Books: The Pillars of the House, V1

C >> Charlotte M. Yonge >> The Pillars of the House, V1

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'And the rest?'

'One has the Ewshire Scholarship at St. Cadoc's; and there's one in
Australia.'

'And this lad--what's his name?'

'Lancelot. He is in the choir school at Minsterham Cathedral, and
hopes to get a scholarship.'

'Is that all of you?'

'Two more boys, quite little, and the six girls.'

'Any of them able to do anything for themselves?'

'The eldest is a teacher in a school at Bexley,' said Felix, not
delighted with the cross-examination; and Alda, the one that lived
with the Tom Underwoods, is engaged to a man of good fortune. Then
two of the younger ones are at schools, where an allowance is made
for poor clergyman's daughters.'

'How long has your mother been dead?'

'Four years and a half.'

'And you have managed all single-handed?'

'With my eldest sister's help, Sir.'

'Taken to the press, have you?' (Mr. Staples must have made the best
of his vocation.) 'What's your paper?'

'The Bexley Pursuivant. Most likely you never heard of it. It is
only a little county paper;' and then feeling that to stop there was
a subterfuge, he added, 'Our main business is the retail trade.'

Mr. Underwood was chiefly intent on the next question, the politics
of the paper, though he said he need hardly ask. 'All you young
stuck-up fellows run in one team--all destructives.'

'No, no, Sir,' broke in Mr. Staples eagerly. 'Mr. Felix is staunch to
the back-bone.'

Felix was never more tempted to deny his principles than when he
found them brought forward as a recommendation; but he could only
explain that the Pursuivant was an old established county gentleman's
style of paper, in the agricultural interest. Whereupon the Squire
mounted his political hobby in such sort and with such abusive
violence, especially as to the local representatives of the adverse
party, that Felix could not help feeling that if such were indeed the
opinions of his own side, he should certainly be on the other. One
good effect was the sparing him any more personal catechising. Mr.
Underwood shouted himself weary, without requiring any reply save
what Mr. Staple's local knowledge supplied; and when the carriage was
announced, the guests were dismissed with a hearty shake of the
hands, and invitation to call again--'It was a comfort to talk of
public matters to a young man of sense;' and Lance found a sovereign
in his hand. He was not sure that he was obliged.

'Well,' said Mr. Staples, rubbing his hands with satisfaction as they
drove off, 'what do you think of the Squire?'

'He talks very loud,' said Felix, who had for some time been watching
the increase of Lance's headache, and now was trying to give him a
rest on shoulder and arm.

Mr. Staples gave what help he could towards making the tired boy
comfortable, and then returned to the subject in all their minds. 'So
your father never told you those particulars?'

'No; I think it was his great object not to dwell on them, nor let us
look back with regret or anger.'

'Just like him. I never saw such a case, never! I'll show you a
remarkable letter of his. But, first, you ought to understand the way
the matter stood. To begin with the relationship.'

'I know nothing about them, only that my father and mother were
second cousins; but I don't even know to which of them my great-uncle
Underwood was really uncle.'

'To your mother. He had very strong feelings as to the duty of the
head of a family, and made his house a home for all that needed it.
When Miss Mary was sent home an orphan from India--James's, his
favourite brother's, child--he asked his cousin's widow, Mrs. Edward
Underwood, to bring her boy, superintend the house, and look after
the little girl; and she was glad enough, for the captain had died of
his wounds at Waterloo, and she had little but her widow's pension.'

'I know,' said Felix. 'Then whose son is the Squire?'

'The son of Lancelot, who was the second brother, between the Reverend
Fulbert (your great-uncle) and James, your mother's father. So he was
heir-at-law, but he was a wildish sort of lad, unfit to take Holy
Orders; and there came to be an understanding that if his uncle would
buy his commission and purchase his steps, he would not look for the
Rectory and the estate. On that understanding your father took Orders
and married; but on old Mr. Underwood's death there was only a draught
of a will, which he had not been in a state to execute, leaving a
handsome legacy to Fulbert, but the whole property to your father and
mother. It seemed a matter of course that, as the only compensation,
Fulbert should have presented his cousin Edward to the vicarage--400
pounds a year; but as ill-luck would have it, he took offence at some
sermon--a Lent one about self-indulgence, I believe it was--swore he
wouldn't have a Puseyite parson preaching at him, and went into such a
rage that it is thought to be partly by way of getting off giving him
the living, and getting it held for his son.'

