The Tenant of Wildfell Hall (Penguin Classics) (41 page)

Grimsby repulsed him with a solemn wave of the hand, and then, turning to me, continued, with the same drawling tones, and strange uncertainty of utterance and heavy gravity of aspect as before, ‘But as I was saying, Mrs Huntingdon, – they have no head at all: they can’t take half a bottle without being affected some way; whereas I – well, I’ve taken three times as much as they have tonight, and you see I’m perfectly steady. Now that may strike you as very singular, but I think I can explain it: – you see
their
brains – I mention no names, but you’ll understand to whom I allude –
their
brains are light to begin with, and the fumes of the fermented liquor render them lighter still, and produce an entire light-headed-ness, or giddiness, resulting in intoxication; whereas
my
brains being composed of more solid materials will absorb a considerable quantity of this alcoholic vapour without the production of any sensible result –’

‘I think you will find a sensible result produced on that tea,’ interrupted Mr Hargrave, ‘by the quantity of sugar you have put into it. Instead of your usual complement of one lump you have put in six.’

‘Have I so?’ replied the philosopher, diving with his spoon into the cup and bringing up several half-dissolved pieces in confirmation of the assertion. ‘Um! I perceive. Thus, madam, you see the evil of absence of mind – of thinking too much while engaged in the common concerns of life. Now if I had had my wits about me, like ordinary men, instead of within me like a philosopher, I should not
have spoiled this cup of tea, and been constrained to trouble you for another. – With your permission, I’ll turn this into the slop-basin.’

‘That is the sugar-basin, Mr Grimsby. Now you have spoiled the sugar too; and I’ll thank you to ring for. some more – for here is Lord Lowborough, at last; and I hope his lordship will condescend to sit down with us, such as we are, and allow me to give him some tea.’

His lordship gravely bowed in answer to my appeal, but said nothing. Meantime, Hargrave volunteered to ring for the sugar, while Grimsby lamented his mistake, and attempted to prove that it was owing to the shadow of the urn and the badness of the lights.

Lord Lowborough had entered a minute or two before, unobserved by anyone but me, and been standing before the door, grimly surveying the company. He now stepped up to Annabella, who sat with her back towards him, with Hattersley still beside her, though not now attending to her, being occupied in vociferously abusing and bullying his host.

‘Well, Annabella,’ said her husband, as he leant over the back of her chair, ‘which of these three “bold, manly spirits” would you have me to resemble?’

‘By heaven and earth, you shall resemble us all!’ cried Hattersley, starting up and rudely seizing him by the arm. ‘Hallo Huntingdon!’ he shouted –
‘I’ve
got him! Come, man, and help me! And d–n me body and soul if I don’t make him blind drunk before I let him go! He shall make up for all past delinquencies as sure as I’m a living soul!’

There followed a disgraceful contest; Lord Lowborough, in desperate earnest, and pale with anger, silently struggling to release himself from the powerful madman that was striving to drag him from the room. I attempted to urge Arthur to interfere in behalf of his outraged guest, but he could do nothing but laugh.

‘Huntingdon, you fool, come and help me, can’t you!’ cried Hattersley, himself somewhat weakened by his excesses.

‘I’m wishing you God-speed, Hattersley,’ cried Arthur, ‘and aiding you with my prayers: I can’t do anything else if my life depended on it! I’m quite used up. Oh, ho!’ and leaning back in his seat, he clapped his hands on his sides and groaned aloud.

‘Annabella, give me a candle!’ said Lowborough whose antagonist had now got him round the waist and was endeavouring to root him from the doorpost to which he madly clung with all the energy of desperation.

‘
I
shall take no part in your rude sports!’ replied the lady, coldly drawing back, ‘I wonder you can expect it’.

But I snatched up a candle and brought it to him. He took it and held the flame to Hattersley’s hands till, roaring like a wild beast, the latter unclasped them and let him go. He vanished, I suppose to his own apartment, for nothing more was seen of him till the morning. Swearing and cursing like a maniac, Hattersley threw himself on to the ottoman beside the window. The door being now free, Milicent attempted to make her escape from the scene of her husband’s disgrace; but he called her back, and insisted upon her coming to him.

