CHAPTER VII.
I have given a sketch of the outward woman of Mrs. Colonel Poyntz. The
inner woman was a recondite mystery deep as that of the sphinx, whose
features her own resembled. But between the outward and the inward woman
there is ever a third woman,--the conventional woman,--such as the whole
human being appears to the world,--always mantled, sometimes masked.
I am told that the fine people of London do not recognize the
title of "Mrs. Colonel." If that be true, the fine people of London must
be clearly in the wrong, for no people in the universe could be finer than
the fine people of Abbey Hill; and they considered their sovereign had
as good a right to the title of Mrs. Colonel as the Queen of England
has to that of "our Gracious Lady." But Mrs. Poyntz herself never
assumed the title of Mrs. Colonel; it never appeared on her cards,--any
more than the title of "Gracious Lady" appears on the cards which
convey the invitation that a Lord Steward or Lord Chamberlain is
commanded by her Majesty to issue. To titles, indeed, Mrs. Poyntz
evinced no superstitious reverence. Two peeresses, related to her, not
distantly, were in the habit of paying her a yearly visit which
lasted two or three days. The Hill considered these visits an honour to
its eminence. Mrs. Poyntz never seemed to esteem them an honour to
herself; never boasted of them; never sought to show off her grand
relations, nor put herself the least out of the way to receive
them. Her mode of life was free from ostentation. She had the advantage
of being a few hundreds a year richer than any other inhabitant of
the Hill; but she did not devote her superior resources to the
invidious exhibition of superior splendour. Like a wise sovereign, the
revenues of her exchequer were applied to the benefit of her subjects, and
not to the vanity of egotistical parade. As no one else on the Hill
kept a carriage, she declined to keep one. Her entertainments were
simple, but numerous. Twice a week she received the Hill, and was
genuinely at home to it. She contrived to make her parties proverbially
agreeable. The refreshments were of the same kind as those which the
poorest of her old maids of honour might proffer; but they were better of
their kind, the best of their kind,--the best tea, the best lemonade, the
best cakes. Her rooms had an air of comfort, which was peculiar to them.
They looked like rooms accustomed to receive, and receive in a friendly
way; well warmed, well lighted, card-tables and piano each in the place
that made cards and music inviting; on the walls a few old family
portraits, and three or four other pictures said to be valuable and
certainly pleasing,--two Watteaus, a Canaletti, a Weenix; plenty of
easy-chairs and settees covered with a cheerful chintz,--in the
arrangement of the furniture generally an indescribable careless elegance.
She herself was studiously plain in dress, more conspicuously free from
jewelry and trinkets than any married lady on the Hill. But I have heard
from those who were authorities on such a subject that she was never
seen in a dress of the last year's fashion. She adopted the mode as it
came out, just enough to show that she was aware it was out; but
with a sober reserve, as much as to say, "I adopt the fashion as far as
it suits myself; I do not permit the fashion to adopt me." In short,
Mrs. Colonel Poyntz was sometimes rough, sometimes coarse, always
masculine, and yet somehow or other masculine in a womanly way;
but she was never vulgar because never affected. It was impossible
not to allow that she was a thorough gentlewoman, and she could do things
that lower other gentlewomen, without any loss of dignity. Thus
she was an admirable mimic, certainly in itself the least ladylike
condescension of humour. But when she mimicked, it was with so
tranquil a gravity, or so royal a good humour, that one could only
say, "What talents for society dear Mrs. Colonel has!" As she was
a gentlewoman emphatically, so the other colonel, the he-colonel,
was emphatically a gentleman; rather shy, but not cold; hating trouble
of every kind, pleased to seem a cipher in his own house. If the
sole study of Mrs. Colonel had been to make her husband comfortable,
she could not have succeeded better than by bringing friends about him
and then taking them off his hands. Colonel Poyntz, the he-colonel,
had seen, in his youth, actual service; but had retired from his
profession many years ago, shortly after his marriage. He was a
younger brother of one of the principal squires in the country;
inherited the house he lived in, with some other valuable property
in and about L----, from an uncle; was considered a good landlord; and
popular in Low Town, though he never interfered in its affairs. He was
punctiliously neat in his dress; a thin youthful figure, crowned with a
thick youthful wig. He never seemed to read anything but the newspapers
and the "Meteorological Journal:" was supposed to be the most weatherwise
man in all L----. He had another intellectual predilection,--whist;
but in that he had less reputation for wisdom. Perhaps it requires a
rarer combination of mental faculties to win an odd trick than to
divine a fall in the glass. For the rest, the he-colonel, many
years older than his wife, despite the thin youthful figure, was an
admirable aid-de-camp to the general in command, Mrs. Colonel; and
she could not have found one more obedient, more devoted, or more
proud of a distinguished chief.
