CHAPTER XXI

Whilst making his way back to the ball-room after supper, Mr Howard was stopped by Tom Musgrave, who told him that Lady Osborne desired his presence in her own room. He was received with even more than the usual gracious condescension.

“Pray be seated. Yes, in the settee here, so that I may talk with more ease.”

There was a pause during which her Ladyship took stock of her situation.

“My good Mr Howard,” she went on, “there can be little doubt that in the next few years I must be deprived of my children, which will make a considerable difference in my way of life, a very considerable difference, Mr Howard. This renders it the more fitting that I should myself consider, nay, I will go further and say _seek_, yes, seek a change. You may probably have had no thought of my interest in you being other than the interest of the patron in the clergyman----”

Mr Howard half rose, and made as though to speak, but, with an impatient gesture, she motioned him to remain seated.

“Pray permit me to say what I desire you to hear. In short, my dear Mr Howard, my wish is that we unite,--I will not say our fortunes, for I am well aware that on your side there is none,--but our lives.--My rank will bring consequence to your situation, and neither your profession nor person can disgrace mine.”

Mr Howard, in a state of much agitation from more than one emotion, was now permitted to rise, and, speaking very rapidly, replied:

“I am much obliged for your--I regret that this should be impossible. I am very grateful for your kind--for all your kindness--My affections--engaged elsewhere.”

With a hasty bow he was gone. Lady Osborne was left, also much disturbed by a variety of feelings. Fortunately the consideration of the evil of so unequal a match was soon predominant.

We might draw a moving picture of the rejected mother and son weeping in each other’s arms, but have to confess that Lady Osborne went to bed, and that Lord Osborne made the discovery that emotion is exhausting, and felt the better for cake and a glass of wine.

Once outside the park gates, Emma found that the sympathetic pressure of Elizabeth’s hand, or some other cause, was restoring her composure with surprising rapidity, and she experienced some shame on this account. Nevertheless, thoughts, exciting and not altogether unpleasant, continued to present themselves. She had had an offer, at a ball, and the ball at a Castle, and the suitor the Lord of the Castle. What would any one think if they knew? What would Mr Howard think? Her thoughts ran on, and, knowing that such thoughts were unwise and a danger to her peace of mind, she continued to think them till interrupted by Margaret.

“Why would not Lady Osborne let you stay?”

Emma replied that she had wished to be at home.

“You mean that Lady Osborne desired you to go home?”

Emma assured her that this was not so.

“Well, who was it that would not have you?”

Emma explained that no one had objected to her presence, but that she herself had experienced a sudden desire not to be separated from her family.

“Have you told the truth to Elizabeth? Do you ever expect to be asked to the Castle again? Just as we are taking you into high life, you disgrace us all. Do not suppose but that I shall find out the truth.”

Emma was thankful when they reached Stanton, but here trouble awaited them. Nanny met them with the information that Mr Watson had been taken very unwell soon after their departure, that he had had her send for the apothecary, who had said little and shaken his head much, and forgotten to leave any physic, till she ran out after him for it.

The sight of their father, quiet and free from pain, gave some reassurance, and as he firmly declined to have any one sit in his room, all were glad to retire.

Several days passed, the apothecary calling each morning, and each afternoon shortly before dark. The house was strangely quiet: it had indeed never been very lively, but there had been the possibility at any moment of the thump of Mr Watson’s stick on the floor overhead to be attended to, and his demands satisfied. Now he lay in bed, growing quieter and still quieter as the hours passed.

On the fourth day after the memorable dance at the Castle, Nanny going early to his room, found him so very quiet that her ministrations were no longer needed, and it remained only for her to carry the sad tidings to Elizabeth and Emma.

