Chapter IX.Success Achieved.
The step which Mr. Creswell took in asking Marian Ashurst to become his wife was not taken without due care and consideration. As, during a lifetime which had now exceeded half a century, he had been accustomed to ponder over, sift, and weigh the most minor details of even trivial schemes before carrying them out, it was not likely that he would give less attention to a plan, on the successful or unsuccessful result of which his whole hope of future earthly happiness or misery might be based. The plan presented itself to him squarely and from a business-like point of view, like all other plans which he entertained, and had two aspects—as to how it would affect himself and how it would affect others. He took it under the first aspect, and thought it out carefully. His was a loving nature, always desiring something to cherish and cling to. In bygone years he had had his wife, whom he had worshipped with all the warmth of his loving nature. She had been the sharer of his struggles, but it had not been permitted to her to take part in his success; doubtless for the best, for Mr. Creswell, like all men who have been thoroughly successful, and with whom everything has gone straight, had perfect trust and reliance on the dispensations of Providence, she had been removed before his position was acquired. But she had left behind her a son for whom that position was destined, for whom his father slaved for years, adding to his wealth and establishing his name, all the while hoping against hope that the boy might one day learn how to use the former and how to maintain the latter. As the lad grew up, and year by year showed his real nature more and more, so the hope grew fainter and fainter in the father's heart, until it was finally extinguished by Tom's death. And then he had no hope left in the world, or rather he would have had none had it not been for Marian. It seemed as though matters had been providentially arranged, Mr. Creswell thought. The dependent state of Marian and her mother, his power of assisting them, their being domiciled under his roof, which had given him such opportunity of studying Marian's character, and had so entirely reversed his original opinion of her, the assistance and support she had afforded him during that sad period of poor Tom's death. All seemed predestined and pre-arranged. He knew her now. It was not like taking a girl with whom his acquaintance had been slight, or even one whom he might have thought he knew intimately, but whom he had only seen on her society behaviour, or in such guise as she would naturally affect before any one whom she knew to be noticing her with an object. He had seen Marian Ashurst under all circumstances, and in all places. Under the strongest and hardest trial he had always seen her come out brightest and best, and he had had full opportunity of observing the sterling worth of her character. Was the end of all his life of toil and strife to be an unloved and unloving old age? Was the position which he had acquired to benefit no one but himself, and to die out with him? Was the wealth which he had amassed to be filtered away into dirty channels, or left for the benefit of charities? If these questions were to be answered in the negative, where could he find such a helpmate as Marian, where could he dream of looking for such another? His conduct could scarcely be characterised as selfish, he thought, if after the life of work and anxiety which he had passed, he tried to render its latter portion peaceful and happy, and that, he felt, was only to be done by his marriage with Marian.
So much for himself, but how would it affect others. Marian, first? Mr. Creswell was so true and so honourable a man that even in a case like the present, where the interest of his future was at stake, he would not have used an argument, in the firm basis of which he did not himself believe. In pleading his cause to Marian, he had somewhat enlarged upon the responsibility laid on her in regard to her mother—responsibility which, he argued, would be considerably lightened, if not entirely removed, by her acceptance of the position which he offered her. He believed this firmly, setting it down as an undoubted gain to Marian, who would also have position, wealth, a home, and a protector. What on the other side—what, as they said in business, per contra—what would she lose? He hoped, nothing. To many girls, to most girls, a husband old enough to be their father would have been in the highest degree objectionable; but Marian was so different to any girls he had ever seen. She was so staid, so decorous, so old-fashioned; her life had been one of such quietude and earnestness; she had always been associated with people so much older than herself. And then she had never had any love-affair! Mr. Creswell thanked Heaven for that! He could not fancy anything worse than playing the part of Auld Robin Gray in the ballad, and being received and accepted for the sake of his money, and more than that, causing the rejection of a poorer suitor! That would be too dreadful! No! Marian had not been thrown in the way of that kind of thing; her father had neither entertained company nor taken her into society, and there was no one in the village, Mr. Creswell thought with a grave smile, who would have ventured to uplift his eyes towards her. He should not expect from her any romantic worship, any girlish devotion, but, at all events, she would come to him heart-whole, without any remains of previous attachments or bygone passions.
