VI
The Young Ladies Are to Be Taken Abroad
How should Philip Hughes see Emily before she had been carried away to “foreign parts” by her stern father? As he regarded the matter it was absolutely imperative that he should do so. If she should be made to go, in her father’s present state of mind, without having reiterated her vows, she might be persuaded by that foreign-living English gentleman whom she would find abroad, to give him her hand. Emily had no doubt confessed her love to Philip, but she had not done so in that bold unshrinking manner which had been natural to Polly Peppercorn. And her lover felt it to be incumbent upon him to receive some renewal of her assurance before she was taken away for a prolonged residence abroad. But there was a difficulty as to this. If he were to knock at the door of the private house and ask for Miss Greenmantle, the servant, though she was in truth Philip’s friend in the matter, would not dare to show him up. The whole household was afraid of Mr. Greenmantle, and would receive any hint that his will was to be set aside with absolute dismay. So Philip at last determined to take the bull by the horns and force his way into the drawing-room. Mr. Greenmantle could not be made more hostile than he was; and then it was quite on the cards, that he might be kept in ignorance of the intrusion. When therefore the banker was sitting in his own more private room, Philip passed through from the bank into the house, and made his way upstairs with no one to announce him.
With no one to announce him he passed straight through into the drawing-room, and found Emily sitting very melancholy over a half-knitted stocking. It had been commenced with an idea that it might perhaps be given to Philip, but as her father’s stern severity had been announced, she had given up that fond idea, and had increased the size, so as to fit them for the paternal feet. “Good gracious, Philip,” she exclaimed, “how on earth did you get here?”
“I came upstairs from the bank.”
“Oh, yes; of course. But did you not tell Mary that you were coming?”
“I should never have been let up had I done so. Mary has orders not to let me put my foot within the house.”
“You ought not to have come; indeed you ought not.”
“And I was to let you go abroad without seeing you! Was that what I ought to have done? It might be that I should never see you again. Only think of what my condition must be.”
“Is not mine twice worse?”
“I do not know. If it be twice worse than mine then I am the happiest man in all the world.”
“Oh, Philip, what do you mean?”
“If you will assure me of your love—”
“I have assured you.”
“Give me another assurance, Emily,” he said, sitting down beside her on the sofa. But she started up quickly to her feet. “When you gave me the assurance before, then—then—”
“One assurance such as that ought to be quite enough.”
“But you are going abroad.”
“That can make no difference.”
“Your father says, that you will meet there some Englishman who will—”
“My father knows nothing about it. I shall meet no Englishman, and no foreigner; at least none that I shall care about. You oughtn’t to get such an idea into your head.”
“That’s all very well, but how am I to keep such ideas out? Of course there will be men over there; and if you come across some idle young fellow who has not his bread to earn as I do, won’t it be natural that you should listen to him?”
“No; it won’t be natural.”
“It seems to me to be so. What have I got that you should continue to care for me?”
“You have my word, Philip. Is that nothing?” She had now seated herself on a chair away from the sofa, and he, feeling at the time some special anxiety to get her into his arms, threw himself down on his knees before her, and seized her by both her hands. At that moment the door of the drawing-room was opened, and Mr. Greenmantle appeared within the room. Philip Hughes could not get upon his feet quick enough to return the furious anger of the look which was thrown on him. There was a difficulty even in disembarrassing himself of poor Emily’s hands; so that she, to her father, seemed to be almost equally a culprit with the young man. She uttered a slight scream, and then he very gradually rose to his legs.
“Emily,” said the angry father, “retire at once to your chamber.”
“But, papa, I must explain.”
“Retire at once to your chamber, miss. As for this young man, I do not know whether the laws of his country will not punish him for this intrusion.”
Emily was terribly frightened by this allusion to her country’s laws. “He has done nothing, papa; indeed he has done nothing.”
“His very presence here, and on his knees! Is that nothing? Mr. Hughes, I desire that you will retire. Your presence in the bank is required. I lay upon you my strict order never again to presume to come through that door. Where is the servant who announced you?”
“No servant announced me.”
