The Dilemma/Chapter XLVII
CHAPTER XLVII.
That evening there was a large dinner-party at "The Beeches," and the luxurious meal of the previous day was quite a frugal repast in contrast with the profusion of luxuries which now succeeded each other in apparently interminable courses. The table was loaded with plate and glass; the gorgeously embossed bills of fare had evidently been printed for the occasion; the ample staff of servants was supplemented by various portly gentlemen, evidently hired waiters, and this time five decanters graced each end of the table with the dessert; but Yorke noticed that, except the vicar of the parish and his wife, none of the guests appeared to be neighbours. Some had come from town and were to sleep at "The Beeches;" the rest had driven from long distances. Yorke's part in the long repast was a dull one; being himself the principal guest, none of the young ladies fell to his share, but he took into dinner a stout lady gorgeously set out with jewels, with a low dress and ample bust, who did not talk much, but eat steadily through the bill of fare from beginning to end; while her husband, who sat nearly opposite, and also did his best to qualify for the gout, observing, after the ladies had left, that Yorke drank sherry, recommended him to try the claret, winking his eye knowingly as if by way of certificate of the goodness of the vintage. Conversation, indeed, was not the strong point of the evening, there being apparently a sort of general understanding that nobody was to talk about anything on which he or she felt the smallest interest; and Yorke could now appreciate the dismal forebodings which the young ladies while at tea in the nursery had expressed about the coming entertainment. The general company, however, seemed to regard the occasion with satisfaction as a sort of an alderman's feast, an opportunity not to be thrown away, the result being generally suggestive of doctor's bills and premature decease to come, while Mr. Peevor hospitably pressed his wines on his guests, supporting his recommendations of the different kinds by more or less direct allusions to their price, and little anecdotic stories of the mode in which various select parcels had come into his possession. Nevertheless, when the gentlemen rose there remained a considerable residuum in the ten decanters; and the honest fellows who waited on them evidently appreciated good wine, for a certain unsteadiness of gait was very noticeable when they handed the tea round afterwards in the drawing-room. The conversation in that apartment was not of a more lively character than that which passed at dinner, most of the guests being in that happy state of repletion which is not conducive to the play of wit or humour. It was a case, in short, of high living and plain thinking; but the two young ladies — the only unmarried ones present, for Miss Maria on this occasion kept her room — each went through their little performance of playing and singing. "I know it bores you tremendously," said Miss Lucy to Yorke, when he thanked her after the song; "but papa likes us to do it, and nobody listens, so there is no harm done, is there?" Mr. Peevor meanwhile introduced all the male guests in turn to Yorke, as "our friend Colonel Yorke, the distinguished cavalry officer, you know; of course you have heard how he won his Victoria Cross. We feel quite proud to have him as our guest; we hope he is going to honour us with a long visit," and so on, till Yorke became quite sulky with shame and vexation, although sufficiently impressed with the absurdity of the position.
Next day Mr. Peevor was bustling about all the morning, attending at their departure on the guests, who drove away at various times between breakfast and lunch, some in their own carriages, others in their host's. The two younger ladies also went off after breakfast to spend the day with a relative, and do an afternoon's shopping in town. Miss Maria was unwell and still keeping her room; so after the house was clear Mr. Peevor took Yorke round the grounds, which he had not had an opportunity of doing before, and which he was very desirous to do the honours of in person, walking with a short shuffling step, a long staff in his hand, as if for an Alpine ascent. Everything outside the place was in keeping with the interior arrangements. The garden, although not a small one, was crowded with hothouses, added by the present proprietor; acres of glass were exhibited, miles of pipes, battalions of pumps and garden apparatus — everything, in fact, that art could do to pervert the working of nature and make fruits and flowers grow in the wrong season — with a perfect army of gardeners, mainly employed, it seemed, in getting in each other's way. It was not a good strawberry country, said Mr. Peevor; but they had strawberries that year in February, a good week earlier than anyhody else; and they had grapes on the table in January. Early strawberries were such a nice thing, observed Mr. Peevor, especially if anybody in the house should be unwell.
Of course there was a farm on the estate, with about twice as many hands as could possibly be employed, and a perfect museum of agricultural implements. Wonderfully economical these things were, said the owner, after you had worked off the first cost; and by growing your own oats you kept down stable expenses: he was not above saving money by careful farming. Then they visited the kennel, where numerous dogs were chained up; setters and retrievers which never were shot with, a coach-dog that did not run with the carriage, greyhounds unaccustomed to coursing, watch-dogs too lazy in such company to bark. "I am a bit of a dog-fancier," said Mr. Peevor, looking round the yard; "and all these are the best breed of their kind. I never spare expense to get the right sort, and I like to have plenty of them;" but he did not go up to any to pet them, and the poor beasts were evidently too little accustomed to notice or to liberty to show any excitement at the appearance of the visitors. The girls sometimes took one or two of them out for a walk, Mr. Peevor observed in reply to his guest's question — indeed, that pretty little spaniel in the corner belonged to Lucy; but he had felt obliged to make a rule that the dogs should not come into the house. Lucy was quite in a state about it at first, for it was a present from a friend of theirs, Mr. Hanckes; but dogs in a house knocked things about so; and besides, it was not safe where there were children, dogs were so uncertain in their tempers.
The stables were in keeping with the other appointments, and the stall accommodation much in excess of the owner's own wants, the only present tenant of the guests' range being Jumping Joseph, which Yorke had retained for further use; and the grooms seemed to be mainly employed in looking after the helpers.