In giving to Mrs. Colonel Poyntz the appellation of Queen of the
Hill, let there be no mistake. She was not a constitutional sovereign;
her monarchy was absolute. All her proclamations had the force of laws.
Such ascendancy could not have been attained without considerable
talents for acquiring and keeping it. Amidst all her off-hand, brisk,
imperious frankness, she had the ineffable discrimination of tact.
Whether civil or rude, she was never civil or rude but what she carried
public opinion along with her. Her knowledge of general society must
have been limited, as must be that of all female sovereigns; but she
seemed gifted with an intuitive knowledge of human nature, which she
applied to her special ambition of ruling it. I have not a doubt that if
she had been suddenly transferred, a perfect stranger, to the world of
London, she would have soon forced her way to its selectest circles,
and, when once there, held her own against a duchess.
I have said that she was not affected: this might be one cause of
her sway over a set in which nearly every other woman was trying rather to
seem, than to be, a somebody.
Put if Mrs. Colonel Poyntz was not artificial, she was artful, or
perhaps I might more justly say artistic. In all she said and did there
were conduct, system, plan. She could be a most serviceable friend, a
most damaging enemy; yet I believe she seldom indulged in strong likings
or strong hatreds. All was policy,--a policy akin to that of a grand
party chief, determined to raise up those whom, for any reason of state,
it was prudent to favour, and to put down those whom, for any reason of
state, it was expedient to humble or to crush.
Ever since the controversy with Dr. Lloyd, this lady had honoured me
with her benignest countenance; and nothing could be more adroit than the
manner in which, while imposing me on others as an oracular authority, she
sought to subject to her will the oracle itself.
She was in the habit of addressing me in a sort of motherly way,
as if she had the deepest interest in my welfare, happiness, and
reputation. And thus, in every compliment, in every seeming mark of
respect, she maintained the superior dignity of one who takes from
responsible station the duty to encourage rising merit; so that, somehow
or other, despite all that pride which made me believe that I needed no
helping and to advance or to clear my way through the world, I could not
shake off from my mind the impression that I was mysteriously patronized
by Mrs. Colonel Poyntz.
We might have sat together five minutes, side by side in silence as
complete as if in the cave of Trophonius--when without looking up from her
work, Mrs. Poyntz said abruptly,--
"I am thinking about you, Dr. Fenwick. And you--are thinking
about some other woman. Ungrateful man!"
"Unjust accusation! My very silence should prove how intently my
thoughts were fixed on you, and on the weird web which springs under your
hand in meshes that bewilder the gaze and snare the attention."
Mrs. Poyntz looked up at me for a moment--one rapid glance of the
bright red hazel eye--and said,--
"Was I really in your thoughts? Answer truly."
"Truly, I answer, you were."
"That is strange! Who can it be?"
"Who can it be? What do you mean?"
"If you were thinking of me, it was in connection with some other
person,--some other person of my own sex. It is certainly not poor dear
Miss Brabazon. Who else can it be?"
Again the red eye shot over me, and I felt my cheek redden beneath it.
"Hush!" she said, lowering her voice; "you are in love!"
"In love!--I! Permit me to ask you why you think so?"
"The signs are unmistakable; you are altered in your manner, even in
the expression of your face, since I last saw you; your manner is
generally quiet and observant,--it is now restless and distracted; your
expression of face is generally proud and serene,--it is now humbled and
troubled. You have something on your mind! It is not anxiety for your
reputation,--that is established; nor for your fortune,--that is made; it
is not anxiety for a patient or you would scarcely be here. But anxiety
it is,--an anxiety that is remote from your profession, that touches your
heart and is new to it!"
I was startled, almost awed; but I tried to cover my confusion with a
forced laugh.
"Profound observer! Subtle analyst! You have convinced me that I must
be in love, though I did not suspect it before. But when I strive to
conjecture the object, I am as much perplexed as yourself; and with you, I
ask, who can it be?"