Word was sent to Croydon and Chichester, and Mr Robert Watson arrived the following morning, and Penelope before nightfall. The sisters were really glad of their brother’s support in the necessary arrangements. Could he have remained thus importantly busy he might have continued to accumulate gratitude, and might even have been missed after his departure, when some further matter had to be decided. It was not to be. Affairs were settled all too soon, and entering the parlour, having warmed himself up to his subject at the fire, he began:

“Well, I must say this is most unfortunate,” sitting down in his father’s chair, “most unfortunate for me indeed. I had calculated my father could have lived ten years: I had certainly reckoned on ten years, and you see how I am taken in. Heavens knows what is to become of you girls; there will not be more than two thousand pounds to divide between you, and you will expect me to give you a home.”

“Do not count on me,” cried Penelope, “I shall not live at Croydon, I promise you.”

“So much the better, if you have some other plan; three on one’s hand is quite enough. There has been some great mismanagement, or some of you would certainly have got husbands.”

“Well, to relieve your mind,” continued Pen, “I will inform you that I am engaged to be married, and expect to be a wife in about a month.”

“Are you indeed, my dear sister? I congratulate you. What settlements are you to have? If the papers pass through our office, I promise you I will pay every attention to see all advantageously arranged for you.”

“Your liberality, my dear Robert, is most exemplary, and far beyond what I had ventured to expect from you. But I shall not trouble you. The settlements are preparing at Chichester.”

“It is a very delicate matter to make known,” said Margaret, “one from which a young woman of sensibility naturally shrinks; but I will so far overcome my feelings as to inform you, Robert, that I, too, am engaged to be married and, therefore, delighted as I should be to reside with my dear Jane, I hope before long to be able to receive you in my own house, and as Mrs Tom Musgrave, to return the kindness shown to Margaret Watson.”

“What!” said Robert, staring at her with undisguised amazement, “are you mad, Margaret?”

“Indeed, I hope not,” replied she simpering. “I am engaged to my dear Tom Musgrave, as any one might expect, and no doubt we shall be married in time.”

Her brother looked doubtfully at her, but, after a moment’s consideration, replied:

“Well, Margaret, if that is the case, you deserve more credit than I had ever thought possible, for I would not have given much for your chance with Tom; but since you say he is engaged to you, I am heartily glad to hear it. As times go, it is a good match.”

“A good match! I should think so,” cried Margaret. “I only wish my sisters may make half so good a one. Tom Musgrave is a man every woman may envy me.”

“I doubt if his income was ever a clear thousand a year, Margaret,” replied Robert, “but, provided he is not in debt, you may do very well. If only Elizabeth and Emma were in a like case we might all be very comfortable.”

This was worse than Emma had feared.

“Jane was of the opinion that there must have been a great want of management on your part, Emma,” he continued, “during your visit to the Howards and the Castle, or you might certainly have turned them to better account.”

“I regret that Jane should disapprove of me,” replied Emma.

“I warned her that it was beyond what might be hoped for, but she would have it that, with proper attention, you could have secured the young lord. I understand that you had excellent opportunities; it was certainly your duty to make every effort for such an establishment. In such a position, you would have been of service to your family; you might even have been useful to me, but as I said to Jane, it was beyond what could be hoped.”

Emma, though distressed, was able to feel that she had gained much by keeping her own counsel. What would have been the anger and reproach had the true state of the case been known!

Robert had more to say on the subject, and was only checked by the arrival of Mr Watson’s lawyer, which enabled Emma to escape.

On the first opportunity Elizabeth confided to Emma her satisfaction at the prospect of Penelope’s coming marriage.

“Dr Harding is old and asthmatic,” she allowed, “but he has a sufficient income, and that is what Pen is resolved on.”

Emma expressed the opinion that old age and ill-health could not be ignored, and that Penelope was to be pitied in making so mercenary a marriage.

“If any one is to be pitied, it is Dr Harding,” was Elizabeth’s rejoinder, “but about Margaret, what is your opinion? I cannot feel secure that all is as Margaret states.”

“My dear sister,” replied Emma, “how can you doubt that it is as Margaret says? What possible reason could she have to deceive us, even were she so unprincipled?”

Elizabeth hesitated.

“I do not know. You do not know Tom as I do; it is all very odd, and I can only hope that you are right. You and I can manage together till one of your young lords comes to take you away. My poor father, it is all very strange and difficult.”