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Marion Fay

<h1>MARION FAY.</h1>   <hr class="narrow" />   <h3>CHAPTER I.</h3> <h4>THE IRREPRESSIBLE CROCKER.  </h4> Hampstead remained nearly a fortnight down at Trafford, returning to Hendon only a few days before Christmas. Crocker, the Post Office clerk, came back to his duties at the same time, but, as was the custom with him, stole a day more than belonged to him, and thus incurred the frowns of Mr. Jerningham and the heavy wrath of the great Æolus. The Æoluses of the Civil Service are necessarily much exercised in their minds by such irregularities. To them personally it matters not at all whether one or another young man may be neglectful. It may be known to such a one that a Crocker may be missed from his seat without any great injury,—possibly with no injury at all,—to the Queen's service. There are Crockers whom it would be better to pay for their absence than their presence. This Æolus thought it was so with this Crocker. Then why not dismiss Crocker, and thus save the waste of public money? But there is a necessity,—almost a necessity,—that the Crockers of the world should live. They have mothers, or perhaps even wives, with backs to be clothed and stomachs to be fed, or perhaps with hearts to be broken. There is, at any rate, a dislike to proceed to the ultimate resort of what may be called the capital punishment of the Civil Service. To threaten, to frown, to scold, to make a young man's life a burden to him, are all within the compass of an official Æolus. You would think occasionally that such a one was resolved to turn half the clerks in his office out into the streets,—so loud are the threats. In regard to individuals he often is resolved to do so at the very next fault. But when the time comes his heart misgives him. Even an Æolus is subject to mercy, and at last his conscience becomes so callous to his first imperative duty of protecting the public service, that it grows to be a settled thing with him, that though a man's life is to be made a burden to him, the man is not to be actually dismissed. But there are men to whom you cannot make their life a burden,—men upon whom no frowns, no scoldings, no threats operate at all; and men unfortunately sharp enough to perceive what is that ultimate decision to which their Æolus had been brought. Such a one was our Crocker, who cared very little for the blusterings. On this occasion he had remained away for the sake of having an additional day with the Braeside Harriers, and when he pleaded a bilious headache no one believed him for an instant. It was in vain for Æolus to tell him that a man subject to health so precarious was altogether unfitted for the Civil Service. Crocker had known beforehand exactly what was going to be said to him, and had discounted it at its exact worth. Even in the presence of Mr. Jerningham he spoke openly of the day's hunting, knowing that Mr. Jerningham would prefer his own ease to the trouble of renewed complaint. "If you would sit at your desk now that you have come back, and go on with your docketing, instead of making everybody else idle, it would be a great deal better," said Mr. Jerningham. "Then my horse took the wall in a fly, and old Amblethwaite crept over afterwards," continued Crocker, standing with his back to the fire, utterly disregarding Mr. Jerningham's admonitions. On his first entrance into the room Crocker had shaken hands with Mr. Jerningham, then with Bobbin and Geraghty, and at last he came to Roden, with whom he would willingly have struck up terms of affectionate friendship had it been possible for him to do so. He had resolved that it should be so, but when the moment came his courage a little failed him. He had made himself very offensive to Roden at their last interview, and could see at a glance that Roden remembered it. As far as his own feelings were concerned such "tiffs," as he called them, went for nothing. He had, indeed, no feelings, and was accustomed to say that he liked the system of give and take,—meaning that he liked being impudent to others, and did not care how impudent others might be to him. This toughness and insolence are as sharp as needles to others who do not possess the same gifts. Roden had learned to detest the presence of the young man, to be sore when he was even spoken to, and yet did not know how to put him down. You may have a fierce bull shut up. You may muzzle a dog that will bite. You may shoot a horse that you cannot cure of biting and tearing. But you cannot bring yourself to spend a morning in hunting a bug or killing a flea. Crocker had made himself a serious annoyance even to Lord Hampstead, though their presence together had only been for a very short time. But Roden had to pass his life at the same desk with the odious companion. Absolutely to cut him, to let it be known all through the office that they two did not speak, was to make too much of the matter. But yet it was essentially necessary for his peace that some step should be taken to save himself from the man's insolence. On the present occasion he nodded his head to Crocker, being careful not to lay the pen down from his fingers. "Ain't you going to give us your hand, old fellow?" said Crocker, putting on his best show of courage. "I don't know that I am," said Roden. "Perhaps some of these days you may learn to make yourself less disagreeable." "I'm sure I've always meant to be very friendly, especially with you," said Crocker; "but it is so hard to get what one says taken in the proper sense." After this not a word was spoken between the two all the morning. This happened on a Saturday,—Saturday, the 20th of December, on which day Hampstead was to return to his own house. Punctually at one Crocker left his desk, and with a comic bow of mock courtesy to Mr. Jerningham, stuck his hat on the side of his head, and left the office. His mind, as he took himself home to his lodgings, was full of Roden's demeanour towards him. Since he had become assured that his brother clerk was engaged to marry