On return to the house Mr. Peevor withdrew to his study, to write letters as he said, but as Yorke suspected, from a certain drowsiness of manner, to take an afternoon nap; and the latter found Mrs. Peevor in the blue drawing-room — the only occupant, Miss Peevor being still up-stairs — and the children engaged in one of their numerous meals in the nursery. No callers arrived to break the conversation which followed, the first he had had the opportunity of holding with the sister of his old friend. It was now more than twenty years since Mrs. Peevor had seen her brother, and more than ten since any correspondence passed between them; and as she was little more than a child when he went to India, her recollection of him was but a shadowy one, and her knowledge of his character and career of the vaguest. She knew that he had distinguished himself as a soldier; but in the absence of any specific acquaintance with the course of recent events in India, and holding but the most shadowy conceptions of the geography of that distant country, it would have been a hopeless task to attempt a detailed account of his life which would convey any distinct impression. With the sister it was evidently a pleasing duty to show attention to the friend of her brother, round whose memory there might rest a halo of affectionate sentiment; but when the conversation after a time turned to the surroundings of her present life, Mrs. Peevor's manner became much more animated. Silent, and perhaps shy, in general company, or when others would do the talking for her, he found that she had plenty to say on an occasion of this sort; and without any exhibition of curiosity on his part, Yorke was placed in possession of a considerable instalment of the family history, Mrs. Peevor being apparently only too pleased to meet with a listener, and at once perfectly confidential. Mr. Peevor, it appeared, had been married three times before; and in one of the numerous pictures on the walls of the blue drawing-room now pointed out, of an uninteresting- looking young woman, there could be discerned a likeness to the eldest Miss Peevor. Mr. Peevor's cousin, explained the step-mother, and his first wife, whom he married when quite a young man. The pale young lady with light hair, whose portrait graced the opposite wall, was mother to Cathy and Fred; while the pretty little girlish face which hung over the mantelpiece was unmistakably that of Lucy's mother, whose span of wedded life had been even shorter than that of her predecessors. Mr. Peevor was a man of deeply affectionate nature, observed the latest partner of his couch; and these successive losses had greatly affected his spirits, and made him more nervous and particular about trifles than he used to be. The poor widower did not marry again for several years after he lost Lucy's mother, who died when she was a baby; and Mrs. Peevor hoped he might now be granted a fair measure of happiness after his long, lonely widowhood: although, she added, relapsing into melancholy, there was no saying how long she herself might be spared to be a companion to him; her own health had been very feeble ever since Lottie's birth.
Yorke hereon observed, by way of diverting her mind from the gloomy prospect of following her three predecessors, that he was sorry to see Miss Maria seemed to be in delicate health; to which Mrs. Peevor replied that she took after her poor mother in that respect, but had been much worse since her disappointment: and then, without waiting to be asked any questions, but evidently only too happy to find a listener, she proceeded to relate the story of poor Miss Maria's wrongs, and the shameful conduct of the affianced lover, who broke off the engagement almost at the last moment, after the wedding-dress had come home, and even the wedding-breakfast was ordered. It was all a question of money, although Mr. Peevor had behaved most generously; indeed he was liberal to a fault. Mr. Peevor, of course, was furious, and even declared he would pursue the perjured wretch with an action for breach of promise, but he was prevailed on to desist: this was before Mrs. Peevor was married to him. He sold his house at Harrow Weald, however, and left the neighbourhood; and poor Maria had never got over the affair.
From this conversation Yorke came to understand the relations which the different members of the family held towards each other. They were all good-tempered and kindly, and seemed to get on very well together; but no one cared particularly for anybody else, which was only natural under the circumstances. Mr. Peevor having at different times bestowed portions of his heart in so many different quarters, there was only a remnant available for his present wife; while the lady, although quite prepared to do her duty by her husband and step-children, was still able to regard them dispassionately as from an external point of view, and to describe their little foibles with kindly gusto to any available listener. Surely, thought Yorke, recalling to mind his friend Braddon's grim humour and reticence of manner, there are no people so unlike as blood-relations. Not, however, that Mrs. Peevor was disposed to disparage her step-children. Fred was evidently a great hero in her eyes; Miss Peevor was always "poor dear Maria." Cathy was of a thoroughly domestic nature, she said, though admirably fitted for a life of adventure; and Lucy was a dear affectionate girl — the children quite doted on her — and her cheerful disposition was such a comfort in that delicate household.
This revelation sufficed to dispel any lingering doubts remaining as to Mr. Peevor's solvency. He had evidently nothing of the reckless speculator about him. But as to what he was, and whence came the wealth so lavishly scattered, Yorke still knew nothing.
That evening there was another heavy dinner — the parish doctor and his wife being the only neighbours — but of people not quite of so much account as on the previous day, since none were invited for the night; and those who did not drive from their own homes came by train from London, being conveyed to and from the station in Mr. Peevor's carriages. Again there was the same interminable succession of courses, and the same strenuous efforts to qualify for the gout on the part of the stout ladies and their middle-aged partners — gentlemen of uncertain accentuation — who composed the company; the same lavish supply of costly wine, and the same unsteadiness of gait apparent in the servants afterwards. But the two young ladies, who had returned home just in time to dress for dinner, were in unusual spirits; for Miss Cathy had received a letter by the evening post to say her brother had got a few days' leave from his regiment, and would be with them next day. Fred was evidently the most important person in the family, and Lucy's bright eyes were brighter than usual at the prospect of his visit.
"What a coxcomb I am, to be sure!" said Yorke to himself afterwards in the retirement of his room. "I was beginning to fancy the little girl was ready to join in the family plot and make eyes at me; while from the way in which she brightens up because, forsooth, a brother is coming home, she was evidently bored all the time with my company. But it is always my folly to be fancying that one woman or another is in love with me."