“He is the greatest beast in nature!” Gerard said, his voice shaking with indignation. “You must tell him at once that you cannot marry him!”

Her eyes widened in startled dismay. “C-cry off? I can’t! M-mama would not allow me to!”

“Emily, dearest Emily, she cannot compel you to marry anyone against your will! You have only to be firm!”

Anything less firm than the appearance Emily presented as she listened to these brave words would have been hard to find. Her face was as pale as it had a moment earlier been red, her eyes charged with apprehension, and her whole frame trembling. Nothing that he could urge seemed to convince her that it would be possible to withstand the combined assault of her mother and Lord Rotherham. The very thought of being forced to confront two such formidable persons made her feel faint and sick. Moreover, the alternative to marriage, little though Gerard might think it, was almost worse, since it would carry with it no such alleviations as coronets and consequence. Mama had said that ladies who cried off from engagements were left to wear the willow all their days, and she was quite right, for only think of Lady Serena, so beautiful and clever, and still single! She would have to live at home, with Miss Prawle and the children, and be in disgrace, and see her sisters all married, and going to parties, and—oh no, impossible! Gerard did not understand!

But Gerard assured her that none of these ills would come to pass—or, at any rate, only for a short time. For Gerard had evolved a cunning scheme, and he rather fancied that when he had explained it to her his adored Emily would perceive that nothing could better have served their ends than her engagement to Rotherham and its rupture. “For if you had not become engaged, dear love, your Mama would continue scheming to marry you to some man of rank and fortune, and I daresay she could never have been brought to listen to my suit. But when you have declared off with Rotherham, she will think it useless to persist, and she will very likely bring out Anne next season, and leave you in Gloucestershire.”

“Anne?” exclaimed Anne’s elder sister indignantly. “She will only be sixteen, and I could not endure it!”

“Yes, yes, only listen!” begged Gerard, alight with eagerness. “I come of age in November of 1817—very little more than a year from now! Then Rotherham will be obliged to put me in possession of my fortune—well, it is not precisely a fortune, but it brings me close on three hundred pounds a year, which is an independence, at least. I am not perfectly sure whether Rotherham would be obliged to pay it to me now, if I left Cambridge, because my father left it to me—well, to Cousin Rotherham in trust for me, until I am twenty-one—so that it should provide for my schooling and maintenance. Only Rotherham gives it to me for my allowance, and chose to pay for my education himself. I did not ask him to, and, in fact, I would liefer he did not, because to be under an obligation to him is of all things what I most dislike! I daresay he sent me to Eton just to get me into his power! However, never mind that! The thing is that I fear he can compel me to finish my time at Cambridge—and, you know, I do think perhaps I should, because I mean to embrace a political career, and to get my degree would be helpful, I expect. One of my particular friends is related to Lord Liverpool, and has interest with him, and he is very ready to oblige me. So you see that I have excellent prospects besides my poetry! Rotherham may not think that writing poetry is a gainful occupation, but only consider Lord Byron! Why, he must have made a fortune, Emily, and if he could do so, why should not I?”

Emily, a little dazed by all this eloquence, could think of no reason why he should not, and shook her head wonderingly.

“No! Well, we shall see!” said Gerard. “I do not count upon it, mind, for public taste is so bad—But we needn’t concern ourselves with that at this present! This is what we must do!—You must cry off from this wicked engagement: that’s certain!I will go up to Cambridge for my Third Year, and the instant I come down, which will be next June, I shall seek an introduction to Liverpool—there will be no difficulty about that!—and establish myself in the way to a successful career. Then, in November, when I come of age, and your Mama has despaired of finding what she thinks an eligible husband for you—only, if you should receive an offer, you must be resolute in declining it, you know!—I shall offer for you again, and she will be only too thankful! What do you think of that, dearest?”

She did not tell him. She was a very softhearted girl, besides being almost wholly deficient in moral courage, and she shrank from giving him her opinion of a scheme which in no way recommended itself to her. She perceived that he entertained no doubts that her sentiments towards him were the same as they had been in the spring; and to break it to him that although she still liked him very well she had no desire to marry him seemed to her to be an impossible task. She sought refuge in evasions, talked of filial duty, and said that Lady Serena had told her that she was a goose to be afraid of Lord Rotherham.