Lady Frances Trafford, he was quite determined to cultivate an enduring and affectionate friendship. But what steps should he take to recover the ground which he had lost? It occurred to him now that while he was in Cumberland he had established quite an intimacy with Lord Hampstead, and he thought that it would be well to use Lord Hampstead's acknowledged good-nature for recovering the ground which he had lost with his brother clerk. <div class="center"> ****** </div> At about three o'clock that afternoon, when Lady Frances was beginning to think that the time of her brother's arrival was near at hand, the servant came into the drawing-room, and told her that a gentleman had called, and was desirous of seeing her. "What gentleman?" asked Lady Frances. "Has he sent his name?" "No, my lady; but he says,—he says that he is a clerk from the Post Office." Lady Frances was at the moment so dismayed that she did not know what answer to give. There could be but one Post Office clerk who should be anxious to see her, and she had felt from the tone of the servant's voice that he had known that it was her lover who had called. Everybody knew that the Post Office clerk was her lover. Some immediate answer was necessary. She quite understood the pledge that her brother had made on her behalf; and, though she had not herself made any actual promise, she felt that she was bound not to receive George Roden. But yet she could not bring herself to turn him away from the door, and so to let the servant suppose that she was ashamed to see him to whom she had given the promise of her hand. "You had better show the gentleman in," she said at last, with a voice that almost trembled. A moment afterwards the door was opened, and Mr. Crocker entered the room! She had endeavoured in the minute which had been allowed her to study the manner in which she should receive her lover. As she heard the approaching footsteps, she prepared herself. She had just risen from her seat, nearly risen, when the strange man appeared. It has to be acknowledged that she was grievously disappointed, although she had told herself that Roden ought not to have come to her. What woman is there will not forgive her lover for coming, even though he certainly should not have come? What woman is there will fail to receive a stranger with hard looks when a stranger shall appear to her instead of an expected lover? "Sir?" she said, standing as he walked up the room and made a low bow to her as he took his position before her. Crocker was dressed up to the eyes, and wore yellow kid gloves. "Lady Frances," he said, "I am Mr. Crocker, Mr. Samuel Crocker, of the General Post Office. You may not perhaps have heard of me from my friend, Mr. Roden?" "No, indeed, sir." "You might have done so, as we sit in the same room and at the same desk. Or you may remember meeting me at dinner at your uncle's castle in Cumberland." "Is anything,—anything the matter with Mr. Roden?" "Not in the least, my lady. I had the pleasure of leaving him in very good health about two hours since. There is nothing at all to occasion your ladyship the slightest uneasiness." A dark frown came across her brow as she heard the man talk thus freely of her interest in George Roden's condition. She no doubt had betrayed her own secret as far as there was a secret; but she was not on that account the less angry because he had forced her to do so. "Has Mr. Roden sent you as a messenger?" she asked. "No, my lady; no. That would not be at all probable. I am sure he would very much rather come with any message of his own." At this he sniggered most offensively. "I called with a hope of seeing your brother, Lord Hampstead, with whom I may take the liberty of saying that I have a slight acquaintance." "Lord Hampstead is not at home." "So the servant told me. Then it occurred to me that as I had come all the way down from London for a certain purpose, to ask a little favour from his lordship, and as I was not fortunate enough to find his lordship at home, I might ask the same from your ladyship." "There can be nothing that I can do for you, sir." "You can do it, my lady, much better than any one else in the world. You can be more powerful in this matter even than his lordship." "What can it be?" asked Lady Frances. "If your ladyship will allow me I will sit down, as the story I have to tell is somewhat particular." It was impossible to refuse him the use of a chair, and she could therefore only bow as he seated himself. "I and George Roden, my lady, have known each other intimately for these ever so many years." Again she bowed her head. "And I may say that we used to be quite pals. When two men sit at the same desk together they ought to be thick as thieves. See what a cat and dog life it is else! Don't you think so, my lady?" "I know nothing of office life. As I don't think that I can help you, perhaps you wouldn't mind—going away?" "Oh, my lady, you must hear me to the end, because you are just the person who can help me. Of course as you two are situated he would do anything you were to bid him. Now he has taken it into his head to be very huffy with me." "Indeed I can do nothing in the matter," she said, in a tone of deep distress. "If you would only just tell him that I have never meant to offend him! I am sure I don't know what it is that has come up. It may be that I said a word in joke about Lord Hampstead, only that there really could not have been anything in that. Nobody could have a more profound respect for his lordship's qualities than I have, and I may say the same for your ladyship most sincerely. I have always thought it a great feather in Roden's cap that he should be so closely connected,—more than closely, I may say,—with your noble family." What on earth was she to do with a man who would go on talking to her, making at every moment insolent allusions to the most cherished secret of her heart! "I must beg you to go away and leave me, sir," she said. "My brother will be here almost immediately." This had escaped from her with a vain idea that the