The French Lieutenant's Woman (40 page)

Mr. Freeman cleared his
throat and stared at the red and gilt morocco of his desk; he seemed
about to pronounce, but changed his mind.

"This is most
surprising. Most surprising."

More silence followed,
in which Charles felt half irritated and half amused. He saw he was
in for a dose of the solemn papa. But since he had invited it, he
could only suffer in the silence that followed, and swallowed, that
unsatisfactory response. Mr. Freeman's private reaction had in fact
been more that of a businessman than of a gentleman, for the thought
which had flashed immediately through his mind was that Charles had
come to ask for an increase in the marriage portion. That he could
easily afford; but a terrible possibility had simultaneously occurred
to him--that Charles had known all along of his uncle's probable
marriage. The one thing he loathed was to be worsted in an important
business deal--and this, after all, was one that concerned the object
he most cherished.

Charles at last broke
the silence. "I need hardly add that this decision of my uncle's
comes as a very great surprise to myself as well."

"Of course, of
course."

"But I felt it my
duty to apprise you of it at once--and in person."

"Most correct of
you. And Ernestina ... she knows?"

"She was the first
I told. She is naturally influenced by the affections she has done me
the honor of bestowing on me." Charles hesitated, then felt in
his pocket. "I bear a letter to you from her." He stood and
placed it on the desk, where Mr. Freeman stared at it with those
shrewd gray eyes, evidently preoccupied with other thoughts.

"You have still a
very fair private income, have you not?"

"I cannot pretend
to have been left a pauper."

"To which we must
add the possibility that your uncle may not be so fortunate as
eventually to have an heir?"

"That is so."

"And the certainty
that Ernestina does not come to you without due provision?"

"You have been most
generous."

"And one day I
shall be called to eternal rest."

"My dear sir, I--"

The gentleman had won.
Mr. Freeman stood. "Between ourselves we may say these things. I
shall be very frank with you, my dear Charles. My principal
consideration is my daughter's happiness. But I do not need to tell
you of the prize she represents in financial terms. When you asked my
permission to solicit her hand, not the least of your recommendations
in my eyes was my assurance that the alliance would be mutual respect
and mutual worth. I have your assurance that your changed
circumstances have come on you like a bolt from the blue. No stranger
to your moral rectitude could possibly impute to you an ignoble
motive. That is my only concern."

"As it is most
emphatically mine, sir."

More silence followed.
Both knew what was really being said: that malicious gossip must now
surround the marriage. Charles would be declared to have had wind of
his loss of prospects before his proposal; Ernestina would be sneered
at for having lost the title she could so easily have bought
elsewhere.

"I had better read
the letter. Pray excuse me." He raised his solid gold
letter-knife and slit the envelope open. Charles went to a window and
stared out at the trees of Hyde Park. There beyond the chain of
carriages in the Bayswater Road, he saw a girl--a shopgirl or maid by
the look of her--waiting on a bench before the railings; and even as
he watched a red-jacketed soldier came up. He saluted-- and she
turned. It was too far to see her face, but the eagerness of her turn
made it clear that the two were lovers. The soldier took her hand and
pressed it momentarily to his heart. Something was said. Then she
slipped her hand under his arm and they began to walk slowly towards
Oxford Street. Charles became lost in this little scene; and started
when Mr. Freeman came beside him, the letter in hand. He was smiling.

"Perhaps I should
read what she says in a postscript." He adjusted his
silver-rimmed spectacles. " 'If you listen to Charles's nonsense
for one moment, I shall make him elope with me to Paris.'" He
looked drily up at Charles. "It seems we are given no
alternative."

Charles smiled faintly.
"But if you should wish for further time to reflect ..."

Mr. Freeman placed his
hand on the scrupulous one's shoulder. "I shall tell her that I
find her intended even more admirable in adversity than in good
fortune. And I think the sooner you return to Lyme the better it will
be." "You do me great kindness."

"In making my
daughter so happy, you do me an even greater one. Her letter is not
all in such frivolous terms." He took Charles by the arm and led
him back into the room. "And my dear Charles ..." this
phrase gave Mr. Freeman a certain pleasure, "... I do not think
the necessity to regulate one's expenditure a little when first
married is altogether a bad thing. But should circumstances ... you
know what I mean."

"Most kind ..."
"Let us say no more."

Mr. Freeman took out his
keychain and opened a drawer of his desk and placed his daughter's
letter inside, as if it were some precious state document; or perhaps
he knew rather more about servants than most Victorian employers. As
he relocked the desk he looked up at Charles, who now had the
disagreeable impression that he had himself become an employee--a
favored one, to be sure, but somehow now in this commercial giant's
disposal. Worse was to follow; perhaps, after all, the gentleman had
not alone determined Mr. Freeman's kindness.

"May I now, since
the moment is convenient, open my heart to you on another matter that
concerns Ernestina and yourself?"

Charles bowed in polite
assent, but Mr. Freeman seemed for a moment at a loss for words. He
rather fussily replaced his letter-knife in its appointed place, then
went to the window they had so recently left. Then he turned.

"My dear Charles, I
count myself a fortunate man in every respect. Except one." He
addressed the carpet. "I have no son." He stopped again,
then gave his son-in-law a probing look. "I understand that
commerce must seem abhorrent to you. It is not a gentleman's
occupation."

"That is mere cant,
sir. You are yourself a living proof that it is so."

"Do you mean that?
Or are you perhaps but giving me another form of cant?"

