The Swing Of The Pendulum - Part 26

"The Swing of the Pendulum" is a novel by English author Frances Mary Peard, published in 1893. It follows the adventures of a group of English travellers to Norway and explores what life was really like for young women in Victorian Britain. Set against the backdrop of the Industrial Revolution, this book offers a fascinating insight into the massive societal shifts that were at play back then!

Transcript

Hello there.

Thank you so much for joining me for this continued reading of The Swing of the Pendulum,

The fascinating novel from 1893 by English author Francis Mary Peard.

We've been following along with a group of English travellers who are now back in England from a trip to Norway.

Maybe you've already heard the previous parts of this story.

If you haven't and you'd like to,

You can certainly look for the playlist for The Swing of the Pendulum and you'll find everything there in order.

But for now,

Let's just take a moment here to have a nice deep exhale.

Letting go of the day,

Letting go of whichever baggage we might be bringing along with us into this moment.

For right now,

There's nothing else we have to do,

Nowhere else we have to be.

So we can just relax,

Get ourselves comfortable and enjoy the ongoing tale of The Swing of the Pendulum.

Chapter 26.

On the Watch.

Wareham was an early riser.

He went out to take a look at Thorpe before others were stirring.

The house was a large block,

Flanked,

Except on one side,

By four corner towers,

Each finished by a copula dome.

On the differing side,

An addition had been built out beyond the towers.

A dome resembling those at the corners sprang from the original centre of the house.

The windows were square,

Tudor.

A large projection marked the porch,

Entered by carriages under an arch.

A background of fine trees,

Their foliage thinned but gorgeous,

Made a fitting setting for a stately building.

Wareham pushed his researchers into the park.

The morning glittered with frost and keen beauty.

The air was still and clear.

A white sky overhead and blue distances disclosing.

After a time,

He reached a wood,

Civilised by a well-kept path running through it.

Seeing a gleam of water beyond,

He told himself he would come there the next morning,

And went back to the house,

Braced by the fresh air,

After a somewhat wakeful night.

He had finished his breakfast by the time the ladies appeared,

And had no more than a greeting from Anne before the shooting party set off.

This,

Judgment told him,

Was well,

Since certain restive impulses of his heart warned him of danger.

The home covets were to be shot,

And before starting,

Lord Milborough gave some emphatic directions to his sister.

She nodded impatiently.

Oh,

I understand.

I understand.

Mil,

You never will give me a word.

Is this the time for it?

Your time is never.

You don't consider that I am breaking my heart.

I declare,

If you are not quick,

I'll stand up when dinner is going on and insist upon an answer.

And you're capable of it,

He said with a laugh.

Well,

I'll tell you this,

Van.

You're nothing short of a goose.

But if I get what I want,

You shall have what you want.

There,

She shook her head dubiously.

If you don't… I am serious this time.

And I mean to.

Help me.

And the better for you.

He was gone.

And for Millie,

Lady Fanny reflected with a sigh.

She had read danger in Anne's manoeuvre of the night before,

And she already knew enough of the world to gauge pretty accurately the power of Anne's charm.

Spirits bubbled too persistently with her to be checked,

And she had nothing to cause her serious uneasiness as to her choice of John Elliot,

But she wanted everyone dear to her to be happy.

To which end it appeared that Anne's marriage with Lord Milborough would most effectually minister.

Her present task was to induce Anne to go out with the luncheon for the shooters.

Bring as many as you can,

Had been her brother's directions.

So unwanted that she perceived he feared too general a buzzing round Anne.

She went in search of her aunt,

Mrs Harcourt.

Irish,

Impracticable and witty,

But she would have none of it,

And shivered at the very idea of the neighbourhood of wet turnips.

As if you were afraid of turnips,

Aunt Kathleen.

English ones,

My dear,

And chilly.

Take that Mrs Martin.

You don't like her?

No better than the turnips,

And for the same reason.

Others were not so impracticable.

Lady Dalrymple agreeing with alacrity.

Anne too.

In all,

Six or eight met in the hall when the time for starting came.

A pony had gone on with the provisions,

And when they reached the spots,

The gentlemen were there and luncheon spread.

The neighbourhood of a woodshed had been chosen.

Faggots and logs formed seats.

Servants were on the watch to anticipate every want.

Lord Milborough fastened on the place next Anne.

Werham sat where he could see her.