man would receive it as a threat,—that he would think probably that her brother would turn him out of the house for his insolence. In this she was altogether mistaken. He had no idea that he was insolent. "Then perhaps you will allow me to wait for his lordship," he said. "Oh dear, no! He may come or he may not. You really cannot wait. You ought not to have come at all." "But for the sake of peace, my lady! One word from your fair lips—." Lady Frances could endure it no longer. She got up from her seat and walked out of the room, leaving Mr. Crocker planted in his chair. In the hall she found one of the servants, whom she told to "take that man to the front door at once." The servant did as he was bid, and Crocker was ushered out of the house without any feeling on his part that he had misbehaved himself. Crocker had hardly got beyond the grounds when Hampstead did in truth return. The first words spoken between him and his sister of course referred to their father's health. "He is unhappy rather than ill," said Hampstead. "Is it about me?" she asked. "No; not at all about you in the first instance." "What does that mean?" "It is not because of you; but from what others say about you." "Mamma?" she asked. "Yes; and Mr. Greenwood." "Does he interfere?" "I am afraid he does;—not directly with my father, but through her ladyship, who daily tells my father what the stupid old man says. Lady Kingsbury is most irrational and harassing. I have always thought her to be silly, but now I cannot keep myself from feeling that she misbehaves herself grievously. She does everything she can to add to his annoyance." "That is very bad." "It is bad. He can turn Mr. Greenwood out of the house if Mr. Greenwood becomes unbearable. But he cannot turn his wife out." "Could he not come here?" "I am afraid not,—without bringing her too. She has taken it into her stupid head that you and I are disgracing the family. As for me, she seems to think that I am actually robbing her own boys of their rights. I would do anything for them, or even for her, if I could comfort her; but she is determined to look upon us as enemies. My father says that it will worry him into his grave." "Poor papa!" "We can run away, but he can not. I became very angry when I was there, both with her ladyship and that pestilential old clergyman, and told them both pretty much what I thought. I have the comfort of knowing that I have two bitter enemies in the house." "Can they hurt you?" "Not in the least,—except in this, that they can teach those little boys to regard me as an enemy. I would fain have had my brothers left to me. Mr. Greenwood, and I must now say her ladyship also, are nothing to me." It was not till after dinner that the story was told about Crocker. "Think what I must have felt when I was told that a clerk from the Post Office wanted to see me!" "And then that brute Crocker was shown in?" asked Hampstead. "Do you really know him?" "Know him! I should rather think so. Don't you remember him at Castle Hautboy?" "Not in the least. But he told me that he had been there." "He never would leave me. He absolutely drove me out of the country because he would follow me about when we were hunting. He insulted me so grievously that I had to turn tail and run away from him. What did he want of me?" "To intercede for him with George Roden." "He is an abominable man, irrepressible, so thick-skinned that you cannot possibly get at him so as to hurt him. It is of no use telling him to keep his distance, for he does not in the least know what you mean. I do not doubt that he has left the house with a conviction that he has gained a sincere friend in you." <div class="center"> ****** </div> It was now more than a fortnight since Marion Fay had dined at Hendon, and Hampstead felt that unless he could succeed in carrying on the attack which he had commenced, any little beginning of a friendship which he had made with the Quaker would be obliterated by the length of time. If she thought about him at all, she must think that he was very indifferent to let so long a time pass by without any struggle on his part to see her again. There had been no word of love spoken. He had been sure of that. But still there had been something of affectionate intercourse which she could not have failed to recognize. What must she think of him if he allowed that to pass away without any renewal, without an attempt at carrying it further? When she had bade him go in out of the cold there had been something in her voice which had made him feel that she was in truth anxious for him. Now more than a fortnight had gone, and there had been no renewal! "Fanny," he said, "how would it be if we were to ask those Quakers to dine here on Christmas Day?" "It would be odd, wouldn't it, as they are strangers, and dined here so lately?" "People like that do not stand on ceremony at all. I don't see why they shouldn't come. I could say that you want to make their acquaintance." "Would you ask them alone?" In that he felt that the great difficulty lay. The Fays would hardly come without Mrs. Roden, and the Rodens could not be asked. "One doesn't always ask the same people to meet each other." "It would be very odd, and I don't think they'd come," said Lady Frances, gravely. Then after a pause she went on. "I fear, John, that there is more in it than mere dinner company." "Certainly there is," he said boldly;—"much more in it." "You are not in love with the Quaker's daughter?" "I rather think I am. When I have seen her three or four times more, I shall be able to find out. You may be sure of this, that I mean to see her three or four times more, and at any rate one of the times must be before I go down to Gorse Hall." Then of course she knew the whole truth. He did, however, give up the idea as to the Christmas dinner-party, having arrived at the belief, after turning the matter over in his mind, that Zachary Fay would not bring his daughter again so soon. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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