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Denzil Quarrier, a novel by George Gissing |
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Chapter 23 |
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_ CHAPTER XXIII This evening there was a great dinner-party at Colonel Catesby's; a political dinner. Lilian had carefully prepared for the occasion. In Quarrier's opinion, she would far outshine her previous appearances; she was to wear certain jewels which he had purchased on a recent visit to town--at an outlay of which he preferred to say nothing definite. "They are the kind of thing," he remarked, with a significant smile, "that can be passed on to one's children." But would it be possible for her to keep the engagement? Through the afternoon she lay in her bedroom with drawn blinds, endeavouring to sleep. Once or twice Denzil entered, very softly, and stood by her for a moment; she looked at him and smiled, but did not speak. At half-past six he brought her tea with his own hand. Declaring herself quite recovered, she rose. "This is no such important affair that you must go at all costs," he said, regarding her anxiously. "Say you feel unable, and I'll send a message at once." Already she had assured him that it would disappoint her greatly not to go. Lilian meant, of course, that she could not bear to disappoint _him_, and to make confusion in their hostess's arrangements. There was a weight upon her heart which made it a great effort even to move, to speak; but she hoped to find strength when the time came. "You are quite sure that he has gone, Denzil--gone for good?" "I am perfectly sure of it. You needn't have another moment's fear." He tried to believe it. By this time, if he had kept his promise, Northway was in London. But what faith was to be put in such a man's declarations? It might be that the secret was already known to other people; between now and polling-day there might come the crowning catastrophe. Yet the man's interest seemed to impose silence upon him, and for Lilian's sake it was necessary to affect absolute confidence. They went to the dinner, and the evening passed without accident. Lilian was universally admired; pallor heightened her beauty, and the assurance of outlived danger which Denzil had succeeded in imparting gave to her conversation a life and glow that excited interest in all who spoke with her. "Mr. Quarrier," said the hostess, playfully, in an aside, "if you were defeated at Polterham, I don't think you ought to care much. You have already been elected by such a charming constituency!" But there followed a night of sleeplessness. If exhaustion pressed down her eyelids for a moment, some image of dread flashed upon her brain and caused her to start up with a cry. Himself worn out and suffering a reaction of despondency, Quarrier more than once repented what he had done. In Lilian's state of health such a shock as this might have results that would endanger her life. She had not a strong constitution; he recalled the illness of a year ago, and grew so anxious that his fits of slumber gave him no refreshment, In the early dawn, finding that she was awake, he spoke to her of the necessity of avoiding excitement during the next few days. "I wish you could go away till the affair is over." "Oh, there is no need of that! I couldn't be away from you." "Then at all events keep quietly at home. There'll be the deuce of an uproar everywhere to-day." "We shall lunch at Mary's, you know. I had rather be there than sitting alone." "Well, Molly will be good company for yell, I dare say. But do try not to excite yourself. Don't talk much; we'll tell them you are very tired after last night. As soon as ever the fight is done, we'll be off somewhere or other for a few weeks. Don't get up till midday; anything interesting you shall know at once." At breakfast Denzil received a note from Mrs. Wade, sent by hand. "Do let me know how Lilian is. The messenger will wait for a reply." He wrote an answer of warm friendliness, signing it, "Ever sincerely yours." Mrs. Wade had impressed him with her devotion; he thought of her with gratitude and limitless confidence. "If it had been Molly, instead," he said to himself; "I can't be at all sure how she would have behaved. Religion and the proprieties might have been too much for her good nature; yes, they _would_ have been. After all, these emancipated women are the most trustworthy, and Mrs. Wade is the best example I have yet known." When Mrs. Liversedge welcomed her sister-in-law at luncheon, she was stricken with alarm. "My dear girl, you look like a ghost! This won't do," she added, in a whisper, presently. "You _must_ keep quiet!" But the Liversedges' house was no place for quietness. Two or three vigorous partisans put in an appearance at the meal, and talked with noisy exhilaration. Tobias himself had yielded to the spirit of the under his notice that morning. One of these concerned hour; he told merry stories of incidents that had come a well-known publican, a stalwart figure on the Tory side. "I am assured that three voters have been drinking steadily for the last week at his expense. He calculates that delirium tremens will have set in, in each case, by the day after to-morrow." "Who are these men?" asked Lilian, eagerly. "Why can't we save them in time?" "Oh, the thing is too artfully arranged. They are old topers; no possibility of interfering." "I can't see"---- "Lilian," interposed Mrs. Liversedge, "what was the material of that wonderful dress Mrs. Kay wore last night?" "I don't know, Mary; I didn't notice it.