'I see, said Felix.

'It was a dirty trick; and I was a younger man at the time, and it
struck me that if your father chose to try the case, the testator's
intentions being clear, and instructions in his own hand extant, it
was ten to one it might be given in his favour. I even took a
counsel's opinion, thinking that at any rate an intimation that the
case was to be tried before possession was given up might bring
Fulbert to terms with regard to the living.'

'And he would not?'

'No. I should like to show you his letter. Would you do me the honour
of dining with me to-morrow?'

Felix was obliged to mutter something about ladies and no dress-
coats, but this was silenced, and he made a promise contingent on
Lance's fitness. He was puzzled by the relations in which Mr. Staples
seemed to stand with the lay-rector; but he found that they were not
of business, only that elections and county affairs brought them
together, and that Mr. Underwood was regarded with a sort of
compassion by the men of his own standing, who used to go and visit
him whenever they could be secure of not encountering the cold
welcome and ill-breeding of his daughter-in-law--the grievance of his
life.

'Did you see any one you remembered?' further asked Mr. Staples.

'One of the Miss Hepburns, who did not seem very well to know whether
to acknowledge me or not.'

'Ha, ha!' chuckled Mr. Staples. 'Queer old girls they are. Very high.
Very good to the poor. All the good that is done in Vale Leston is by
them; but anything between a swell and a pauper don't exist for them.
They're as poor as Job, and their pride is all they have, so they
make the most of it.'

So, after all, the day had not been quite without mortification, and
Felix felt it a little more than he thought it was worth.

Lance was a good deal excited by the sight of his ancestral home. He
had an eye for scenery, and longed to bask in it again; boating
seemed delightful; and he was amazed, not to say elated, by the
grandeur of the house, which exceeded any--save Centry Park--in his
limited experience. His mind was set on explorations there, and on
the whole history; while Felix, to whom all was less new and more
sorrowful, was inclined to hang back from any unwise awakening of
unsettling regrets; but there was no declining Mr. Staples' kindness,
and he had much desire to see the letter. So the two youths put on
their Sunday coats, assisted one another's ties, and looked each
other well over before encountering the formidable mass of ladies
Felix had seen in church, and about whom he was far more shy than
Lance, who had seen a good deal more of the species at Minsterham.

It turned out very pleasant; the frank good-natured mother and
daughters made themselves very agreeable, and though no one was as
pretty as Alice Knevett, they were all so far superior to her in
manner and cultivation that the mixing with them could not fail to
soften any sting of disappointment that might remain. Lance was made
much of as an invalid, and very much liked the privileges that did
not hinder an evening game of croquet, since Mr. Staples evidently
intended his conference with Felix to be tete-a-tete.

It took place in a pleasant little study, fitted with green morocco
and walnut, that spoke well for the solicitor's taste and prosperity,
and looking out on the pretty lawn, with the long shadows of the
trees, the croquet players flitting about, and the sea glittering in
the distance.

The letter was ready, folded up lengthwise and docketed, business
fashion; but when opened, the familiar handwriting seemed to bring
back the father, even to the sound of his voice.

Vale Leston Rectory, 18th January.

MY DEAR STAPLES--My wife and I feel greatly obliged, to you for your
good-will and zeal on our behalf, and have not for a moment justified
your dread of being thought officious. In other circumstances, I
might be tempted to fight the battle; but it is impossible for
several reasons. Were we the losers, we should be totally unable to
pay the costs, and a load either of debt or obligation would be a
burthen we have no right to assume. Moreover, the uncertainty of our
position pending the decision would be as mischievous to myself as to
the parishioners. It would destroy any fitness to be their Vicar,
whether we gained or not. The holding the Rectory is in itself an
abuse; and now that the grapes are sour, I am glad not to encounter
the question of conscience, and so shall not adopt any means--to my
mind doubtful--for bringing it on myself. This being the case, you
will see that the idea of alarming Fulbert Underwood falls to the
ground. Supposing he were coerced into the compromise, what a
pleasing pair--squire and parson--would be the result! No, my kind
friend, be content to see things remain as they are. We carry with us
the certainty of our good uncle's kindness, and the non-fulfilment of
his intentions is clearly providential. I have heard of a promising
curacy, where I shall get the training I need after feeling my wilful
way as I have done here. My wife, being the expectant heiress and
lay-rectoress, shall write to satisfy you that she is not suffering
from my coercion.--Yours, most sincerely obliged,
E. F. UNDERWOOD.