“And did you dare to force your way into my private house, and into my daughter’s presence unannounced? It is indeed time that I should take her abroad to undergo a prolonged residence in some foreign parts. But the laws of the country which you have outraged will punish you. In the meantime why do you not withdraw? Am I to be obeyed?”
“I have just one word which I wish to say to Miss Greenmantle.”
“Not a word. Withdraw! I tell you, sir, withdraw to the bank. There your presence is required. Here it will never be needed.”
“Goodbye, Emily,” he said, putting out his hand in his vain attempt to take hers.
“Withdraw, I tell you.” And Mr. Greenmantle, with all the stiffness of the poker apparent about him, backed poor young Philip Hughes through the doorway on to the staircase, and then banged the door behind him. Having done this, he threw himself on to the sofa, and hid his face with his hands. He wished it to be understood that the honour of his family had been altogether disgraced by the lightness of his daughter’s conduct.
But his daughter did not see the matter quite in the same light. Though she lacked something of that firmness of manner which Polly Peppercorn was prepared to exhibit, she did not intend to be altogether trodden on. “Papa,” she said, “why do you do that?”
“Good heavens!”
“Why do you cover up your face?”
“That a daughter of mine should have behaved so disgracefully!”
“I haven’t behaved disgracefully, papa.”
“Admitting a young man surreptitiously to my drawing-room!”
“I didn’t admit him; he walked in.”
“And on his knees! I found him on his knees.”
“I didn’t put him there. Of course he came—because—because—”
“Because what?” he demanded.
“Because he is my lover. I didn’t tell him to come; but of course he wanted to see me before we went away.”
“He shall see you no more.”
“Why shouldn’t he see me? He’s a very good young man, and I am very fond of him. That’s just the truth.”
“You shall be taken away for a prolonged residence in foreign parts before another week has passed over your head.”
“Dr. Freeborn quite approves of Mr. Hughes,” pleaded Emily. But the plea at the present moment was of no avail. Mr. Greenmantle in his present frame of mind was almost as angry with Dr. Freeborn as with Emily or Philip Hughes. Dr. Freeborn was joined in this frightful conspiracy against him.
“I do not know,” said he grandiloquently, “that Dr. Freeborn has any right to interfere with the private affairs of my family. Dr. Freeborn is simply the Rector of Plumplington—nothing more.”
“He wants to see the people around him all happy,” said Emily.
“He won’t see me happy,” said Mr. Greenmantle with awful pride.
“He always wishes to have family quarrels settled before Christmas.”
“He shan’t settle anything for me.” Mr. Greenmantle, as he so expressed himself, determined to maintain his own independence. “Why is he to interfere with my family quarrels because he’s the Rector of Plumplington? I never heard of such a thing. When I shall have taken up my residence in foreign parts he will have no right to interfere with me.”
“But, papa, he will be my clergyman all the same.”
“He won’t be mine, I can tell him that. And as for settling things by Christmas, it is all nonsense. Christmas, except for going to church and taking the Sacrament, is no more than any other day.”
“Oh, papa!”
“Well, my dear, I don’t quite mean that. What I do mean is that Dr. Freeborn has no more right to interfere with my family at this time of the year than at any other. And when you’re abroad, which you will be before Christmas, you’ll find that Dr. Freeborn will have nothing to say to you there.” “You had better begin to pack up at once,” he said on the following day.
“Pack up?”
“Yes, pack up. I shall take you first to London, where you will stay for a day or two. You will go by the afternoon train tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!”
“I will write and order beds today.”
“But where are we to go?”
“That will be made known to you in due time,” said Mr. Greenmantle.
“But I’ve got no clothes,” said Emily.
“France is a land in which ladies delight to buy their dresses.”
“But I shall want all manner of things—boots and underclothing—and—and linen, papa.”
“They have all those things in France.”
“But they won’t fit me. I always have my things made to fit me. And I haven’t got any boxes.”
“Boxes! what boxes? work-boxes?”
“To put my things in. I can’t pack up unless I’ve got something to pack them in. As to going tomorrow, papa, it’s quite impossible. Of course there are people I must say goodbye to. The Freeborns—”
“Not the slightest necessity,” said Mr. Greenmantle. “Dr. Freeborn will quite understand the reason. As to boxes, you won’t want the boxes till you’ve bought the things to put in them.”
