Book: Marriage

S >> Susan Edmonstone Ferrier >> Marriage




Poor Mary's tears congealed in her eyes at this tender salutation, and
she raised her head, as if to as certain whether it really proceeded
from her mother; but instead of the angelic vision she had pictured to
herself, she beheld a face which, though once handsome, now conveyed no
pleasurable feeling to the heart.

Late hours, bad temper, and rouge had done much to impair Lady Juliana's
beauty. There still remained enough to dazzle a superficial observer; but
not to satisfy the eye used to the expression of all the best affections
of the soul. Mary almost shrank from the peevish inanity portrayed on
her mother's visage, as a glance of the mind contrasted it with the mild
eloquence of Mrs. Douglas's countenance; and, abashed and disappointed,
she remained mournfully silent.

"Where is Dr. Redgill?" demanded Lady Juliana of the company in general.

"He has got scent of a turtle at Admiral Yellowchops," answered Mr. P.

"How vastly provoking," rejoined her Ladyship, "that he should be out of
the way the only time I have wished to see him since he came to the
house!"

"Who is this favoured individual whose absence you are so pathetically
lamenting, Julia?" asked Lord Courtland, as he indolently sauntered into
the room.

"That disagreeable Dr. Redgill. He has gone somewhere to eat turtle at
the very time I wished to consult him about--"

"The propriety of introducing a new niece to your Lordship," said Lady
Emily, as, with affected solemnity, she introduced Mary to her uncle.
Lady Juliana frowned--the Earl smiled--saluted his niece--hoped she had
recovered the fatigue of the journey--remarked it was very cold; and
then turned to a parrot, humming "Pretty Poll, say," etc.

Such was Mary's first introduction to her family; and those only who have
felt what it was to have the genial current of their souls chilled by
neglect or changed by unkindness can sympathise in the feelings of
wounded affection--when the overflowings of a generous heart are
confined within the narrow limits of its own bosom, and the offerings of
love are rudely rejected by the hand most dear to us.

Mary was too much intimidated by her mother's manner towards her to
give way, in her presence, to the emotions that agitated her; but she
followed her sister's steps as she quitted the room, and, throwing her
arms around her, sobbed in a voice almost choked with the excess of her
feelings, "My sister, love me!-oh! love me!" But Adelaide's heart,
seared by selfishness and vanity, was incapable of loving anything in
which self had no share; and for the first time in her life she felt
awkward and embarrassed. Her sister's streaming eyes and supplicating
voice spoke a language to which she was a stranger; for art is ever
averse to recognise the accents of nature. Still less is it capable of
replying to them; and Adelaide could only wonder at her sister's
agitation, and think how unpleasant it was; and say something about
overcome, and _eau-de-luce,_ and composure; which was all lost upon Mary
as she hung upon her neck, every feeling wrought to its highest tone by
the complicated nature of those emotions which swelled her heart. At
length, making an effort to regain her composure, "Forgive me, my
sister!" said she. "This is very foolish--to weep when I ought to
rejoice--and I do rejoice--and I know I shall be so happy yet!" but in
spite of the faint smile that accompanied her words, tears again burst
from her eyes.

"I am sure I shall have infinite pleasure in your society," replied
Adelaide, with her usual sweetness; and placidity, as she replaced a
ringlet in its proper position; "but I have unluckily an engagement at
this time. You will, however, be at no loss for amusement; you will find
musical instruments there," pointing to an adjacent apartment; "and here
are new publications, and _portefeuilles_ of drawings you will
perhaps like to look over;" and so saying she disappeared.

"Musical instruments and new publications!" repeated Mary mechanically
to herself. "What have I to do with them? Oh for one kind word from my
mother's lips!--one kind glance from my sister's eye!"

And she remained overwhelmed with the weight of those emotions, which,
instead of pouring into the hearts of others, she was compelled to
concentrate in her own. Her mournful reveries were interrupted by her
kind friend Lady Emily; but Mary deemed her sorrow too sacred to be
betrayed even to her, and therefore rallying her spirits, she strove
to enter into those schemes of amusement suggested by her cousin for
passing the day. But she found herself unable for such continued
exertion; and, hearing a large party was expected to dinner, she
retired, in spite of Lady Emily's remonstrance, to her own apartment,
where she sought a refuge from her thoughts in writing to her friends
at Glenfern.

Lady Juliana looked in upon her as she passed to dinner. She was in a
better humour, for she had received a new dress which was particularly
becoming, as both her maid and her glass had attested.

Again Mary's heart bounded towards the being to whom she owed her birth;
yet afraid to give utterance to her feelings, she could only regard her
with silent admiration, till a moment's consideration converted that
into a less pleasing feeling, as she observed for the first time that
her mother wore no mourning.