And on another sheet followed:--

DEAR MR. STAPLES--I think my husband is quite right, and that to go
to law would only make things much worse. It is very kind in you, but
I really do not care about anything so long as I have my husband and
children, and can feel that my dear uncle meant all that was kind.
Indeed, I really think my husband enjoys the prospect of a new and
more active kind of work. He is sure to be happy anywhere, and as
long as that is the case, all will be right; and he says that it will
be much better for the children not to grow up in luxury. With many
warm thanks.--
Yours very truly, M. W. UNDERWOOD.

'May I copy them?' asked Felix, looking up with his eyes fuller of
tears than suited his reserved disposition.

His father's letter, full of his constant brave cheerfulness in self-
abnegation, had not overcome him like the few words that brought back
the lovely young mamma he now remembered at Vale Leston, but whom he
had too soon known only as the patient, over-tasked, drudging mother,
and latterly in the faded helpless invalid. How little she had
guessed the life that was before her!

Mr. Staples readily supplied him with the materials, adding, 'I will
take care you have the letters by and by. I value them too much to
part with them in my lifetime.' And presently he interrupted Felix's
writing by saying, 'I much wished to have seen Mr. and Mrs. Edward
Underwood again, but it seemed to me that they were unwilling to keep
up a correspondence.'

'They were so busy,' said Felix.

'No doubt; and I thought they might feel a visit an intrusion.
Otherwise, I often thought of running down from town.'

'My father would have been very glad.'

'I did wish to have seen him again--and your mother, almost a child
as she was even at that time, with her flock of pretty children. I
shall never forget her--the beauty and darling of all the
neighbourhood as she used to be. All we young men used to rave about
her long before she was out.' Mr. Staples smiled at some
recollection, and added, 'I never spoke to her four times in my life;
but I was as bad as any of them--presumptuous as you may think it.'

'I am glad you did not see her again,' burst from Felix, the tears
starting forth as he copied her hopeful words. 'She altered sadly.'

'Ah! indeed.'

The concerned tone forced Felix to add, 'It came so much more heavily
on her than on any of us, care and work and years of seeing my
father's health failing; and in the last week of his life she had a
fall, that brought on softening of the brain.'

Somehow, the whole had never struck him as so piteous before as in
the contrast with her youthful brightness, and when he saw Mr.
Staples greatly affected. He could only write on through a mist of
tears, while the solicitor walked about the room, blowing his nose
violently, and muttering sentences never developed; till at last he
came behind Felix's chair, and laying his hand on his shoulder, said,
'After all, it will come round. You are next heir.'

'Heir? There's Fulbert Underwood!' exclaimed Felix.

'True; but he's been some years married, and there's no sign of a
family. Depend upon it, we shall see Vale Leston come back yet.'

'It would make no difference now,' muttered Felix, as he traced his
mother's fearless lines; nay, if he had a personal thought, it was of
what he might have ventured towards Alice Knevett.

'Not to them,' said Mr. Staples, 'but a good deal to you, my young
friend.'

'Now, Mr. Staples,' said Felix, smiling, 'aren't you doing our best
to unsettle a young man in business?'

'Well, well, you are too reasonable. A contingency--only a
contingency. But I should like to show you.' And he hastily sketched
a pedigree that had at least the advantage of showing Felix his
relationships.

Rev. Lancelot.
|_________________________________________________
| |
| |
Rev. Fulbert. Lancelot
| |
| |
Rev. Fulbert._______Lancelot_____James U. Lancelot_________Thomas
d 1843. | | | |
| | | |
Fulbert Mary Wilmet Thomas Rev. Edward
| m. Edward U. m. Mary Kedge m. Mary Wilmet
| | | Underwood
Rev. Fulbert | |
Felix, etc. Mary Alda
Underwood

'There! Through your mother you stand next in the line--are heir-at-
law, you see. May I live to see that day! That's all.'

The thought did not affect Felix much at the moment. He was too full
of what might have been, and the 'contingency' was such a remote one!
So after answering to the best of his ability whether any of his
sisters were like his mother, he was glad to get out, and forget it
all in croquet. His musical capacities were discovered too; but the
attempt to profit by them proved quite too much for Lance, to whose
brain the notes of the piano were absolute and severe pain.