‘What do you want Ralph?’ murmured she, reluctantly approaching him.

‘I want to know what’s the matter with you,’ said he, pulling her on to his knee like a child. ‘What are you crying for Milicent? – Tell me!’

‘I’m not crying.’

‘You are,’ persisted he, rudely pulling her hands from her face. ‘How dare you tell such a lie?’

‘I’m not crying now,’ pleaded she.

‘But you have been – and just this minute too; and I
will
know what for. Come now, you
shall
tell me!’

‘Do let me alone Ralph! remember we are not at home.’

‘No matter: you
shall
answer my question!’ exclaimed her tormentor; and he attempted to extort the confession by shaking her and remorselessly crushing her slight arms in the gripe of his powerful fingers.

‘Don’t let him treat your sister in that way,’ said I to Mr Hargrave.

‘Come now, Hattersley, I can’t allow that,’ said that gentleman, stepping up to the ill-assorted couple. ‘You let my sister alone, if you please.’ And he made an effort to unclasp the ruffian’s fingers from her arm, but was suddenly driven backward and nearly laid upon the
floor by a violent blow in the chest accompanied with the admonition,

‘Take that for your insolence! – and learn not to interfere between me and mine again.’

‘If you were not beastly drunk, I’d have satisfaction for that!’ gasped Hargrave, white and breathless as much from passion as from the immediate effects of the blow.

‘Go to the devil!’ responded his brother-in-law. ‘Now Milicent, tell me what you were crying for.’

‘I’ll tell you some other time,’ murmured she, ‘when we are alone.’

‘Tell me now!’ said he with another shake and a squeeze that made her draw in her breath and bite her lip to suppress a cry of pain.

‘
I’ll
tell you, Mr Hattersley,’ said I. ‘She was crying from pure shame and humiliation for you; because she could not bear to see you conduct yourself so disgracefully.’

‘Confound you, madam!’ muttered he, with a stare of stupid amazement at my ‘impudence,’ ‘It was
not
that – was it Milicent?’

She was silent.

‘Come, speak up child!’

‘I can’t tell now,’ sobbed she.

‘But you can say “yes” or “no” as well as “I can’t tell” – Come!’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, hanging her head and blushing at the awful acknowledgement.

‘Curse you for an impertinent huzzy then!’ cried he, throwing her from him with such violence that she fell on her side; but she was up again before either I or her brother could come to her assistance, and made the best of her way out of the room and, I suppose, upstairs, without loss of time.

The next object of assault was Arthur, who sat opposite, and had no doubt richly enjoyed the whole scene.

‘Now Huntingdon,’ exclaimed his irascible friend, ‘I W
ILL NOT
have you sitting there and laughing like an idiot!’

‘Oh, Hattersley!’ cried he, wiping his swimming eyes – ‘you’ll be the death of me.’

‘Yes I will, but not as you suppose: I’ll have the heart out of your
body, man, if you irritate me with any more of that imbecile laughter! – What! are you at it yet? – There! see if that’ll settle you!’ cried Hattersley, snatching up a footstool and hurling it at the head of his host; but he missed his aim and the latter still sat collapsed and quaking with feeble laughter, with the tears running down his face; a deplorable spectacle indeed.

Hattersley tried cursing and swearing, but it would not do; he then took a number of books from the table beside him and threw them, one by one, at the object of his wrath, but Arthur only laughed the more; and, finally, Hattersley rushed upon him in a frenzy, and, seizing him by the shoulders, gave him a violent shaking, under which he laughed and shrieked alarmingly. But I saw no more: I thought I had witnessed enough of my husband’s degradation; and, leaving Annabella and the rest to follow when they pleased, I withdrew – but not to bed. Dismissing Rachel to her rest, I walked up and down my room, in an agony of misery, for what had been done, and suspense, not knowing what might further happen or how or when that unhappy creature would come up to bed.

At last he came, slowly and stumblingly, ascending the stairs, supported by Grimsby and Hattersley, who neither of them walked quite steadily themselves, but were both laughing and joking at him, and making noise enough for all the servants to hear. He himself was no longer laughing now, but sick and stupid – I will write no more about
that
.