Lady Juliana saw her astonishment, and, little guessing the cause, was
flattered by it. "Your style of dress is very obsolete, my dear," said
she, as she contrasted the effect of her own figure and her daughter's
in a large mirror; "and there's no occasion for you to wear black here.
I shall desire my woman to order some things for you; though perhaps
there won't be much occasion, as your stay here is to be short; and of
course you won't think of going out at all. _Apropos,_ you will find it
dull here by yourself, won't you? I shall leave you my darling Blanche
for companion," kissing a little French lap-dog as she laid it in Mary's
lap; "only you must be very careful of her, and coax her, and be very,
very good to her; for I would not have my sweetest Blanche vexed, not
for the world!" And, with another long and tender salute to her dog, and
a "Good-bye, my dear!" to her daughter, she quitted her to display her
charms to a brilliant drawing-room, leaving Mary to solace herself in
her solitary chamber with the whines of a discontented lap-dog.




CHAPTER II.

"C'est un personnage illustre dans son genre, et qui a porte le
talent de se bien nourrir jusques ou il pouvoit aller; . . . il ne
semble ne que pour la digestion."--LA BRUYERE.

IN every season of life grief brings its own peculiar antidote along
with it. The buoyancy of youth soon repels its deadening weight, the
firmness of manhood resists its weakening influence, the torpor of old
age is insensible to its most acute pangs.

In spite of the disappointment she had experienced the preceding day,
Mary arose the following morning with fresh hopes of happiness springing
in her heart.

"What a fool I was," thought she, "to view so seriously what, after all,
must be merely difference of manner; and how illiberal to expect every
one's manners should accord exactly with my ideas; but now that I have
got over the first impression, I daresay I shall find everybody quite
amiable and delightful!"

And Mary quickly reasoned herself into the belief that she only could
have been to blame. With renovated spirits she therefore joined her
cousin, and accompanied her to the breakfasting saloon. The visitors had
all departed, but Dr. Redgill had returned and seemed to be at the
winding up of a solitary but voluminous meal. He was a very tall
corpulent man, with a projecting front, large purple nose, and a
profusion of chin.

"Good morning, ladies," mumbled he with a full mouth, as he made a feint
of half-rising from his chair. "Lady Emily, your servant--Miss Douglas,
I presume--hem! allow me to pull the bell for your Ladyship," as he sat
without stirring hand or foot; then, after it was done--"'Pon my
honour, Lady Emily, this is not using me well Why did you not desire me?
And you are so nimble, I defy any man to get the start of you."

"I know you have been upon hard service, Doctor, and therefore I
humanely wished to spare you any additional fatigue," replied Lady
Emily.

"Fatigue, phoo! I'm sure I mind fatigue as little as any man; besides
it's really nothing to speak of. I have merely rode from my friend
Admiral Yellowchops' this morning."

"I hope you passed a pleasant day there yesterday?"

"So, so--very so, so," returned the Doctor drily.

"Only so, so, and a turtle in the case!" exclaimed Lady Emily.

"Phoo!--as to that, the turtle was neither here nor there. I value
turtle as little as any man. You may be sure it wasn't for that I went
to see my old friend Yellowchops. It happened, indeed, that there _was_
a turtle, and a very well dressed one too; but where five and thirty
people (one half of them ladies, who, of course, are always helped
first) sit down to dinner, there's an end of all rational happiness in
my opinion."

"But at a turtle feast you have surely something much better. You know
you may have rational happiness any day over a beef-steak."

"I beg your pardon--that's not such an easy matter. I can assure you it
is a work of no small skill to dress a beef-steak handsomely; and,
moreover, to eat it in perfection a man must eat it by himself. If once
you come to exchange words over it, it is useless. I once saw the finest
steak I ever clapped my eyes upon completely ruined by one silly
scoundrel asking another if he liked fat. If he liked fat!--what a
question for one rational being to ask another! The fact is, a
beef-steak is like a woman's reputation, if once it is breathed upon
it's good for nothing!"

"One of the stories with which my nurse used to amuse my childhood,"
said Mary, "was that of having seen an itinerant conjuror dress a
beef-steak on his tongue."

The Doctor suspended the morsel he was carrying to his mouth, and for
the first time regarded Mary with looks of unfeigned admiration.

"'Pon my honour, and that was as clever a trick as ever I heard of! You
are a wonderful people, you Scotch--a very wonderful people--but, pray,
was she at any pains to examine the fellow's tongue?"

"I imagine not," said Mary; "I suppose the love of science was not
strong enough to make her run the risk of burning her fingers."

