Men and Wives (10 page)

Harriet's sureness through her groping thought gave a strong impression of her dark and definite experience. She took a breath, and went on in lucid words.

“And it must happen again. They are young, and are planning their lives for themselves in the way of the young. They need forbearance even from those who have strength for it, and I have no strength. I feel that anything less than perfection would break down my brain. And my poor ones do not reach it—how should they,
being children of mine?—and the round begins. And the night comes again. And, what is the worst, I am estranging my husband, my dear, good husband, who has always been generous and just to me; who does not number his forbearances, who would love me now, if I could support his love, and who does not know that I still love him, though to see and hear him is anguish. May you never know what it is, Antony, to be tortured by those you love, tortured in innocence, for a conscious wrong would be a simple thing. Now I have to say to you that things are too much. For you, I have already said it. I have tried to stand against them, and my strength has failed. It will never return. My impulse to react is dead. I have come to throw myself on your mercy, on the human compassion I have felt you had, through all that has been said against you. I beseech you to grant me from your pity and the power your science gives, what will put in my hands the means of escape. I know I am asking a thing forbidden to one of my beliefs. To me it is forbidden. But my power to help myself is gone, and I believe I shall be judged as helpless.”

Dufferin had heard her in silence, and stood with his eyes on her face.

“What are you asking me?” he said.

“What you know I have asked you. What I shall ask you again and again with my eyes, if I dare not ask it with my lips, until you grant it. I am imploring that of you, Antony.”

Dufferin remained with his brows knit, and Harriet waited willingly, for him to take the necessary counsel with himself. He turned his gaze on her face again, and she lifted her eyes to his, to let him see what was to be seen. By the way his own eyes fell she knew that he had seen it, and again waited.

“Well, and you say you have no self-control,” said Dufferin.

“No, I have none, Antony,” said Harriet, and at the sound in her voice he spoke.

“Look here, I will give you this. You give me no choice. No, that is not true. Every man has a choice. I choose to give you this.”

He unlocked a closet, and gave a bottle containing a tablet, into Harriet's hand. “An hour or two after you have swallowed that, you will sink into a sleep, into the sleep you mean. You have it in your hands. But you will not use it. You are a person of too much quality to leave it to somebody else to feel he helped you to that. But if you should ever take it, and regret it the next moment, as I know you are human enough and woman enough to do, take that moment to send for my help.”

He turned and fastened the door of the closet, and Harriet stood with the bottle in her hand, and a great security in her face. As they went downstairs she turned to him with a natural voice and smile.

“Mrs. Christy has come to shepherd her lamb,” she said.

“Why, Lady Haslam, when I came to recover my truant, I did not expect a definite reward for my duty. It is the drawback of our little town, that while we have plenty of society among ourselves in our Cranford-like way, few towns more, I should think, we do not often see our friends from the wider sphere. We go in for depth rather than breadth of intercourse. Of the two I give the palm to depth, but it is refreshing to feel we are debarred from nothing under the pleasant head of fellowship.”

“Poor Mother! What depths of middle-class yearning you reveal!” said Camilla.

“I have come to take you home, you fly-away girl. Lady Haslam will blame me for all your wildness. I ought always to have kept a firmer hand on you.”

“I am not in the town so very seldom. You must let me come and see you,” said Harriet, who never showed social or moral aloofness. “I am fond of our little town.”

“I am so glad you agree with me in recognising its appeal. So many of my friends accuse me of eccentricity in electing to live in it.”

“They could hardly accuse you of poverty in being forced to,” said her daughter.

“Its old-world charm, its hints of memory and atmosphere, it echoes of the older, graver things of the past! I was under the spell in a moment. I confess it without any beating about the bush.”

“You don't manage that,” said Camilla.

“And these revelations that the restored church has made to our enchanted scrutiny! The shaping of those old lineaments, so quaint and strong, so almost threatening to our modern eyes! It goes to confirm my original view. I almost feel I was a person gifted with vision.”