He noticed that she was silent,

Though smiling.

What he failed to see was the quiet ingenuity with which she baffled Lord Milborough's attempts to draw her away from the others when the luncheon was over.

She was assured that the finest view in the county lay within twenty yards of where they were standing.

A whispered entreaty implored her to let him show it to her.

Anne refused,

Laughing.

Our part is done.

We vanish,

She cried.

I hope I have been better brought up than to interfere with that more important part of creation which was provided for men to shoot.

Go to your birds,

He was heard to mutter.

Hang the birds.

Come,

Come,

She called to the others.

Lord Milborough's patience is failing him so completely that he is on the verge of bad language.

We are in the way.

Werham had neither smile nor word but a look in place of them,

In which he blissfully fancied reproach lurked.

The woodshed was nearly a mile from the house,

And in the nearest curve of road two or three carriages were waiting.

One was Lady Fanny's pony carriage.

Miss Dalrymple asked to be taken in it.

I am obliged to drive to Risley.

Not an interesting little town for a stranger,

Lady Fanny demurred.

But Anne held to her wish.

Are you two going off together?

Mrs Martin asked discontentedly,

Only to be answered by a laugh from Anne and a gesture which pointed out Lady Dalrymple to her as a companion.

Blanche detests my stepmother,

Anne explained as they drove away.

The remark jarred on Fanny,

Who thought only close friendship excused family criticisms,

And read them in the speech.

She expressed civil regret that the carriage would hold no more.

Don't regret it,

Anne said contentedly.

This is the first time that you and I have been alone together.

But you are a very princess of hostesses.

Fanny flushed,

Pleased with the praise.

You should have been with us in Norway.

Why did not your brother bring you?

He thought better of it,

And you would have come in for a sad time.

She went on to speak of the sadness.

It was a great shock to Mr Wareham to find his friend so ill.

Terrible,

Cried Lady Fanny impulsively.

I saw him the day before he had the telegram.

Yes,

At the Raven Hills.

I was staying with them.

Of course,

Then he knew nothing.

Anne felt as if cold fingers had touched her.

Ah,

You made acquaintance with him at the Raven Hills,

She remarked carelessly.

Yes,

He came there two or three times,

Said Millie's friend,

Glad to put an emphasis on the acquaintance.

They know him well,

I think,

I suppose from having met in Norway.

Yesterday,

He brought something I had left at their house.

Anne pondered.

She was sure that she was the preferred.

But was it not probable that with Wareham,

Who succeeded so admirably in repressing his feelings,

Cool judgment might stand arrayed against her and carry the day?

A peephole to his heart.

What would she not give for it?

At that moment,

She felt as if all that she wanted was to know.

Miss Raven Hill is your friend.

The dearest,

Rash Fanny added quickly.

I would give a great deal to see her happy.

And what does that mean?

Asked Anne,

Her lips tightening,

Though she smiled.

Fanny caught herself back.

I suppose only Millie could tell us.

Or one other.

No answer was given.

Lady Fanny whipped up her ponies.

They went flying down one hill,

Swung up another.

A wind had risen.

A grey squadron of clouds scudded overhead.

Out of the yellow trees came rustle and fall of leaf.

By way of a safer subject,

Fanny prophesied change of weather and rain.

That will affect tomorrow's shootings,

Remarked Anne.

Poor Lord Milbrough.

Oh,

He'll not mind.

I don't think he was keen about it today.

Her companion sat reflective.

She said at last,

I did not see much of your friend when we were travelling together.

Millie is shy,

And I think one must know her at home to know her at all.

Once known,

Once loved.

You are a warm friend,

Said Anne with a smile.

For a true estimate,

I must go to some indifferent person.

Will Mr Wareham do?

Or is he too bespoken counsel?

A glance at Fanny showed her red.

She did not like the word bespoken.

I have never talked to Mr Wareham about Miss Ravenhill,

She said stiffly.

Oh,

I have.

It was irresistible.

And what did he say?

Asked Lady Fanny with eagerness.

Well,

Not quite so much as you.

Could you expect it?

There was a touch of malice in Anne's voice,

Which Fanny resented.

What did I say?

That to know her was to love her?

No,

I couldn't expect that.

Do you see that ugly little clump of houses?

That's the beginning of Risely.

On the whole,

Anne had gathered enough to make her thoughtful.

She kept on indifferent subjects the rest of the afternoon.