The iron-gray eyes were
suddenly very direct. Charles was at a loss for a moment. He opened
his hands. "I see what any intelligent man must--the great
utility of commerce, its essential place in our nation's--"

"Ah yes. That is
just what every politician says. They have to, because the prosperity
of our country depends on it. But would you like it to be said of you
that you were ... in trade?"

"The possibility
has never arisen."

"But say it should
arise?"

"You mean ... I..."

At last he realized what
his father-in-law was driving at; and seeing his shock, the
father-in-law hastily made way for the gentleman.

"Of course I don't
mean that you should bother yourself with the day-to-day affairs of
my enterprise. That is the duty of my superintendents, my clerks, and
the rest. But my business is prospering, Charles. Next year we shall
open emporia in Bristol and Birmingham. They are but the beginning. I
cannot offer you a geographical or political empire. But I am
convinced that one day an empire of sorts will come to Ernestina and
yourself." Mr. Freeman began to walk up and down. "When it
seemed clear that your future duties lay in the administration of
your uncle's estate I said nothing. But you have energy, education,
great ability ..."

"But my ignorance
of what you so kindly suggest is ... well, very nearly total."

Mr. Freeman waved the
objection aside. "Matters like probity, the capacity to command
respect, to judge men shrewdly--all those are of far greater import.
And I do not believe you poor in such qualities."

"I'm not sure I
know fully what you are suggesting."

"I suggest nothing
immediate. In any case for the next year or two you have your
marriage to think of. You will not want outside cares and interests
at such a time. But should a day come when it would ... amuse you to
know more of the great commerce you will one day inherit through
Ernestina, nothing would bring me ... or my wife, may I add ...
greater pleasure than to further that interest."

"The last thing I
wish is to appear ungrateful, but ... that is, it seems so
disconsonant with my natural proclivities, what small talents I have
..."

"I am suggesting no
more than a partnership. In practical terms, nothing more onerous to
begin with than an occasional visit to the office of management, a
most general supervision of what is going on. I think you would be
surprised at the type of man I now employ in the more responsible
positions. One need be by no means ashamed to know them."

"I assure you my
hesitation is in no way due to social considerations."

"Then it can only
be caused by your modesty. And there, my dear young man, you misjudge
yourself. That day I mentioned must come--I shall be no longer there.
To be sure, you may dispose of what I have spent my life building up.
You may find good managers to look after it for you. But I know what
I am talking about. A successful enterprise needs an active owner
just as much as a good army needs a general. Not all the good
soldiers in the world will help unless he is there to command the
battle."

Charles felt himself,
under the first impact of this attractive comparison, like Jesus of
Nazareth tempted by Satan. He too had had his days in the wilderness
to make the proposition more tempting. But he was a gentleman; and
gentlemen cannot go into trade. He sought for a way of saying so; and
failed. In a business discussion indecision is a sign of weakness.
Mr. Freeman seized his chance.

"You will never get
me to agree that we are all descended from monkeys. I find that
notion blasphemous. But I thought much on some of the things you said
during our little disagreement. I would have you repeat what you
said, what was it, about the purpose of this theory of evolution. A
species must change ... ?"

"In order to
survive. It must adapt itself to changes in the environment."

"Just so. Now that
I can believe. I am twenty years older than you. Moreover, I have
spent my life in a situation where if one does not--and very
smartly--change oneself to meet the taste of the day, then one does
not survive. One goes bankrupt. Times are changing, you know. This is
a great age of progress. And progress is like a lively horse. Either
one rides it, or it rides one. Heaven forbid I should suggest that
being a gentleman is an insufficient pursuit in life. That it can
never be. But this is an age of doing, great doing, Charles. You may
say these things do not concern you--are beneath you. But ask
yourself whether they ought to concern you. That is all I propose.
You must reflect on this. There is no need for a decision yet. No
need at all." He paused. "But you will not reject the idea
out of hand?"

Charles did indeed by
this time feel like a badly stitched sample napkin, in all ways a
victim of evolution. Those old doubts about the futility of his
existence were only too easily reawakened. He guessed now what Mr.
Freeman really thought of him: he was an idler. And what he proposed
for him: that he should earn his wife's dowry. He would have liked to
be discreetly cold, but there was a warmth in Mr. Freeman's voice
behind the vehemence, an assumption of relationship. It was to
Charles as if he had traveled all his life among pleasant hills; and
now came to a vast plain of tedium--and unlike the more famous
pilgrim, he saw only Duty and Humiliation down there below--most
certainly not Happiness or Progress.

He managed a look into
those waiting, and penetrating, commercial eyes.

"I confess myself
somewhat overwhelmed."

"I ask no more than
that you should give the matter thought."

"Most certainly. Of
course. Most serious thought."

Mr. Freeman went and
opened the door. He smiled. "I fear you have one more ordeal.
Mrs. Freeman awaits us, agog for all the latest tittle-tattle of
Lyme."

A few moments later the
two men were moving down a wide corridor to the spacious landing that
overlooked the grand hall of the house. Little in it was not in the
best of contemporary taste. Yet as they descended the sweep of stairs
towards the attendant footman, Charles felt obscurely debased; a lion
caged. He had, with an acute unexpectedness, a poignant flash of love
for Winsyatt, for its "wretched" old paintings and
furniture; its age, its security, its
savoir-vivre
.
The abstract idea of evolution was entrancing; but its practice
seemed as fraught with ostentatious vulgarity as the freshly gilded
Corinthian columns that framed the door on whose threshold he and his
tormentor now paused a second-- "Mr. Charles Smithson,
madam"--before entering.