Who else would be affected by this marriage? His nieces. At least, so the world would think and say, but he should take care that the world was wrong. On the contrary, if anybody rather benefited by the step he was about to take, it should be those girls; principally because they were the persons who would be selected for the world's pity, and also because, he could not tell why, he rather disliked them. It was very wrong, he knew, and he had often reasoned with himself and struggled hard against it, but the result was always the same. They were no companions for him. He had tried very hard to make himself feel interested in them, but, beyond his natural kinsman interest and compassion for their forlorn state of orphanage, without effect. He had examined himself as to the cause of this want of interest, and had explained to himself that they were "frivolous;" by which he meant that they had no notions of business, of money, of responsibility, of the various items which make up the serious side of life. All those qualities which made up the charms of Marian Ashurst were wanting in these girls. In reality they were not in the least frivolous; they were far better educated and informed than most young ladies of their class, and one of them, Maud, had superior natural gifts. But they were not after their uncle's bent, and he could not make them so. That, however, was the exact reason why a man with such a keen sense of honour as Mr. Creswell should treat them with even extra consideration, and should be more than ever cautious that no such proceeding as his marriage should injure them in any possible way. He thought it was due to the girls, as well as advisable for many reasons, that they should be made acquainted with the forthcoming change as speedily as possible, and he took an opportunity of saying so to Marian on the Sunday evening. Marian quite agreed with him. She had never been enthusiastic on the subject of the girls, and she did not pretend to be now.
"It would only be right that they should know it at once!" she said. "I had rather, if you please, that you should tell them! It will come from you better than from me! I suppose I shall get on very well with them!"
"Get on very well with them!" repeated Mr. Creswell. "With the girls? Why of course you will, dearest. What reason could there be why you should not get on with them?"
"Oh, none in the least!—of course not! It was a silly remark of mine!"
Mr. Creswell knew that she never made silly remarks; one of his avowed boasts about her was, that she never spoke without thinking, and always spoke at the right time. He felt a little uncomfortable therefore, and dropped the subject, saying, "I will tell them, then, to-morrow morning. Did you speak to Mrs. Ashurst?"
"I did!"
"And she?"
"She is almost as happy as her daughter, at the thought! Is that sufficient?"
"God bless her!" said Mr. Creswell. "Her comfort shall be our first care! Ah, Marian, you are an angel!" And Marian thought it mattered very little how the young ladies might receive the announcement of their uncle's intended marriage, so long as their uncle held that last expressed opinion.
The next morning, while the young ladies were at their music practice, they received a message that their uncle wished to see them. It was not meant to be a formal message, but it certainly smacked somewhat of formality. Hitherto, whenever their uncle wanted them, he had been in the habit of either coming to their room, or of calling them to him. Maud looked astonished at the solemnity of the phrase "wishes to see you" as the servant delivered it, while Gertrude raised her eyebrows at her sister, and audibly wondered what it meant.
They found their uncle seated in his library, the desk before him as usual heaped with papers and accounts, and plenty of Miss Ashurst's handwriting, so horribly neat and so painfully legible, as Gertrude described it, to be seen everywhere. Mr. Creswell rose as they entered, and received them with all his usual kindness; Maud thought his manner was a little flurried and his face a little pale, but she could not gather from anything she saw the reason of their summons. Gertrude had made up her mind that somebody, she did not know who, had proposed for Maud; but then she could not see why she was required to be present at the announcement.
There was rather an uncomfortable hitch in the proceedings at first, Mr. Creswell obviously finding it difficult to touch upon the topic which he had to treat, and the girls having no topic to touch upon. At length, Maud broke the silence by saying, "You sent for us, uncle! You wished to see us!"
"Yes, my dears—yes, girls, I wanted to see you, and I asked the servant to beg you to step here, as I had something special that I wanted to say to you, for you know, my dear children, that since you came to live with me, I have always treated you as if you were my daughters—at least, I hope I have; it has been my wish to do so!"
"You always have done so, uncle!" said Maud, decisively.
"Always, uncle!" echoed Gertrude, who was best as chorus.