A formal little note came on the ensuing morning, in which 'the
Misses Hepburn'--in the third person--requested the favour of the
company of Mr. Felix Underwood and his brother at luncheon. Felix
felt a little stung. He could recollect warm passages between the
ladies and his mother, and had been their pet long enough to wonder
at this cold reception, and question whether it were not more
dignified to reject advances made in such a manner; but his heart
yearned towards those who had been kind to him in his youth, and he
believed that his mother would have wished him to renew the
intercourse, and therefore decided upon going, but it was too hot and
sunny a day for Lance to walk, and Felix so entirely expected the
visit to be wearisome and disagreeable, if not mortifying, that he
could only resolve on it as a duty, and would not expose his brother
to it.

So he plodded off alone, and a curious visit he had. It was not easy
for him to guess at the sacredness of those traditions of gentility
and superiority that the 'Misses Hepburn' held--not so much for their
own sakes as in faithful loyalty to the parents many years dead, and
to the family duty that imposed a certain careful exclusiveness on
them in deference to the noble lineage they could reckon, and the
head of the house, whom none of them had ever seen. He could not have
guessed the warm feeling towards 'dear Mary' that had struggled so
hard with the sense of duty, and had gained the victory over the
soreness at the dropping of correspondence, and the idea that it was
a dereliction to bend to one 'who had lowered himself,' as Mrs.
Fulbert Underwood said he had.

What he saw was a tiny drawing-room, full of flowers and gimcracks,
and fuller of four tall angular women, in dark dresses in the rear of
the fashion, and sandy hair. They had decided in council, or rather
Miss Isabella had decided for them, that since he was to be received,
they would remember only his gentle blood; and therefore they shook
hands with him, and the difference of the clasp alone could have
shown the difference of character--the patronising, the nervous, the
tenderly agitated, the hearty.

He found them better informed than the Squire had been as to the
condition of the family--at least, so he presumed from the text of
their inquiries. Not a word did they say of his own employment--it
was to be treated as a thing not to be spoken of; but the welfare of
the others was inquired after, and especially of Robina--who was the
name-child of the eldest sister, the gentlest of the set, and the
most in the background, quiet and tearful--pleased to hear that her
godchild was at school, and as Felix emphatically said 'a very good
girl,' anxious that he should take charge of 'a little token' for
her.

The little token turned out to be Ministering Children; and this
gave Felix a further hint, which prepared him for the tone in which
some of his information was received, when he had only mentioned
Geraldine as gone for health's sake to the St. Faith's Sisterhood.

The ladies looked at one another, Miss Isabella cleared her throat,
and he knew a warning was coming; so he quickly said, 'One of the
ladies, a clergyman's widow, was very kind to my father in his
illness, and is really the best friend we have left in England.'

'Your dear father was too much inclined to those specious doctrines
that are only too fascinating to youth. I hope you do not outrun
him.'

'I hope not,' said Felix, very sincerely; and he then succeeded in
interesting his monitor by speaking of Fulbert, and using him as a
bridge to lead to an account of Mr. Audley's Australian doings.

It was altogether a stiff uncomfortable visit; the very politeness of
the good ladies made Felix feel that they viewed his position as
altered, and he could not but feel a strong hope that he should never
again have to make this offering at the shrine of ancient friendship.

On coming home in the evening, Felix found a note on the table.

'Croquet to wit?' asked Lance, as Felix tried to read it by the
almost vanished twilight.

'What's this?'

'We hope you and your brother will join us in a picnic at Kitt's Head
on Saturday.

'Having discharged my ladies' commission, I proceed to that which I
have authority from your relation for intimating to you--namely, that
failing heirs of his own son, he has entailed the Vale Leston
property upon you, thus rendering its alienation by the Reverend
Fulbert impossible. I believe the arrangement was made within the
last week. Congratulations would hardly be suitable, but I cannot
refuse myself the pleasure of saying how sincerely I rejoice.'

'What--what?' cried Lance, jumping up. 'You to have that
splendiferous river, and the salmon, and all. Won't you get a
magnificent organ for that church?'

'My dear Lance, don't you see that all this means is, that if young
Fulbert has no children, I shall come after him.'

'Oh, he won't! I'm sure he won't. Things always do come right. Oh,
what a coup d'etat mine was after all! Things always do come right.
You, that were born to it! Didn't old Tripp say how they had had the
bells rung for you? I should like to set them going this minute!'