--But surely if it is _known_ that these men are"---- It was a half-holiday for the Liversedge boys, and they were anticipating the election with all the fervour of British youth. That morning there had been a splendid fight at the Grammar School; they described it with great vigour and amplitude, waxing Homeric in their zeal. Dickinson junior had told Tom Harte that Gladstone was a "blackguard"; whereupon Tom smote him between the eyes, so that the vile calumniator measured his length in congenial mud. The conflict spread. Twenty or thirty boys took coloured rosettes from their pockets (they were just leaving school) and pinned them to their coats, then rushed to combat with party war-cries. Fletcher senior had behaved like a brutal coward (though alas! a Gladstonian--it was sorrowfully admitted), actually throwing a stone at an enemy who was engaged in single fight, with the result that he had cut open the head of one of his own friends--a most serious wound. An under-master (never a favourite, and now loathed by the young Liversedges as a declared Tory) had interposed in the unfairest way --what else could be expected of him? To all this Mrs. Liversedge gave ear not without pride, but as soon as possible she drew Lilian apart into a quiet room, and did her best to soothe the feverishness which was constantly declaring itself. About three o'clock Mrs. Wade called. She had not expected to find Lilian here. There was a moment's embarrassment on both sides. When they sat down to talk, the widow's eyes flitted now and then over Lilian's face, but she addressed herself almost exclusively to Mrs. Liversedge, and her visit lasted only a quarter of an hour. On leaving, she went into the town to make some purchases, and near the Liberal committee-rooms it was her fortune to meet with Quarrier. "I have wanted to see you," he said, regarding her anxiously. "Lily has got over it much better than I expected; but it won't do--she can't go on in this excitement." "I have just seen her at your sister's. She doesn't look very well" "Could I venture to ask one more kindness of you, Mrs. Wade? May she come to you, say the day after to-morrow, and stay over night, and over polling-day?" "I shall be very glad indeed," faltered the widow, with something in her face which did not seem to be reluctance, though it was unlike pleasure. "Are you quite sure that it isn't asking too much of you? At my sister's she is in a perpetual uproar; it's worse than at home. And I don't know where else to send her--indeed I don't. But I am getting frightened, that's the truth If she could be with you during the polling-day"---- "How can you hesitate to ask such a simple thing?" broke in Mrs. Wade. "Shall I ask her myself?" "You are a good friend. Your conversation will have a soothing effect. She likes you so much, and gives such weight to everything you say. Try to set her mind at ease, Mrs. Wade; you can do it if any one can." "I will write to her, and then call to-morrow." Again Lilian had a night without thorough rest, and for the greater part of the next day she was obliged to keep her room. There Mrs. Wade visited her, and they talked for a long time; it was decided that Lilian should go to Pear-tree Cottage on the following afternoon, and remain in seclusion until the contest was over. She came down at five o'clock. Denzil, who had instructed the servants that she was at home to no one, sat with her in the library, holding her hand. "I am quite well," Lilian declared again and again. "I feel quite easy in mind--indeed I do. As you wish it, I will go to Mrs. Wade's, but"---- "It will be very much better. To tell you the truth, girlie, I shall feel so much freer--knowing you are out of the row, and in such good care." She looked at him. "How wretched to be so weak, Denzil! I might have spared you more than half what you have suffered, if I hadn't given way so." "Nonsense! Most women would have played the coward--and _that_ you never could! You have stood it bravely, dear. But it's your health I fear for. Take care of it for my sake." Most of the evening he was away, and again the whole of next morning. But when the time came for her to leave, they were sitting once more, as they had done so often, hand in hand, their love and trust stronger than ever, too strong to find expression in mere words. "If I go into Parliament," said Denzil, "it's you I have to thank for it. You have faced and borne everything rather than disappoint my aims." He raised her fingers to his lips. Then the arrival of the carriage was announced, and when the door had closed again, they held each other for a moment in passionate embrace. "Good-bye for a night and a day at longest," he whispered by the carriage door. "I shall come before midnight to-morrow." She tried to say good-bye, but could not utter a sound. The wheels grated, and she was driven rapidly away. _ |
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