"That's right, my dears. I'm glad you've found it so, as I intended it. So long as I live you will find that you will be treated in the same way, and I have made such provision for you in my will as I would have made for my own daughters, if it had pleased God to give me any. Having told you this, it's right that I should tell you of something which is going to happen in this house, though it won't make any difference in your position, nor any difference to you at all that I know of, but yet it's right you should be made acquainted with it. I'm—I'm going to be married!"
There was a pause for an instant, and then it was Gertrude spoke.
"To be married!" she said. "You going to be married! Oh, uncle, I know to whom! I'm sure I can guess!"
"Guess, then, my dear," said Mr. Creswell.
"To dear old Mrs. Ashurst, isn't it?" cried Gertrude. "I'm sure it is! She is the very kindest, sweetest old thing! and if she only had better health—I'm right, uncle, am I not?—it is Mrs. Ashurst!"
"No, my dear," said Mr. Creswell, with hesitating voice and glowing cheeks—"no, my dear, it's not Mrs. Ashurst!"
"Ah, then, it's some one you have met away from Woolgreaves, away from the neighbourhood, some one we don't know!"
"No, indeed!" said Mr. Creswell, "it is some one you know very well, and I hope love very much. It is Marian—Miss Ashurst."
"Oh, my!" exclaimed Gertrude.
"I wish you all happiness, dear uncle," said Maud, rising from her seat, crossing to her uncle, and bending down to kiss him as he sat.
"So do I, dear uncle," said Gertrude, following her sister.
"Thank you, my dears," said Mr. Creswell; "thank you very much. I said before, that nothing should make any difference in your position here, nor in my intentions for the future—nor will it. Besides, it isn't as if it were a stranger—you've known Marian so long"
"Oh yes, we've known Miss Ashurst for some time!" said Maud, with emphasis.
"Exactly!" said Mr. Creswell. "As I say, it isn't as if it were a stranger! Marian has been domiciled with us now for some time, and there is no reason why, so far as you and she are concerned, things should not go on exactly as they have done! At least, I know this to be her wish and mine!" he added, after a short pause.
"Whatever is your wish, uncle, I'm sure Gertrude and I will be delighted to fulfil"
"Delighted!" interposed Gertrude.
"And I don't think Miss Ashurst will find us give her any trouble!"
"Miss Ashurst! Why not speak of her as Marian, my dear?" said Mr. Creswell.
"She has always been Miss Ashurst to me hitherto, and you know I'm not going to marry her, uncle!" said Maud, almost brusquely.
"What do you think of Miss A. now?" said Gertrude, when the girls were back in their room. "I used to laugh about her being superior! But she has shown herself superior to us with a vengeance! Fancy having her for an aunt, and having to ask her permission to do this and that, and go here and there! Oh my! Why don't you speak, Maud—why don't you say something about all this?"
"Because I can't trust myself to speak," said Maud, hurriedly. "Because I'm afraid of blurting out something that were better left unsaid."
"Oh, then, you're not so pleased at the connexion! I'm sure by the way in which you wished your uncle happiness, one would have thought that the dearest wish of your heart had been realised. What do you think of Miss A.'s conduct, I mean as regards this matter?"
"Just what I think of it, and have always thought of it as regards every other matter, that it is selfish, base, and deceitful. That woman came here with a predetermined plan of marrying uncle, and chance has helped her to carry it into effect, even more quickly than she anticipated. Tom saw that, he told us so, if you recollect. Poor Tom! he was a dull, unpleasant lad, but he was wonderfully shrewd, and he saw through this woman's tactics in a minute, and determined to spoil them. He would have done so, had he lived, and now, I've no doubt that the very fact of his death has been the means of hurrying uncle into taking this step!"
"Do you think Miss A. cares for uncle, Maud?"
"Cares for him—what do you mean?"
"Well, of course, I don't mean to be awfully fond, and all that sort of thing, like lovers, you know, and all that! What do you think she—well, she's fond of him?"
"Of him? No! she's fond of his name and his position, his money and his influence! She's fond of Woolgreaves, she has become accustomed to its comforts, and she does not choose to give them up!"
"I don't know that Miss A. is to be particularly pitched into for that, Maud," said Gertrude. "I think, perhaps, we ought to look at home before making any such suggestions! We have become accustomed to the comforts of Woolgreaves, and we—at least I—should be uncommonly sorry to give them up!"