"Whoever it be," said Mrs. Poyntz, who had paused, while I spoke, from
her knitting, and now resumed it very slowly and very carefully, as if her
mind and her knitting worked in unison together,--"whoever it be, love in
you would be serious; and, with or without love, marriage is a serious
thing to us all. It is not every pretty girl that would suit Allen
Fenwick."
"Alas! is there any pretty girl whom Allen Fenwick would suit?"
"Tut! You should be above the fretful vanity that lays traps for a
compliment. Yes; the time has come in your life and your career when you
would do well to marry. I give my consent to that," she added with a
smile as if in jest, and a slight nod as if in earnest. The knitting here
went on more decidedly, more quickly. "But I do not yet see the person.
No! 'T is a pity, Allen Fenwick" (whenever Mrs. Poyntz called me by my
Christian name, she always assumed her majestic motherly manner),--"a
pity that, with your birth, energies, perseverance, talents, and, let me
add, your advantages of manner and person,--a pity that you did not choose
a career that might achieve higher fortunes and louder fame than the most
brilliant success can give to a provincial physician. But in that very
choice you interest me. My choice has been much thesame,--a small circle,
but the first in it. Yet, had I been a man, or had my dear Colonel been a
man whom it was in the power of a woman's art to raise one step higher in
that metaphorical ladder which is not the ladder of the angels, why,
then--what then? No matter! I am contented. I transfer my ambition to
Jane. Do you not think her handsome?"
"There can be no doubt of that," said I, carelessly and naturally.
"I have settled Jane's lot in my own mind," resumed Mrs. Poyntz,
striking firm into another row of knitting. "She will marry a country
gentleman of large estate. He will go into parliament. She will study
his advancement as I study Poyntz's comfort. If he be clever, she will
help to make him a minister; if he be not clever, his wealth will make
her a personage, and lift him into a personage's husband. And, now that
you see I have no matrimonial designs on you, Allen Fenwick, think if it
will be worth while to confide in me. Possibly I may be useful--"
"I know not how to thank you; but, as yet, I have nothing to confide."
While thus saying, I turned my eyes towards the open window beside
which I sat. It was a beautiful soft night, the May moon in all her
splendour. The town stretched, far and wide, below with all its
numberless lights,--below, but somewhat distant; an intervening space was
covered, here, by the broad quadrangle (in the midst of which stood,
massive and lonely, the grand old church), and, there, by the gardens and
scattered cottages or mansions that clothed the sides of the hill.
"Is not that house," I said, after a short pause, "yonder with the
three gables, the one in which--in which poor Dr. Lloyd lived--Abbots'
House?"
I spoke abruptly, as if to intimate my desire to change the
subject of conversation. My hostess stopped her knitting, half rose,
looked forth.
"Yes. But what a lovely night! How is it that the moon blends
into harmony things of which the sun only marks the contrast? That
stately old church tower, gray with its thousand years, those vulgar
tile-roofs and chimney-pots raw in the freshness of yesterday,--now,
under the moonlight, all melt into one indivisible charm!"
As my hostess thus spoke, she had left her seat, taking her work
with her, and passed from the window into the balcony. It was not often
that Mrs. Poyntz condescended to admit what is called "sentiment" into the
range of her sharp, practical, worldly talk; but she did so at
times,--always, when she did, giving me the notion of an intellect much
too comprehensive not to allow that sentiment has a place in this life,
but keeping it in its proper place, by that mixture of affability and
indifference with which some high-born beauty allows the genius, but
checks the presumption, of a charming and penniless poet. For a few
minutes her eyes roved over the scene in evident enjoyment; then, as they
slowly settled upon the three gables of Abbots' House, her face regained
that something of hardness which belonged to its decided character; her
fingers again mechanically resumed her knitting, and she said, in her
clear, unsoftened, metallic chime of voice, "Can you guess why I took so
much trouble to oblige Mr. Vigors and locate Mrs. Ashleigh yonder?"
"You favoured us with a full explanation of your reasons."
"Some of my reasons; not the main one. People who undertake the task
of governing others, as I do, be their rule a kingdom or a hamlet, must
adopt a principle of government and adhere to it. The principle that
suits best with the Hill is Respect for the Proprieties. We have not much
money; entre nous, we have no great rank. Our policy is, then, to set up
the Proprieties as an influence which money must court and rank is afraid
of. I had learned just before Mr. Vigors called on me that Lady Sarah
Bellasis entertained the idea of hiring Abbots' House. London has set its
face against her; a provincial town would be more charitable. An earl's
daughter, with a good income and an awfully bad name, of the best manners
and of the worst morals, would have made sad havoc among the Proprieties.