'They should be on your own cap, then!' said Felix, laughing and yet
sharing in a castle or two--how Cherry should have a pony-carriage!
how Clement should be turned loose upon the Church! how Lance should
pursue the salmon at home and the humanities at the University! how
Bernard should have a real good gentleman's education--but Felix soon
brought himself back again. 'Remember, Lance, not a word of this at
home or anywhere else.'

'Not tell any one ?' cried the boy, crest-fallen.

'Don't you see, Lance, besides the impropriety of talking of what
involves two deaths, it would be the most senseless thing in the
world to let this make the least difference. Old Fulbert may change
his mind, or young Fulbert have a son; at any rate, he is not five-
and-thirty, and just as likely as not to outlive me.'

'Fee! Fee! you are quite well, you wretched Norseman!'

'Oh! I didn't mean _that_; but anybody may outlive anybody for that
matter. Anyway, there's no chance of any of these schemes coming to
pass while we are young enough to care, even if they ever do; and if
they unsettle us now, it would be unmitigated damage.'

'I see that,' said Lance; 'but as, by good luck, I'm No. 8, it can't
do me much harm to think about it, and I don't see why the others
should not.'

'Do you think some of them would be content to go on as we are doing,
with this in their heads? And if any one in the town knew it,
whatever I might do, people would think I was getting above my
business. I doubt whether even Froggy himself would have the same
reliance on me.'

'Then shan't you even tell Wilmet and Cherry?'

'I hope not. I don't think Wilmet could keep it from Alda, or Cherry
from Edgar; and just imagine what it would be to have it come round
through Kensington Palace Gardens that we were reckoning on it!
Besides, it will make no earthly difference to anybody, unless,
maybe, to Edgar's son.'

The mention of such a being brought Felix somehow to a sudden
silence; and in the meantime supper and a candle were brought in,
revealing a thick letter from Geraldine, which had at first escaped
notice. There were two enclosures; but as Felix read her writing, he
broke out with an exclamation of consternation that startled Lance.

'Hollo! What is it?' And as he received no answer--'Wilmet's not
given up Jack? Eh? Nor Cherry fallen in love next? Clem hasn't turned
bare-footed friar?' crowding together the wildest suggestions he
could think of to force answer.

'Hush! That dear child--'

'She doesn't want to be a sister? You'll tell her you'd see her at
Jericho first!'

'No. It is about her foot.'

'Not worse!'

'No; but, dear little thing, she wants to have it taken off, because
she fancies if she was more effective, it might be one difficulty out
of Wilmet's way!'

'She's a blessed little brick! But would it be so?'

'Well, I remember in the time of the measles, the last time I ever
let that fellow Rugg come near her, he thought proper to tell
somebody in her hearing that if she was in a fit state of health, it
would be the only remedy. She wasn't, and it was quite uncalled for,
and it put the poor little thing in such an agony, that at last Sibby
came and wrapped me up in a blanket to sit by her, and talk very big
about nobody being able to do it without my leave, and my not
intending to consent to any such thing. I thought she had forgotten
all about it, but it seems that she has not; and she imagines that,
as she says, "with a cork foot that I could stand upon, instead of
always keeping this one up in fear of hurting it, I could get about
the house with only a stick, and be of some use, and then dear
Mettie's happiness might not be so far off."'

'And what does Mettie say?'

'She knows nothing; Cherry implores me not to tell her, for she says
that it would be impossible for Mettie to come and nurse her, and she
would rather have Sister Constance than any one.'

'Than Mettie! Deluded child!' cried Lance.

'Her great wish is to have it done now at St. Faith's. She told
Clement before she left home, because she thought they would insist
on some one at home knowing; but "Don't think me very sly," she says;
"I would not tell Sister Constance what was in my head till I came
here, for fear she should think it her duty to speak to Wilmet; and
now, they will not hear of it without your knowing. I did wish to
have surprised you all! About the cost I have thought. You know Dr.
Lee attends me for nothing while I am here, and I told you that
Sister Constance has sent up all my book of illustrations of Queen
Isabel, and some of the water-coloured drawings, to her sister, Lady
Liddesdale, and how much she has been getting for them--quite enough
to set me up with a foot that will not be half such a nuisance as
this old dead-alive one, which has never let me have any peace these
twelve years. I am trying to be good; but indeed I feel as if it
might be wrong to try to be rid of my cross. So I abide by your
decision, dear Felix. You are my king, and I put myself in your
hands; only you must not be anxious. You should have known nothing if
I could have helped it."'