"Well, but we have some claim to them; at all events we are of uncle's blood, and did not come here designedly, with a view to establish ourselves here, as I'm certain this woman did! And when you talk of our not giving up our present life—look to it!"
"Look, Maud! what do you mean?"
"What do I mean! That we shall have to change our lives very quickly! You don't suppose Marian Ashurst is going to live her life with us as constant reminders to her of what was? You don't suppose that we—that I, at least, am going to waste my life with her as my rock ahead—not I, indeed!"
"Well, Maud," said Gertrude, quietly, "I don't suppose anything about anything! I never do. What you propose I shall agree to, and that's all I know or all I care for!"
It was Marian's wish that the marriage should be delayed for some little time, but Mr. Creswell was of the opposite advice, and thought it would be better to have the ceremony as soon as possible. "Life is very short, Marian," he said, "and I am too old to think of deferring my happiness. I am looking to you as my wife to brighten and soothe the rest of my days, and I am selfish enough to grudge every one of them until you are in that position! It is all very well for young people to have their term of courtship and engagement, and all the rest of it, but you are going to throw yourself away on an old man, dear one," and he smiled fondly and patted her cheek, "and you must be content to dispense with that, and come to him at once!"
"Content is not the word to express my feelings and wishes in the matter!" said Marian; "only I thought that—after Tom's death, so soon I mean—people might say that it would have been better to have waited till"
"My dearest child, no waiting would restore my poor boy to me; and I look to you to fill the void in my heart which his loss has made! As for people talking, I have lived too long, child, to pay the slightest heed to what they say! If such gossip moved me one jot, it would rather strengthen my wish to hasten our marriage, as it supplies me with an argument which you evidently have not perceived"
"And that is?"
"And that is, that, you may depend upon it, these sticklers for the proprieties and conventionalities, these worshippers of Mrs. Grundy, will be very much interested in our movements, and highly scandalised if, under these fresh circumstances which they have just learned, you remain an inmate of my house! What has been perfectly right and decorous for the last few months would be highly improper for the next few weeks, according to their miserable doctrine! I should not have named this to you, Marian, had not the conversation taken this turn; nor even then, had you been a silly girl and likely to be influenced by such nonsense. However much you might wish to go away and live elsewhere until our marriage, you cannot. Your mother's state of health precludes any possibility of her removal, and therefore the only thing for us to do is to get the marriage over as quickly as possible, and thus effectually silence Mrs. Grundy's disciples!"
"Very well!" said Marian. "I suppose for the same reason it will be better that the wedding should be here?"
"Here? Why, my dearest Marian, where would you wish it to be?"
"Oh, I should like us to go away to some quiet little place where we were neither of us known, and just walk into the church"
"And just smuggle through the ceremony and slip away, so that no one should see you were marrying a man old enough to be your father! Is that it, pet? I ought to feel highly complimented, and"
"Please, not even in joke! No, no; you know what I mean. I cannot explain it, but"
"I know exactly, darling, but we can't help it. If you wish it the wedding shall be perfectly quiet, only just ourselves, but it must take place here, and I don't surpose our good neighbours would let it pass off without some demonstration of their regard, whatever wo might say to them! By the way, I mentioned it to the girls this morning!"
"And what did they say?" Marian asked, with, for her, rather unusual eagerness. "Or rather, what did Maud say, for Gertrude, of course, merely echoed her sister?"
"Poor Gerty!" said Mr. Creswell, smiling; "hitherto she has not displayed much originality. Oh, Maud was very affectionate indeed, came over and kissed me, and wished me all happiness. And, as you say, of course, Gertrude did, and said, ditto! Have they—have they said anything to you?"
"Not a word! I have scarcely seen them since yesterday."
"Ah! they'll take an opportunity of coming to you. I know they are delighted at anything which they think will conduce to my happiness!"
"Perhaps they don't think that your marrying me will have that effect?" said Marian, with a half smile.
"'Please, not even in joke!' it is my turn to say that now!" said Mr. Creswell.
