1886-06 — A Drama in Muslin — Book 3 Chapter 7

London: Vizetelly & Co., 1 June 1886, pages 307-311, 1,965 words

CHAPTER VII.

A week later Mrs. Barton sat waiting in her drawing-room to receive Milord. A bit of news had reached her and she was anxious to verify it. From time to time she raised her soft brown eyes to look at the clock. It was after one: consequently he would arrive in a few minutes. And as if in anticipation of his smiles the heart-shaped face was slanted in the Lady Hamilton pose; the feet were tucked neatly away beneath the black silk dress, the hands lay thereon like little white china ornaments. There was about Mrs. Barton always an air of quiet refinement; and Mrs. Barton looked more Mrs. Barton now than ever. The sweet cunning of the face was apparent in the grey Irish air that illumined the room, bringing out in aggressive distinctness the plaintive pastels, the gim crack cabinets hung in the corners and between the windows, and over-laden with Dresden figures, French fans, ivories, and silver card-cases. Olive, looking as fragile as any toy, lay on the sofa, and the decanter of sherry on his little table was ready waiting for Milord. Suddenly the noise of wheels was heard, and a moment after the old lord entered. He was as hale and as hearty as ever; but the times had been passing him rapidly by of late, and the excessive courtliness, the expansive shirt front, the elaborate necktie with the ends hanging about, the elaborate stud were now more suggestive of high-class comedy than of real life.

"Ah, ce cher Milord, comme il est beau, comme il est parfait!" exclaimed Mrs. Barton as she led him to his chair and poured out his glass of sherry.

But there was a gloom on his face which laughter and compliments failed for a moment to dissipate — at last he said:

"Ah, Mrs. Barton, Mrs. Barton! if I had not this little retreat to take refuge in, to hide myself in, during some hours of the day, I should not be able to bear up — Brookfield has prolonged my life for...”

"I cannot allow such sad thoughts as these," said Mrs. Barton laughing, and waving her white hands. "Who has been teasing notre cher Milord? What have dreadful Lady Jane and terrible Lady Sarah been doing to him?”

"I shall never forget this morning, no, not if I lived to a thousand," the old gentleman murmured, plaintively. "Oh, the scenes, the scenes I have gone through! Cecilia, as I told you yesterday, has been filling the house with rosaries and holywater-fonts; Jane and Sarah have been breaking these, and the result has been tears and upbraidings.... Last night at dinner I don’t really know what they didn’t say to each other; and then the two elder ones fell upon me and declared that it was all my fault, that I ought never to have sent my daughter to a Catholic convent. I was obliged to shut myself up in the study and lock the door. Then this morning when I thought it was all over it began again worse than ever; and then in the middle of it all when Jane asked Cecilia how many Gods there were in the roll of bread she was eating if the priest were to bless it... a most injudicious observation, I said so at the time, and I must apologise to you, my dear Mrs. Barton for repeating it, but I am really so upset that I scarcely know what I am saying… well, Jane had no sooner spoken than Cecilia overthrew the teacups and said she was not going to stay in the house to hear her religion insulted, and without another word she walked down to the parish priest and was baptised a Catholic; nor is that all, she returned with a scapular round her neck, a rosary about her waist, and a Pope’s medal in her hand. I really thought Jane and Sarah would have fainted; indeed I am sure they would have fainted if Cecilia hadn’t declared that she was going to pack up her things and return at once to St. Leonard’s and become a nun. Such an announcement as this was of course far beyond fainting and... but no, I will not attempt to describe it, but I can assure you I was very anxious to get out of the house.”

"Cecilia going to be a nun; oh, I am so glad!" exclaimed Olive. "It is far the best thing she could do, for she couldn’t hope to be married.”

"Olive, Olive!" said Mrs. Barton, "you should not speak so openly. We should always consider the religious prejudices of others. Of course, as Catholics we must be glad to hear of anyone joining the true Church, but we should remember that Milord is going to lose his daughter.”

“I assure you my dear Mrs. Barton, I have no prejudices. I look upon all religions as equally good, but to be forced to live in a perpetual discussion in which teacups are broken, concerning scapulars, bacon and meal shops, and a school which, putting aside the question of expense, makes me hated in the neighbourhood, I regard as intolerable, and when I go home this evening I shall tell Jane that the school must be put down or carried on in a less aggressive way. I assure you I have no wish to convert the people; they are paying them rents very well now, and I think it absurd to upset them; and the fact of having received Cecilia into the Church might incline the priest very much towards us.”

"And Cecilia will be so happy in that beautiful convent!” suggested Mrs. Barton.

"C'est le génie du Catholicisme de nous débarrasser des filles laides."