"It's a thousand pities," said the Doctor, as he dropped his chin with
an air of disappointment. "I am surprised none of your Scotch _scavans_
got hold of the fellow and squeezed the secret out of him. It might have
proved an important discovery--a very important discovery; and your
Scotch are not apt to let anything escape them--a very searching,
shrewd people as ever I knew--and that's the only way to arrive at
knowledge. A man must be of a stirring mind if he expects to do good."

"A poor woman below wishes to se you, sir," said a servant.

"These poor women are perfect pests to society," said the Doctor, as his
nose assumed a still darker hue; "there is no resting upon one's seat
for them--always something the matter! The burn, and bruise, and hack
themselves and their brats, one would really think, on purpose to give
trouble."

"I have not the least doubt of it," said Lady Emily; "they must find
your sympathy so soothing."

"As to that, Lady Emily, if you know as much about poor women as I do,
you wouldn't think so much of them as you do. Take my word for it--they
are one and all of them a very greedy, ungrateful set, and require to be
kept at a distance."

"And also to be kept waiting. As poor people's time is their only
wealth, I observe you generally make them pay a pretty large fee in that
way."

"That is really not what I would have expected from you, Lady Emily. I
must take the liberty to say your Ladyship does me the greatest
injustice. You must be sensible how ready I am to fly," rising as if he
had been glued to his chair, "when there is any real danger. I'm sure it
was only last week I got up as soon as I had swallowed my dinner to see
a man who had fallen down in a fit; and now I am going to this woman,
who, I daresay, has nothing the matter with her, before my breakfast is
well down my throat."

"Who is that gentleman?" asked Mary, as the Doctor at length, with much
reluctance, shuffled out of the room.

"He is a sort of medical aid-de-camp of papa's," answered Lady Emily;
"who, for the sake of good living, has got himself completely
domesticated here. He is vulgar, selfish, and _gourmand_, as you must
already have discovered; but these are accounted his greatest
perfections, as papa, like all indolent people, must be diverted--and
_that_ he never is by genteel, sensible people. He requires something
more _piquant,_and nothing fatigues him so much as the conversation of a
commonplace, sensible man--one who has the skill to keep his foibles out
of sight. Now what delights him in Dr. Redgill, there is no
_retenu_--any child who runs may read his character at a glance."

"It certainly does not require much penetration," said Mary, "to
discover the Doctor's master-passion; love of ease and self-indulgence
seem to be the pre-dominant features of his mind; and he looks as if,
when he sat in an arm-chair, with his toes on the fender and his hands
crossed, he would not have an idea beyond 'I wonder what we shall have
for dinner to-day.'"

"I'm glad to hear you say so, Miss Douglas," said the Doctor, catching
the last words as he entered the room, and taking them to be the
spontaneous effusions of the speaker's own heart; "I rejoice to hear you
say so. Suppose we send for the bill of fare,"--pulling the bell; and
then to the servant, who answered the summons, "Desire Grillade to send
up his bill--Miss Douglas wishes to see it."

"Young ladies are much more house wifely in Scotland than they are in
this country," continued the Doctor, seating himself as close as
possible to Mary,--"at least they were when I knew Scotland; but that's
not yesterday, and it's much changed since then, I daresay. I studied
physic in Edinburgh, and went upon a _tower _through the Highlands. 'I
was very much pleased with what I saw, I assure you. Fine country in
some respects--nature has been very liberal."

Mary's heart leapt within her at hearing her dear native land praised
even by Dr. Redgill, and her conscience smote her for the harsh and
hasty censure she had passed upon him. "One who can admire the scenery
of the Highlands," thought she, "must have a mind. It has always been
observed that only persons of taste were capable of appreciating the
peculiar charms of mountain scenery. A London citizen, or a Lincolnshire
grazier, sees nothing but deformity in the sublime works of nature,"
_ergo,_ reasoned Mary, "Dr. Redgill must be of a more elevated way of
thinking than I had supposed." The entrance of Lady Juliana prevented
her expressing the feelings that were upon her lips; but she thought
what pleasure she would have in resuming the delightful theme at another
opportunity.

After slightly noticing her daughter, and carefully adjusting her
favourites, Lady Juliana began:--

"I am anxious to consult you, Dr. Redgill, upon the state of this young
person's health.--You have been excessively ill, my dear, have you not?
(My sweetest Blanche, do be quiet!) You had a cough, I think, and
everything that was bad.--And as her friends in Scotland have sent her
to me for a short time, entirely on account of her health (My charming,
Frisk, your spirits are really too much!), I think it quite proper that
she should be confined to her own apartment during the winter, that she
may get quite well and strong against spring. As to visiting or going
into company, that of course must be quite out of the question. You can
tell Dr. Redgill, my dear, all about your complaints yourself."