It was a perfect godsend to the people of Helmingham, this news, and coming so soon too—a few months interval was comparatively nothing in the village—after the excitement caused by young Tom's death. They had never had the remotest idea that Mr. Creswell would ever take to himself a second wife; they had long since given up the idea of speculating upon Marian Ashurst's marriage prospects, and the announcement was almost too much for them to comprehend. Generally, the feeling was one of satisfaction, for the old schoolmaster and Mrs. Ashurst had both been popular in the village, and there had been much commiseration, expressed with more warmth and honesty than good taste, when it was murmured that the widow and Marian would have to give up housekeeping—an overwhelming degradation in the Helmingham mind—and go into lodgings. A little alloy might have existed, in the fact that no new element would be brought into their society, no stranger making her first appearance as the "squire's lady," to be stared at on her first Sunday in church, and discussed and talked over, after her first round of visits. But this disappointment was made up to Mrs. Croke, and Mrs. Whicher, and others of their set, by the triumph and vindication of their own perspicuity and appreciation of character. They appealed to each, other, and to a sympathising audience round a tea-table specially spread, directly authentic confirmation of the news of the intended marriage was received, whether they had not always said that, "That girl's heart was set on money!" That it would take some one "wi' pounds an' pounds!" to win her, and they had proved right, and she were now going to be made mistress of Woolgreaves, eh? Money enough there, as Mrs. Whicher told Mrs. M'Shaw, to satisfy even her longing for riches. "But it's not all goold that glitters," said the thrifty housewife; "and it's not all sunshine even then. There's givin' up liberty, and such like, to who? It 'minds me of the story of a man as cam' to market wi' a cart-load o' cheeses and grindstones. The cheeses was that beautiful that every one wanted they, but no one bought the grindstones; so seein' this the man, who were from where your husband comes from, Mrs. M'Shaw, the north, he said, he wouldn't sell 'ere a cheese unless they bought a grindstone at the same time, and so he cleared off the lot! I'm thinkin' that wi' Marian Ashurst the money's the cheese, but she can't take that wi'out the old man, the grindstone!" Scarcely anything was said about the singularity of the circumstance that a pretty girl like Marian had not had any lovers. Mrs. Croke remarked that once she thought there would be "something between" Marian and "that young Joyce," but she was promptly put down; Mrs. Whicher observing, scornfully, that a girl with Marian's notions of money wasn't likely to have "taken up wi' an usher;" and Mrs. Baker, little Sam's mother, declaring it would have been an awful thing, if true, as she was given to understand that young Joyce had "leff' for a soldier," and the last thing heard of him was that he had actually 'listed.
The wedding-day arrived, to Marian's intense relief. She had been haunted by an odd feeling that Walter Joyce might even come to see her, or, at all events, might write to her, either to induce her to change her resolution or to upbraid her with her perfidy. But he had made no sign, and there was no chance of his doing so now. She was perfectly calm and composed, had steadily contemplated her future, and had made up her mind as to her intended disposal of various persons so soon as she commenced her new path in life. That would not be just yet; they were going away for a fortnight to the seaside, Mrs. Ashurst being left to the care of the girls, who were delighted at the charge. Maud and Gertrude were to be bridesmaids, and no one else was to be officially present at the ceremony save Dr. Osborne, who, as Marian's oldest friend, was to give her away. The little doctor was in the greatest delight at the match, which he looked upon as being somewhat of his own making, though he thought it the best joke in the world to rally Marian by telling her that "her housekeeper project was a much better one than his! He had only thought Mrs. Ashurst might succeed Mrs. Caddy, for a little time, but by George! little Marian all the time intended to make herself head of the house for life!" The villagers, however, were not to be baulked of their ceremonial, the bells were rung, general holiday was made, and Marian Creswell, leaning on her husband's arm, walked from the church on flowers strewn on the path, by the girls who a few years before had been her school-fellows.
"What an incongruous time for such a letter to arrive!" said Mr. Creswell to Marian, as they were waiting for the carriage to drive to the railway, handing her a paper. She took it, and read:
"Dear Sir,—General E. will be about six weeks hence. Please be prepared. We calculate on you for B.
"I can't understand it," said Marian. "Who is General E., and where will he be about six weeks hence? Why are you to be prepared, and what is B. that they calculate on you for?"
"General E.," said Mr. Creswell, laughing, "is the general election, and B. is Brocksopp, for which borough I've promised to stand. However, there's enough of that now! My darling, I hope you will never regret this day!"
"I am certain I shall not!" she replied, quite calmly.