And upon this expression of goodwill towards the Church of Rome, Cecilia’s future life was discussed with much amiability. Mrs. Barton said she would make a sweet little nun; Olive declared that she would certainly go to Saint Leonard’s to see her "professed," and Milord’s description of Lady Sarah’s and Lady Jane’s ill-humour was considered irresistibly comic, and he was forced to tell the story of his woes again and again.

Soon after, the servant announced Dr. Reed, and Alice came downstairs.

Mrs. Barton was annoyed at the Doctor’s visit, and she showed her annoyance by maintaining a discourteous silence.

"What can he want here every day?" she thought; "this is the third time this week he has called, and Olive is as well as ever she was. He feels her pulse and looks at her tongue and says it is a very satisfactory recovery. We all know that! I wish he’d go, and let me hear something more about Cecilia’s conversion.”

Dr. Reed’s society manners were none of the best, and now, facing Milord’s urbanity and Mrs. Barton’s indifference, he sat on the edge of his chair, a picture of drawing-room misery. Alice, who knew he had come to see her, strove to make matters easy, and she industriously alluded to all possible topics of conversation. But without much effect; the Doctor evidently had something on his mind, and after an answer had been given the conversation came to an abrupt close. Then she guessed that he wanted to speak to her alone; and in reply to a remark he had made concerning the feverdens in Gort she said:

“I wanted to ask you a question or two about typhoid-fever, Dr. Reed; one of my heroines is going to die of it, and I should like to avoid medical impossibilities. May I show you the passage?”

"Certainly, Miss Barton; I shall be delighted to give you any assistance in my power.”

When Alice left the room to fetch her manuscript, the Doctor hurriedly bid his patient, Milord and Mrs. Barton goodbye. The latter said: —

"Won’t you wait to see Alice?”

"I have to speak to the boy in charge of my car; I shall see Miss Barton as she comes downstairs.”

Mrs. Barton looked as if she thought this arrangement not a little singular, but she said nothing, and when Alice came running downstairs with a roll of MSS. in her hand, she attempted to explain her difficulty to the Doctor. He made a feeble attempt to listen to the passage she read aloud to him; and when their eyes met across the paper she saw he was going to propose to her.

"Will you walk down the avenue with me? and we will talk of that as we go along.”

Her hat was on the hall table, she took it up and in silence walked with him out on the gravel.

"Will I put the harse up, sor?" cried the boy from the outside car.

"No, follow me down the avenue.”

It was a wild autumn evening, full of wind and leaves. The great green pasture lands, soaked and soddened with rain, rolled their monotonous green turf to the verge of the blown beech-trees, about which the rooks drifted in picturesque confusion. Now they soared like hawks, or on straightened wings were carried down a furious gust across the tumultuous waves of upheaved yellow, and past the rift of cold crimson that is tossed like a banner through the shadows of evening.

The lovers walked onwards in silence; and, as the landscape darkened, their lives seemed to grow brighter in the auroral light of a new day: and the echoes of the old world sounded dim as the shuffling of the horse that tramped leisurely behind them. At last he said:

"I came here to tell you that I am going away; that I am leaving Ireland for ever. I have been able to make very satisfactory arrangements with my publisher; my book has turned out very successful indeed, and the result is that I have bought the practice I spoke to you of in Notting Hill.”

"Oh, I am so glad.”

“Thank you! but there is another and more important matter on which I should like to speak to you. For a long time back I had resolved to leave Ireland a sad or an entirely happy man. Which shall it be! You are the only woman I ever loved — will you be my wife?”

"Yes, I will.”

Dr. Reed’s face flushed with pleasure, and his eyes gleamed with delight. "Is this possible? How happy you have made me. Heaven seems to await me. But," he added sighing, "I shall not be able to give you a home like the one you are leaving; we shall have to be very economical; we shall not have more than three hundred a year to live upon. You will never be able to be satisfied with that.”

"I hope, indeed — I am sure we shall get on very well; you forget that I can do something myself," she added smiling. "I have two or three orders; I do not think I am exaggerating when I say I shall be able to make two hundred a year, and that at the very least.”

"Then we shall bear life’s burden equally?”

"No, not quite equally, but as nearly as Nature will allow us.”

Then Alice passed her arm through Dr. Reed’s; and as he unfolded his plans to her, he held her hand warmly and affectionately in his: and as the twilight drifted it was wrapped like a veil about them. The rooks in great flitting flocks passed over their heads, the tempestuous crimson of the sky had been hurled further away and only the form of the grey horse, that the boy had allowed to graze, stood out distinctly in the beautiful gloom that descended upon the earth.