Mary tried to articulate, but her feelings rose almost to suffocation,
and the words died upon her lips.

"Your Ladyship confounds me," said the Doctor, pulling out his
spectacles, which, after duly wiping, he adjusted on his nose, and
turned their beams full on Mary's face--"I really never should have
guessed there was anything the matter with the young lady. She does look
a _leettle_ delicate, to be sure-changing colour, too--but hand
cool--eye clear--pulse steady, a _leettle_ impetuous, but that's
nothing, and the appetite good. I own I was surprised to see you cut so
good a figure after the delicious meals you have been accustomed to in
the North: you must find it miserable picking here. An English
breakfast," glancing with contempt at the eggs, muffins, toast,
preserves, etc. etc., he had collected round him, "is really a most
insipid meal. If I did not make a rule of rising early and taking
regular exercise, I doubt very much if I should be able to swallow a
mouthful-there's nothing to whet the appetite here; and it's the same
everywhere; as Yellowchops says, our breakfasts are a disgrace to
England. One would think the whole nation was upon a regimen of tea and
toast--from the Land's End to Berwick-upon-Tweed, nothing but tea and
toast. Your Ladyship must really acknowledge the prodigious advantage
the Scotch possess over us in that respect."

"I thought the breakfasts, like everything else in Scotland, extremely
disgusting," replied her Ladyship, with indignation.

"Ha! well, that really amazes me. The people I give up--they are dirty
and greedy--the country, too, is a perfect mass of rubbish, and the
dinners not fit for dogs--the cookery, I mean; as to the materials, they
are admirable. But the breakfasts! That's what redeems the land; and
every country has its own peculiar excellence. In Argyleshire you have
the Lochfine herring, fat, luscious, and delicious, just out of the
water, falling to pieces with its own richness--melting away like butter
in your mouth. In Aberdeenshire you have the Finnan haddo' with a
flavour all its own, vastly relishing--just salt enough to be _piquant,_
without parching you up with thirst. In Perthshire there is the Tay
salmon, kippered, crisp, and juicy--a very magnificent morsel--a
_leettle_ heavy, but that's easily counteracted by a teaspoonful of the
Athole whisky. In other places you have the exquisite mutton of the
country made into hams of a most delicate flavour; flour scones, soft
and white; oatcake, thin and crisp; marmalade and jams of every
description; and--but I beg pardon--your Ladyship was upon the subject
of this young lady's health. 'Pon my honour! I can see little the
matter. We were just going to look over the bill together when your
Ladyship entered. I see it begins with that eternal _soupe_
_sante,_ and that paltry _potage-an-riz._ This is the second day
within a week Monsieur Grillade has thought fit to treat us with them;
and it's a fortnight yesterday since I have seen either oyster or
turtle soup upon the table. 'Pon my honour! such inattention is infamous.
I know Lord Courtland detests _soupe_ _sante, _or, what's the
same thing, he's quite indifferent to it; for I take indifference and
dislike to be much the same. A man's indifference to his dinner-is a
serious thing, and so I shall let Monsieur Grillade know." And the
Doctor's chin rose and fell like the waves of the sea.

"What is the name of the physician at Bristol who is so celebrated for
consumptive complaints?" asked Lady Juliana of Adelaide. "I shall send for
him; he is the only person I have any reliance upon. I know he always
recommends confinement for consumption."

Tears dropped from Mary's eyes. Lady Juliana regarded her with surprise
and severity.

"How very tiresome! I really can't stand these perpetual
_scenes._ Adelaide, my love, pull the bell for my _eau-de-luce._
Dr. Redgill, place the screen there. This room is insufferably hot. My
dogs will literally be roasted alive;" and her Ladyship fretted about in
all the perturbation of ill-humour.

"'Pon my honour! I don't think the room hot," said the Doctor, who, from
a certain want of tact and capacity of intellect, never comprehended the
feelings of others. "I declare I have felt it much hotter when your
Ladyship has complained of the cold; but there's no accounting for
people's feelings. If you would move your seat a _leettle_ this way, I
think you would be cooler; and as to your daughter--"

"I have repeatedly desired, Dr. Redgill, that you will not use these
familiar appellations when you address me or any of my family,"
interrupted Lady Juliana with haughty indignation.