As they drove back,

It was evident that rain was at hand.

The sky had grown wild.

The country had that ragged look which thinning leaves give in a high wind.

If I dared prophecy on my neighbour's clouds,

I should say there would be no shooting tomorrow,

Anne said.

A house full of bored men instead,

Sighed Lady Fanny.

For their misfortunes,

Anne cared little.

She had meant to find opportunity somewhere,

And this promised freely.

That night,

She dressed for dinner with care.

The white satin setting off her rich,

Dark beauty,

And if she had perplexities,

No sign betrayed them.

To see her lightly talking would have been to disbelieve that she could be keenly on the watch,

Eye and ear together heedful.

She had to keep Lord Milborough pleased,

And yet doubtful,

To ward off for another thirty-six hours what he was burning to say at once.

To read Wareham's mind,

If possible,

To bring him to her feet.

Then,

And not till then,

Would she decide.

But,

Meanwhile,

She could not,

Would not,

Cease to be charming.

There was no repetition of her movement of the evening before,

And thought for Millie led Lady Fanny to plant Wareham at a safe distance from the dangerous mistown-rimple.

Anne submitted.

That night she had foreseen would offer no chance of the words she wanted.

She was not mistaken in the effect she produced on Wareham.

Her beauty was of the kind which is set off by rich surroundings.

She seldom looked at him,

But when her dark,

Smiling eyes rested upon him for a moment,

He was conscious of the same dizzy thrill which had seized him that early morning at Hare,

And the greediness with which his ears drank in every tone of her voice,

Made him a dull companion to a young lady in awe of a well-known author and prepared to treasure words.

Anne did not fail to note his silence,

Nor that she held his attention.

After dinner he came to her,

Encouraged by her look,

But Lord Melborough was there as soon.

Would she prefer the billiard-room?

Anne shook her head.

Listen to the rain,

And keep billiards for tomorrow,

When you will be wandering miserably about the house,

Wretched examples of the unemployed.

Lord Melborough protested that there was no fear of his finding the house miserable.

He would have given up shooting that afternoon.

Could he only have gone with her and Fanny to Risley?

You would have been terribly in the way,

He was told.

Only two should drive together.

Besides,

We amused ourselves by discussing some of you.

This piqued him into curiosity,

As she expected.

Wareham sat indifferent,

Caring nothing whether he were discussed or no,

But conscious of imprisoned words beating wildly at the bars behind which he had set them.

He knew now that he had been mad to come.

Ordinarily,

Anne and her stepmother exchanged as few words as possible.

This night,

As the party separated,

Lady Dalrymple announced that she had something to say,

And was bidden to Anne's room at a later period.

When she swept in,

Attired in a flame-coloured wrapper of softest silk,

Anne flung her a glance of reluctant admiration.

She was under thirty-five,

Tall and sufficiently dark to annoy Anne,

Who hated to hear of likeness.

A too-important nose stood in the way of claims to beauty,

But perhaps gave weight to the verdict of handsome.

A high voice had rasping tones in it,

And the line of her eyebrows was so unpleasantly even as to suggest pencilling.

She sank into the chair which was pushed forward for her,

And put her question.

May I ask whether anything is decided?

Anne's eyes darkened,

But she answered,

Briefly,

Nothing,

And we leave on Thursday.

I go to the Sinclairs,

As settled.

After that,

My plans are changed.

Anne did not turn her head.

You mean to marry Lord Arthur Cross?

There was a few seconds silence,

Before Anne said,

I imagine you would like me to congratulate you.

I hope you will be happy.

Thanks.

I might not have spoken of it for a day or two,

But that I thought it might influence your own decision?

Hardly.

Both voices were cold,

But Anne's the coldest,

And she spoke with a sweet modulation which irritated Lady Dalrymple,

Conscious of her own harsher tones.

Her next words were most hasty.

Hitherto,

At any rate,

You have had a home with me.

By my father's will,

It was provided for,

I think.

Lady Dalrymple's fingers tapped the arms of her chair,

Impatiently.

Certainly.

But alone,

You will not find that you can live in the same comfort.

If you could,

General Hervey is not likely to permit it.

For the first time,

There was a trace of uneasiness in Anne's repetition of the name.

General Hervey?

Have you forgotten that in case of my marriage,

He was to act as your guardian?

She had.