“But, papa, I can’t go without taking a quantity of things with me. I can’t get everything new; and then I must have my dresses made to fit me.” She was very lachrymose, very piteous, and full of entreaties; but still she knew what she was about. As the result of the interview, Mr. Greenmantle did almost acknowledge that they could not depart for a prolonged residence abroad on the morrow.
Early on the following morning Polly Peppercorn came to call. For the last month she had stuck to her resolution—that she and Miss Greenmantle belonged to different sets in society, and could not be brought together, as Polly had determined to wear her second-rate dresses in preparation for a second-rate marriage—and this visit was supposed to be something altogether out of the way. It was clearly a visit with a cause, as it was made at eleven o’clock in the morning. “Oh, Miss Greenmantle,” she said, “I hear that you’re going away to France—you and your papa, quite at once.”
“Who has told you?”
“Well, I can’t quite say; but it has come round through Dr. Freeborn.” Dr. Freeborn had in truth told Mr. Peppercorn, with the express view of exercising what influence he possessed so as to prevent the rapid emigration of Mr. Greenmantle. And Mr. Peppercorn had told his daughter, threatening her that something of the same kind would have to happen in his own family if she proved obstinate about her lover. “It’s the best thing going,” said Mr. Peppercorn, “when a girl is upsetting and determined to have her own way.” To this Polly made no reply, but came away early on the following morning, so as to converse with her late friend, Miss Greenmantle.
“Papa says so; but you know it’s quite impossible.”
“What is Mr. Hughes to do?” asked Polly in a whisper.
“I don’t know what anybody is to do. It’s dreadful, the idea of going away from home in this sudden manner.”
“Indeed it is.”
“I can’t do it. Only think, Polly, when I talk to him about clothes he tells me I’m to buy dresses in some foreign town. He knows nothing about a woman’s clothes;—nor yet a man’s for the matter of that. Fancy starting tomorrow for six months. It’s the sort of thing that Ida Pfeiffer used to do.”
“I didn’t know her,” said Polly.
“She was a great traveller, and went about everywhere almost without anything. I don’t know how she managed it, but I’m sure that I can’t.”
“Dr. Freeborn says that he thinks it’s all nonsense.” As Polly said this she shook her head and looked uncommonly wise. Emily, however, made no immediate answer. Could it be true that Dr. Freeborn had thus spoken of her father? Emily did think that it was all nonsense, but she had not yet brought herself to express her thoughts openly. “To tell the truth, Miss Greenmantle,” continued Polly, “Dr. Freeborn thinks that Mr. Hughes ought to be allowed to have his own way.” In answer to this Emily could bring herself to say nothing; but she declared to herself that since the beginning of things Dr. Freeborn had always been as near an angel as any old gentleman could be. “And he says that it’s quite out of the question that you should be carried off in this way.”
“I suppose I must do what papa tells me.”
“Well; yes. I don’t know quite about that. I’m all for doing everything that papa likes, but when he talks of taking me to France, I know I’m not going. Lord love you, he couldn’t talk to anybody there.” Emily began to remember that her father’s proficiency in the French language was not very great. “Neither could I for the matter of that,” continued Polly. “Of course, I learned it at school, but when one can only read words very slowly one can’t talk them at all. I’ve tried it, and I know it. A precious figure father and I would make finding our way about France.”
“Does Mr. Peppercorn think of going?” asked Emily.
“He says so;—if I won’t drop Jack Hollycombe. Now I don’t mean to drop Jack Hollycombe; not for father nor for anyone. It’s only Jack himself can make me do that.”
“He won’t, I suppose.”
“I don’t think he will. Now it’s absurd, you know, the idea of our papas both carrying us off to France because we’ve got lovers in Plumplington. How all the world would laugh at them! You tell your papa what my papa is saying, and Dr. Freeborn thinks that that will prevent him. At any rate, if I were you, I wouldn’t go and buy anything in a hurry. Of course, you’ve got to think of what would do for married life.”
“Oh, dear, no!” exclaimed Emily.