“Lady Serena!” he ejaculated. “Pray, why did she jilt him? I should very much like to ask her that home question!”

“Well, she is residing in Laura Place, with Lady Spenborough,” said Emily doubtfully, “but do you think you ought? She might think it an impertinence. Besides, she told me herself that she cried off because she and Lord Rotherham didn’t suit. They quarrelled so frequently that she became quite exhausted, but I can’t think she was afraid of him! She is afraid of nothing!”

“Lady Serena in Bath?” said Gerard, in a tone of considerably less elation. “Lord, I wish she were not!”

“Don’t you like her?” asked Emily, shocked.

“Oh, yes! Well—yes, I like her well enough! I wish she may not tell Rotherham I am here, though! You know, for all she jilted him they are still wondrous great, and there’s no telling what she might take it into her head to do, for I am sure she is very odd and unaccountable. On no account, Emily, must you divulge to her the attachment between us!”

“Oh, no!” she said, glad to be able to accede to one at least of his demands.

“If I should chance to meet her, I shall say that I came to Bath to visit a friend of mine. The only thing is, Cousin Rotherham forbade me to come here, so—”

“He forbade you?” she cried, cast into renewed dismay. “You have not seen him, surely?”

“Certainly I have seen him!” he replied, throwing out his chest a little. “When Lady Laleham refused to disclose your whereabouts—”

She interrupted with a tiny shriek. “You have been to Cherrifield Place? Oh, Gerard, how could you? Whatever shall I do? If Mama knew—”

“Well, it can’t be helped,” he said, rather sulkily. “How else was I to find you? And if I leave Bath immediately—as soon as we are agreed upon what we should both do, I mean—very likely she won’t think anything of my visit. If she does, I think you should tell her that you would not listen to my suit, and that will make all right.”

“Does Lord Rotherham know that you are here?” she asked anxiously.

“Well, I told him that I should come here, but ten to one he didn’t believe I should dare to disobey him. Indeed, I know he did not! He is so set up in conceit of himself—But I fancy I have shown him that he cannot browbeat me! I’m not afraid of him! Though I should wish not to be in Bath, if he should take it into his head to visit you,” said Gerard, with perfect sincerity. “I don’t mean, of course, that I shouldn’t prefer to face him now, man to man, but the thing is that it would very likely ruin all if I did,” he added, lapsing slightly.

Emily, both hands to her cheeks in a distracted gesture, paid very little heed to this. “Oh, heavens, what shall I do? Oh, how could you, Gerard?”

“But I have told you what you must do!” he pointed out. “You have only to be resolute in refusing to continue in the engagement, and, although it may be a trifle unpleasant at first, I daresay, there is nothing either your mama or Rotherham can do to compel you to yield, recollect! Of course, it would not do, if you were to disclose that you are betrothed to me. It is the shabbiest thing that I’m not of age! If I were, and Rotherham had no legal power over me, I need not tell you that I should remain at your side, and see to it you were not scolded or bullied! But it is only for a little time, dearest, and then we shall be married!”

But Emily, deriving no comfort from this prospect, merely begged him to take her back to her grandmother, and declared herself to be incapable of deciding, without reflection, upon any course of action. She was so much agitated that Gerard saw that it would be useless to press her for an immediate promise. He could perceive no flaw in his plan, but he knew that females were easily alarmed by anything unexpected, besides not being possessed of superior intellects capable of grappling in a flash with all the aspects of a problem. So he said soothingly that she must consider all he had said, and tell him the result of her lucubrations on the following day. Where should they meet?

Emily was at first inclined to think that they ought not to meet at all, but since he persisted in his determination, she said at last: “Oh, dear! I’m sure I shan’t—Oh, I don’t know how it may be contrived, unless Grandmama will let me go to Meyler’s Library, while she is in the Pump Room, which I frequently do, because it adjoins it, you know, and—”

“But we can’t talk in a crowded library!” objected Gerard. “I’ll tell you what, Emily! You must pretend that you wish to change your books, but instead slip away to the Abbey! I shall be there, and it is only a very little way!”