Such disgraceful scenes (or nearly such) have been repeated more than once. I don’t say much to Arthur about it, for if I did, it would do more harm than good; but I let him know that I intensely dislike such exhibitions; and each time he has promised they should never again be repeated; but I fear he is losing the little self-command and self-respect he once possessed: formerly, he would have been ashamed to act thus – at least, before any other witnesses than his boon companions, or such as they. His friend, Hargrave, with a prudence and self-government that I envy for
him
, never disgraces himself by taking more than sufficient to render him a little ‘elevated,’ and is always the first to leave the table, after Lord Lowborough, who, wiser still, perseveres in vacating the dining-room immediately
after us; but never once, since Annabella offended him so deeply, has he entered the drawing-room before the rest; always spending the interim in the library, which I take care to have lighted for his accommodation – or, on fine moonlight nights, in roaming about the grounds. But I think she regrets her misconduct, for she has never repeated it since, and of late she has comported herself with wonderful propriety towards him, treating him with more uniform kindness and consideration than ever I have observed her to do before. I date the time of this improvement from the period when she ceased to hope and strive for Arthur’s admiration.

October 5th
. – Esther Hargrave
¹
is getting a fine girl. She is not out of the school-room yet, but her mother frequently brings her over to call in the mornings when the gentlemen are out, and sometimes she spends an hour or two in company with her sister, and me, and the children; and when we go to the Grove, I always contrive to see her, and talk more to her than to anyone else, for I am very much attached to my little friend, and so is she to me. I wonder what she can see to like in me though, for I am no longer the happy, lively girl I used to be; but she has no other society – save that of her uncongenial mother, and her governess (as artificial and conventional a person as that prudent mother could procure to rectify the pupil’s natural qualities), and, now and then, her subdued, quiet sister. I often wonder what will be
her
lot in life – and so does she; but
her
speculations on the future are full of buoyant hope – so were mine once. I shudder to think of her being awakened like me to a sense of their delusive vanity. It seems as if I should feel her disappointment even more deeply than my own: I feel, almost, as if I were born for such a fate, but
she
is so joyous and fresh, so light of heart and free of spirit, and so guileless and unsuspecting too – Oh, it would be cruel to make her feel as I feel now, and know what I have known!

Her sister trembles for her too. Yesterday morning, one of October’s brightest loveliest days, Milicent and I were in the garden enjoying a brief half hour together with our children, while Annabella was lying on the drawing-room sofa, deep in the last new novel. We had been romping with the little creatures, almost as merry and wild
as themselves, and now paused in the shade of the tall copper beech, to recover breath and rectify our hair, disordered by the rough play and the frolicsome breeze – while they toddled together along the broad, sunny walk; my Arthur supporting the feebler steps of her little Helen, and sagaciously pointing out to her the brightest beauties of the border as they passed, with semi-articulate prattle that did as well for her as any other mode of discourse. From laughing at the pretty sight, we began to talk of the children’s future life; and that made us thoughtful. We both relapsed into silent musing as we slowly proceeded up the walk; and I suppose Milicent by a train of associations was led to think of her sister.

‘Helen,’ said she, ‘you often see Esther, don’t you?’

‘Not very often.’

‘But you have more frequent opportunities of meeting her than I have: and she loves you, I know, and reverences you too: there is nobody’s opinion she thinks so much of; and she says you have more sense than mamma.’

‘That is because she is self-willed, and my opinions more generally coincide with her own than your mamma’s. But what then, Milicent?’

‘Well, since you have so much influence with her, I wish you would seriously impress it upon her, never, on any account, or for anybody’s persuasion, to marry for the sake of money, or rank, or establishment, or any earthly thing, but true affection and well-grounded esteem.’

‘There is no necessity for that,’ said I: ‘for we have had some discourse on that subject already, and I assure you her ideas of love and matrimony are as romantic as anyone could desire.’

‘But romantic notions will not do: I want her to have true notions.’

‘Very right, but in my judgment, what the world stigmatizes as romantic, is often more nearly allied to the truth than is commonly supposed; for, if the generous ideas of youth are too often overclouded by the sordid views of after-life, that scarcely proves them to be false.’