“At any rate I should keep my mind fixed upon it. Dr. Freeborn says that there’s no knowing how things may turn out.” Having finished the purport of her embassy, Polly took her leave without even having offered one kiss to her friend.
Dr. Freeborn had certainly been very sly in instigating Mr. Peppercorn to proclaim his intention of following the example of his neighbour the banker. “Papa,” said Emily when her father came in to luncheon, “Mr. Peppercorn is going to take his daughter to foreign parts.”
“What for?”
“I believe he means to reside there for a time.”
“What nonsense! He reside in France! He wouldn’t know what to do with himself for an hour. I never heard anything like it. Because I am going to France is all Plumplington to follow me? What is Mr. Peppercorn’s reason for going to France?” Emily hesitated; but Mr. Greenmantle pressed the question, “What object can such a man have?”
“I suppose it’s about his daughter,” said Emily. Then the truth flashed upon Mr. Greenmantle’s mind, and he became aware that he must at any rate for the present abandon the idea. Then, too, there came across him some vague notion that Dr. Freeborn had instigated Mr. Peppercorn and an idea of the object with which he had done so.
“Papa,” said Emily that afternoon, “am I to get the trunks I spoke about?”
“What trunks?”
“To put my things in, papa. I must have trunks if I am to go abroad for any length of time. And you will want a large portmanteau. You would get it much better in London than you would at Plumplington.” But here Mr. Greenmantle told his daughter that she need not at present trouble her mind about either his travelling gear or her own.
A few days afterwards Dr. Freeborn sauntered into the bank, and spoke a few words to the cashier across the counter. “So Mr. Greenmantle, I’m told, is not going abroad,” said the Rector.
“I’ve heard nothing more about it,” said Philip Hughes.
“I think he has abandoned the idea. There was Hickory Peppercorn thinking of going, too, but he has abandoned it. What do they want to go travelling about France for?”
“What indeed, Dr. Freeborn;—unless the two young ladies have something to say to it.”
“I don’t think they wish it, if you mean that.”
“I think their fathers thought of taking them out of harm’s way.”
“No doubt. But when the harm’s way consists of a lover it’s very hard to tear a young lady away from it.” This was said so that Philip only could hear it. The two lads who attended the bank were away at their desks in distant parts of the office. “Do you keep your eyes open, Philip,” said the Rector, “and things will run smoother yet than you expected.”
“He is frightfully angry with me, Dr. Freeborn. I made my way up into the drawing-room the other day, and he found me there.”
“What business had you to do that?”
“Well, I was wrong, I suppose. Emily was to be taken away suddenly. I had to see her before she went. Think, Doctor, what a prolonged residence in a foreign country means. I mightn’t see her again for years.”
“And so he found you up in the drawing-room. It was very improper; that’s all I can say. Nevertheless, if you’ll behave yourself, I shouldn’t be surprised if things were to run smoother before Christmas.” Then the Doctor took his leave.
“Now, father,” said Polly, “you’re not going to carry me off to foreign parts.”
“Yes, I am. As you’re so wilful it’s the only thing for you.”
“What’s to become of the brewery?”
“The brewery may take care of itself. As you won’t want the money for your husband there’ll be plenty for me. I’ll give it up. I ain’t going to slave and slave all my life and nothing come of it. If you won’t oblige me in this the brewery may go and take care of itself.”
“If you’re like that, father, I must take care of myself. Mr. Greenmantle isn’t going to take his daughter over.”
“Yes; he is.”
“Not a bit of it. He’s as much as told Emily that she’s not to get her things ready.” Then there was a pause, during which Mr. Peppercorn showed that he was much disturbed. “Now, father, why don’t you give way, and show yourself what you always were—the kindest father that ever a girl had.”
“There’s no kindness in you, Polly. Kindness ought to be reciprocal.”
“Isn’t it natural that a girl should like her young man?”
“He’s not your young man.”
“He’s going to be. What have you got to say against him? You ask Dr. Freeborn.”
“Dr. Freeborn, indeed! He isn’t your father!”
“He’s not my father, but he’s my friend. And he’s yours, if you only knew it. You think of it, just for another day, and then say that you’ll be good to your girl.” Then she kissed him, and as she left him she felt that she was about to prevail.