“I must make a point of seeing them,” said Harriet.

“No, don't make a point of being threatened by those gargoyles, dear Lady Haslam,” said Camilla. “They are so rude and useless. They haven't even threatened Mother out of the town.”

“Don't you like the town, my dear? Do you mean you want a larger town? I love the country myself.”

“Lady Haslam, the country throws so much counterweight into the scales. It offers such an unfailing appeal to our aesthetic side. The sobering tints of the autumn, the high lights of the spring, even the hard austerity of winter with its promise of what is to come! The call of Nature has always struck me as the deepest and truest summons that we have.”

“I hope I shall stay in the country all my life,” said Harriet. “I think I may say that I shall. I feel sometimes that my sons should try their wings further afield.”

“I have such an admiration for your sons, and their disinterested subordination of themselves to their ideals. Matthew sacrificing London success to the austerer claims of essential science, so much more abstract, and fraught with so much less worldly reward! And Jermyn finding the service to his Muse ample exchange for academic laurels! I often think that, if any mother has true pride in her children, you must be that mother, Lady Haslam.”

“You feel the force of contrast,” said Camilla.

“I think an ordinary pride does an ordinary mother as well,” said Harriet, as she took her leave.

“Mother, what a spectacle you make of yourself!” said Camilla. “You remind me of a dog waiting to snap, when you stand there panting to put in your words.”

“Camilla, how can you speak in such a way? Lady Haslam and I would have so much in common, if we could see more of each other. You heard her say she must come and see me. Your talking like that only shows how little observation you have.”

“I observed her. She is a high-minded old tyrant. I quite adore her. But it is no part of my duty to do her bidding.”

Harriet Was In her seat at the table when her family came in to luncheon after church. Her eyes seemed to pierce at once to the truth, that the religious observance was a basis for their meeting with herself. Jermyn began to speak as he entered the room.

“Well, Bellamy was in great form this morning, Mother. He showed himself prodigal of his histrionic powers. It is well enough for Bellamy, who simply concentrates on making the best of himself, but less satisfying for anyone else. We had only to sit and feel nothing in comparison.”

“Ah, my dear boys! You were there all together with your father,” said Godfrey, walking in a subdued manner to his seat.

“Was it a good sermon?” said Harriet in a colourless tone.

“The best we have had for a long time. We had a word with Bellamy afterwards. He is coming in to tea,” said Gregory.

“Yes, he said he would come in,” said Griselda, striking her knee with her hand.

“It is a trying time for him just now,” said Harriet.

“Yes, yes, it is, Harriet,” said Godfrey, with a tentative eye and eager corroboration. “It is a thing that might be too hard for any man, before which the stoutest heart might flinch.” He paused as though uncertain of his ground.

“I saw Camilla this morning,” said Harriet, her manner forbidding comment. “I drove into the town to call on Antony; I wanted a word with him about my sleeplessness; and she had come in to see him. It is plain how hopeless she and Mr. Bellamy must have been as husband and wife.”

“I don't know that she and the doctor will be any better,” said Godfrey. “I am sorry she is dragging the doctor in her wake, that he is down again. Ah, Harriet, you were right to show a neutral feeling there. You are above looking down on your fellows. People will take their cue from you. You have done good to a friend.”

“Antony has done all he can for me,” said Harriet.

“Camilla could never have satified Bellamy,” said Matthew. “For one thing her eyes would not always have been turned on him.”

“And why have opportunities if you waste them?” said Jermyn.

“It does seem an odd profession for a man,” said Godfrey, his tone encouraged by his knowledge of his wife's dislike of ritual rather than by his own training on this line, “to be twisting and turning and dressing himself up. I don't know why we can listen to him better for that.”

“We can look at him better,” said Gregory. “It is helpful to see him in different aspects. What other profession could he have, that would show him to such advantage? On the stage he would have to be disguised, and that would be unbearable.”