Probably he will wish you to live in Eaton Square with them,

And I scarcely think you will find this agreeable.

Anne's refuge was silence and a smile.

Lady Dalrymple wished to wound.

But not to break with her,

For the Thorpe shooting was dear to Lord Arthur.

And having been made aware of Lord Milborough's wishes,

He had impressed them upon his intended bride as requiring her cooperation.

She therefore made haste to add,

But of course you will marry,

And quickly.

And I have only said this because,

If Lord Milborough's proposal has not come,

It is undoubtedly imminent.

Anne listened,

And said no more than,

Is Lord Milborough the one man,

Then,

In the world?

There are not many like him and available.

That,

I suspect,

Is the best answer to your question.

But seriously,

He is a magnificent match.

Anne sat mute.

Lady Dalrymple glanced at her,

And grew impatient.

You are not in any doubt as to your answer?

She demanded quickly.

I always doubt until the thing is said.

And long afterwards,

Said Anne.

Afterwards?

As much as you like.

You can hardly toss over Lord Milborough,

As you have less important people.

What an argument against accepting him.

There was angry light in her eyes,

Though she kept her voice cool.

Lady Dalrymple could not resist a taunt.

It is an amusement,

Let me add,

Of which the world wearies in a woman.

It forgives once,

For the sake of having something to talk about,

The second time pals,

And the third is wearisome and unpardonable.

However,

She went on,

Remembering her instructions.

The point is not whether Lord Milborough shall be thrown over,

But whether he will be accepted.

Anne sat upright.

I do not know,

She said coldly.

He will ask tomorrow.

He has said so?

Pray,

Do not waste your indignation.

Would he be likely to say so?

But I can see.

If he does,

She leaned back again,

He will be refused.

Anne!

Refused?

You are mad!

Perhaps.

At any rate,

That is what will happen to him if he puts his question tomorrow.

Tomorrow.

But,

Said her stepmother with a gasp,

You have just said that you are undecided.

I am.

I may veer round.

I protest nothing except that tomorrow shall not bind me.

Lady Dalrymple rose,

Feeling that the situation was more critical than she had imagined.

So critical,

Indeed,

That she began to fear she had said too much.

She had never understood Anne,

For which she was not to blame.

At this moment,

She felt herself face to face with a sphinx.

And looked askance.

Luck,

Rather than tact,

Led her to add,

Well,

It is your own concern,

No others.

And to wish good night.

Anne sat still where she had been left,

Thought busy.

She smiled at her own clear understanding of the position.

And perceiving Lord Milborough working through Lord Arthur upon Lady Dalrymple,

Recognised that this interview was intended as a probe before he ventured on the momentous question.

Her fencing of the past two days had doubtless left him uneasy.

She herself had foreseen fresh difficulties the next day,

And was proportionably relieved by the conviction that,

After what she had just announced,

She would be left unmolested.

Would Wareham speak?

He should have the opportunity.

And if,

If he succeeded in carrying her heart captive,

She believed herself capable of marrying him,

And renouncing more brilliant prospects?

No one,

It was certain,

Had attracted and piqued her as he had.

But Anne's heart was guarded in its impulses.

It made no rash resolves.

It looked to circumstances to determine choice.

Not by any means suffering itself to be swept away by a dominant emotion,

Nor disposed to hang too long in the balance.

Anne was the world's pupil.

And the world teaches the value of outer casings with a side sneer at romance.

The outer casings belonged unmistakably to Lord Milbrough.

This was not to be forgotten,

Though she was ready to make concessions to her heart.

But there too uneasiness lurked.

Millie's name had given substance to vague fears.

Her love for Wareham,

For love it was in its degree,

Prevented certainty.

Before him,

She was no conqueror,

But shy,

Unconvinced of her own power.

Did he love her?

If he did,

What shut his mouth?

Was he uncertain,

Hesitating between her and Millie?

Anne sprang to her feet and stood,

Breathing hard,

Hands clenched,

Eyes dark with scorn,

Face flushing with the thought.

Weighing all that she would resign,

She demanded a mighty love from him as an equivalent.

Not a jot would she yield.

And understood nothing of the inequality of the bargain.

Had she but known it,

Her unconsciousness was pathetic.

She went to the window,

Drew aside the curtain,

And flung back the shutter.

Rain drove wildly against the glass.

She closed her defences again,

And came back to the fire.

Tomorrow,

She would know.