How many of our primmest old maids would have deserted tea and Mrs. Poyntz
for champagne and her ladyship! The Hill was never in so imminenta
danger. Rather than Lady Sarah Bellasis should have had that house, I
would have taken it myself, and stocked it with owls.
"Mrs. Ashleigh turned up just in the critical moment. Lady Sarah is
foiled, the Proprieties safe, and so that question is settled."
"And it will be pleasant to have your early friend so near you."
Mrs. Poyntz lifted her eyes full upon me.
"Do you know Mrs. Ashleigh?"
"Not in the least."
"She has many virtues and few ideas. She is commonplace weak, as I am
commonplace strong. But commonplace weak can be very lovable. Her
husband, a man of genius and learning, gave her his whole heart,--a heart
worth having; but he was not ambitious, and he despised the world."
"I think you said your daughter was very much attached to Miss
Ashleigh? Does her character resemble her mother's?"
I was afraid while I spoke that I should again meet Mrs. Poyntz's
searching gaze, but she did not this time look up from her work.
"No; Lilian is anything but commonplace."
"You described her as having delicate health; you implied a hope
that she was not consumptive. I trust that there is no serious reason for
apprehending a constitutional tendency which at her age would require the
most careful watching!"
"I trust not. If she were to die--Dr. Fenwick, what is the matter?"
So terrible had been the picture which this woman's words had brought
before me, that I started as if my own life had received a shock.
"I beg pardon," I said falteringly, pressing my hand to my heart; "a
sudden spasm here,--it is over now. You were saying that--that--"
"I was about to say-" and here Mrs. Poyntz laid her hand lightly
on mine,--"I was about to say that if Lilian Ashleigh were to die, I
should mourn for her less than I might for one who valued the things of
the earth more. But I believe there is no cause for the alarm my words so
inconsiderately excited in you. Her mother is watchful and devoted; and
if the least thing ailed Lilian, she would call in medical advice. Mr.
Vigors would, I know, recommend Dr. Jones."
Closing our conference with those stinging words, Mrs. Poyntz here
turned back into the drawing-room.
I remained some minutes on the balcony, disconcerted, enraged. With
what consummate art had this practised diplomatist wound herself into my
secret! That she had read my heart better than myself was evident from
that Parthian shaft, barbed with Dr. Jones, which she had shot over her
shoulder in retreat. That from the first moment in which she had decoyed
me to her side, she had detected "the something" on my mind, was perhaps
but the ordinary quickness of female penetration. But it was with no
ordinary craft that the whole conversation afterwards had been so shaped
as to learn the something, and lead me to reveal the some one to whom the
something was linked. For what purpose? What was it to her? What motive
could she have beyond the mere gratification of curiosity? Perhaps, at
first, she thought I had been caught by her daughter's showy beauty, and
hence the half-friendly, half-cynical frankness with which she had avowed
her ambitious projects for that young lady's matrimonial advancement.
Satisfied by my manner that I cherished no presumptuous hopes in that
quarter, her scrutiny was doubtless continued from that pleasure in the
exercise of a wily intellect which impels schemers and politicians to an
activity for which, without that pleasure itself, there would seem no
adequate inducement. And besides, the ruling passion of this petty
sovereign was power; and if knowledge be power, there is no better
instrument of power over a contumacious subject than that hold on his
heart which is gained in the knowledge of its secret.
But "secret"! Had it really come to this? Was it possible that the
mere sight of a human face, never beheld before, could disturb the whole
tenor of my life,--a stranger of whose mind and character I knew nothing,
whose very voice I had never heard? It was only by the intolerable pang
of anguish that had rent my heart in the words, carelessly, abruptly
spoken, "if she were to die," that I had felt how the world would be
changed to me, if indeed that face were seen in it no more! Yes, secret
it was no longer to myself, I loved! And like all on whom love descends,
sometimes softly, slowly, with the gradual wing of the cushat settling
down into its nest, sometimes with the swoop of the eagle on his
unsuspecting quarry, I believed that none ever before loved as I loved;
that such love was an abnormal wonder, made solely for me, and I for it.
Then my mind insensibly hushed its angrier and more turbulent thoughts, as
my gaze rested upon the roof-tops of Lilian's home, and the shimmering
silver of the moonlit willow, under which I had seen her gazing into the
roseate heavens.