"I beg pardon," said the Doctor, nowise discomposed at this rebuff.
"Well, with regard to Miss--Miss--this young lady, I assure your
Ladyship, you need be under no apprehensions on her account. She's a
_leettle_ nervous, that's all--take her about by all means--all young
ladies love to go about and see sights. Show her the pump-room, and the
ball-room, and the shops, and the rope-dancers, and the wild beasts, and
there's no fear of her. I never recommend confinement to man, woman, or
child. It destroys the appetite--and our appetite is the best part of
us. What would we be without appetites? Miserable beings! worse than the
beasts of the field!" And away shuffled the Doctor to admonish Monsieur
Grillade on the iniquity of neglecting this the noblest attribute of
man.

"It appears to me excessively extraordinary," said Lady Juliana,
addressing Mary, "that Mrs. Douglas should have alarmed me so much about
your health, when it seems there's nothing the matter with you. She
certainly showed very little regard for my feelings. I can't understand
it; and I must say, if you are not ill, I have been most excessively
ill-used by your Scotch friends." And, with an air of great indignation,
her Ladyship swept out of the room, regardless of the state into which
she had thrown her daughter.

Poor Mary's feelings were now at their climax, and she gave way to all
the repressed agony that swelled her heart. Lady Emily, who had been
amusing herself at the other end of the saloon, and had heard nothing of
what had passed, flew towards her at sight, of her suffering, and
eagerly demanded of Adelaide the cause.

"I really don't know," answered Adelaide, lifting her beautiful eyes
from her book with the greatest composure; "Lady Juliana is always cross
of a morning."

"Oh no!" exclaimed Mary, trying to regain her composure, "the fault is
mine. I--I have offended my mother, I know not how. Tell me, oh tell me,
how I can obtain her forgiveness!"

"Obtain her forgiveness!" repeated Lady Emily indignantly, "for what?"

"Alas! I know not; but in some way I have displeased my mother; her
looks--her words--her manner--all tell me how dissatisfied she is with
me; while to my sister, and even to her very dogs-----Here Mary's
agitation choked her utterance.

"If you expect to be treated like a dog, you will certainly be
disappointed," said Lady Emily. "I wonder Mrs. Douglas did not warn you
of what you had to expect. She must have known something of Lady
Juliana's ways; and it would have been as well had you been better
prepared to encounter them."

Mary looked hurt, and making an effort to conquer her emotion, she said,
"Mrs. Douglas never spoke, of my mother with disrespect; but she did
warn me against expecting too much from her affection. She said I had
been too long estranged from her to have retained my place in her heart;
but still--"

"You could not foresee the reception you have me with? Nor I neither.
Did you, Adelaide?'

"Lady Juliana is sometimes so odd,"
answered her daughter in her sweetest tone, "that I really am seldom
surprised at anything she does; but all this _fracas _appears to me
perfectly absurd, as nobody minds anything she says."

"Impossible!" exclaimed Mary; "my duty must ever be to reverence my
mother. My study should be to please her, if I only knew how; and oh!
would she but suffer me to love her!"

Adelaide regarded her sister for a moment with a look of surprise; then
rose and left the room, humming an Italian air.

Lady Emily remained with her cousin, but she was a bad comforter. Her
indignation against the oppressor was always much stronger than her
sympathy with the oppressed; and she would have been more in her element
scolding the mother than soothing the daughter.

But Mary had not been taught to trust to mortals weak as herself for
support in the hour of trial. She knew her aid must come from a higher
source; and in solitude she sought for consolation.

"This must be all for my good," sighed she, "else it would not be. I had
drawn too bright a picture of happiness; already it is blotted out with
my tears. I must set about replacing it with one of soberer colours."

Alas! Mary knew not how many a fair picture of human felicity had shared
the same fate as hers!




CHAPTER III.

"They were in sooth a most enchanting train;
. . skilful to unite
With evil good, and strew with pleasure pain."

_Castle of Indolence._

IN writing to her maternal friend Mary did not follow the mode usually
adopted by young ladies of the heroic cast, viz. that of giving a minute
and circumstantial detail of their own complete wretchedness, and
abusing, in terms highly sentimental, every member of the family with
whom they are associated. Mary knew that to breathe a hint of her own
unhappiness would be to embitter the peace of those she loved; and she
therefore strove to conceal from their observation the disappointment
she had experienced. Many a sigh was heaved, however, and many a tear
was wiped away ere a letter could be composed that would carry pleasure
to the dear group at Glenfern. She could say nothing of her mother's
tenderness or her sister's affection, but she dwelt upon the elegance of
the one and the beauty of the other. She could not boast of the warmth
of her uncle's reception, but she praised his good-humour, and enlarged
upon Lady Emily's kindness and attention. Even Dr. Redgill's admiration
of Scotch breakfasts was given as a _bonne bouche_ for her good old
aunts.

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