“He makes me envious,” said Jermyn, “and takes off my thoughts, so that I hardly remember where I am.”

“Oh, you think Bellamy a very handsome man?” said his father after a pause. “You think he is what a man should be? He is your type? Well, you know, I think I prefer something a little more solid, myself, something a little less effective and highly toned. A thought more weight and simplicity. Oh so you are all laughing, are you? You think I am talking about myself. Well, I am not; I am doing nothing of the kind.” Godfrey drew his napkin over an unsteady mouth. “What are we coming to, if we can't say a word about a man's type, without being taken to be referring to our own? You were talking about yourself then, Jermyn, when you said that Bellamy made
you envious. Well, he doesn't make me envious; that is one thing.”

“Of course I was talking about myself,” said Jermyn. “I hoped I had a better brain, and could make a concession in the matter of appearance.”

“Oh, that is what you thought!” said his father. “Well, I am sure there is nothing I need mind. Oh, why Harriet, it is worth while making a butt of myself to see you laugh, my dear.”

“It is always worth while to display ourselves at our highest and best,” said Gregory.

“You are showing off, Father,” said Matthew. “You and Bellamy are a pair.”

“Oh, well, I wasn't presuming to identify myself with him, such a fine fellow as you think him!” said Godfrey.

“Mother, you had better go and rest,” said Griselda. “You might get to sleep for an hour before Ernest comes.”

“Yes, darling, you shall do what you like with me. I will come and do as I am told. I feel I might sleep myself.”

“Well, I am thankful that that luncheon is over,” said Godfrey, putting his hands behind his head, and surveying his sons in recognition of an occasion for letting forth his thoughts on equal terms. “Upon my word I was in a panic all through church. I didn't hear a word of the sermon, not a syllable. I kept on being afraid I should be asked about it at luncheon; ha, ha, I did. Through all Bellamy's antics I was going over the scene, and totting up the reckoning, until I was fit to swoon. Ah, I am not so unlike your mother as she thinks. I understand what a storm of nerves is as well as anyone. It doesn't make it any better that it has to be bottled up. I was in a cold sweat when I came into this room, and faced your mother at this table. If ever a man walked up to the cannon's mouth, I did then. And all of you at my side, my poor boys, not guessing what was ahead! And my poor girl upstairs now, doing what she can! Ah, well, I daresay it has been for the best. It may have done its work, what we
have faced. For it was not your mother who faced the most. I declare I had been accusing myself of arrant cowardice, and of behaving to a woman as no man should, and no gentleman could, and that woman my wife; and of encouraging you to do the same! It has been something to go through. Well, I think I will lose myself here, without troubling to get into the library; the library is right across the hall. You can tell me when the rector is due to arrive; Ernest, I suppose we shall have to call him, as Grisel seems to be tending in his direction. Yes, I will let myself go off as I am; I don't care what Buttermere thinks.”

Godfrey put the paper over his face, and Buttermere, entering, gave a start, and tiptoed round the table with elaborate quiet.

“If Father did care what Buttermere thinks, he would go through a good deal,” said Jermyn, as they went to the library.

“And he speaks of himself as already refined by suffering,” said Gregory.

“I wish I could get not to care. I am terribly ashamed of Father before Buttermere,” said Jermyn.

“Well, shall we lose ourselves or not?” said Gregory.

“Let us rather find ourselves,” said Matthew. “We don't often get the chance of both our parents' absence.”

“Matthew, you should say behind people's backs what you would say to their faces,” said Gregory.

“Father sets us the example,” said Matthew.

“In a fundamental way he does,” said Gregory. “Well, Grisel, is all well upstairs?”

“So well that it makes me nervous about the reaction.”

“Are we all to begin to be nervous again?” said Matthew.

“It is best not to break the habit,” said Griselda. “It should become second nature.”

“Do we ever break it?” said Matthew.

“Well, that comes well from you,” said Jermyn. “You broke it at breakfast this morning:, we had cause to observe.”