Beyond the City

Chapter 8

Mrs. Westmacott's great meeting for the

enfranchisement of woman had passed over, and it had been

a triumphant success. All the maids and matrons of the

southern suburbs had rallied at her summons, there was an

influential platform with Dr. Balthazar Walker in the

chair, and Admiral Hay Denver among his more prominent

supporters. One benighted male had come in from the

outside darkness and had jeered from the further end of

the hall, but he had been called to order by the chair,

petrified by indignant glances from the unenfranchised

around him, and finally escorted to the door by Charles

Westmacott. Fiery resolutions were passed, to be

forwarded to a large number of leading statesmen, and the

meeting broke up with the conviction that a shrewd

blow had been struck for the cause of woman.

But there was one woman at least to whom the meeting

and all that was connected with it had brought anything

but pleasure. Clara Walker watched with a heavy heart

the friendship and close intimacy which had sprung up

between her father and the widow. From week to week it

had increased until no day ever passed without their

being together. The coming meeting had been the excuse

for these continual interviews, but now the meeting was

over, and still the Doctor would refer every point which

rose to the judgment of his neighbor. He would talk,

too, to his two daughters of her strength of character,

her decisive mind, and of the necessity of their

cultivating her acquaintance and following her example,

until at last it had become his most common topic of

conversation.

All this might have passed as merely the natural

pleasure which an elderly man might take in the society

of an intelligent and handsome woman, but there were

other points which seemed to Clara to give it a deeper

meaning. She could not forget that when Charles

Westmacott had spoken to her one night he had alluded to

the possibility of his aunt marrying again. He must have

known or noticed something before he would speak upon

such a subject. And then again Mrs. Westmacott had

herself said that she hoped to change her style of

living shortly and take over completely new duties. What

could that mean except that she expected to marry? And

whom? She seemed to see few friends outside their own

little circle. She must have alluded to her father. It

was a hateful thought, and yet it must be faced.

One evening the Doctor had been rather late at his

neighbor's. He used to go into the Admiral's after

dinner, but now he turned more frequently in the other

direction. When he returned Clara was sitting alone in

the drawing-room reading a magazine. She sprang up as he

entered, pushed forward his chair, and ran to fetch his

slippers.

"You are looking a little pale, dear," he remarked.

"Oh, no, papa, I am very well."

"All well with Harold?"

"Yes. His partner, Mr. Pearson, is still away, and

he is doing all the work."

"Well done. He is sure to succeed. Where is Ida?"

"In her room, I think."

"She was with Charles Westmacott on the lawn not very

long ago. He seems very fond of her. He is not very

bright, but I think he will make her a good husband."

"I am sure of it, papa. He is very manly and

reliable."

"Yes, I should think that he is not the sort of man

who goes wrong. There is nothing hidden about him. As

to his brightness, it really does not matter, for his

aunt, Mrs. Westmacott, is very rich, much richer than you

would think from her style of living, and she has made

him a handsome provision."

"I am glad of that."

"It is between ourselves. I am her trustee, and so

I know something of her arrangements. And when are you

going to marry, Clara?"

"Oh, papa, not for some time yet. We have not

thought of a date.

"Well, really, I don't know that there is any reason

for delay. He has a competence and it increases yearly.

As long as you are quite certain that your mind is made

up----"

"Oh, papa!"

"Well, then, I really do not know why there should be

any delay. And Ida, too, must be married within the next

few months. Now, what I want to know is what I am to do

when my two little companions run away from me." He

spoke lightly, but his eyes were grave as he looked

questioningly at his daughter.

"Dear papa, you shall not be alone. It will be years

before Harold and I think of marrying, and when we do you

must come and live with us."

"No, no, dear. I know that you mean what you

say, but I have seen something of the world, and I know

that such arrangements never answer. There cannot be two

masters in a house, and yet at my age my freedom is very

necessary to me."

"But you would be completely free."

"No, dear, you cannot be that if you are a guest in

another man's house. Can you suggest no other

alternative?"

"That we remain with you."

"No, no. That is out of the question. Mrs.

Westmacott herself says that a woman's first duty is to

marry. Marriage, however, should be an equal

partnership, as she points out. I should wish you both

to marry, but still I should like a suggestion from you,

Clara, as to what I should do."

"But there is no hurry, papa. Let us wait. I do not

intend to marry yet."

Doctor Walker looked disappointed. "Well, Clara, if

you can suggest nothing, I suppose that I must take the

initiative myself," said he.

"Then what do you propose, papa?" She braced herself

as one who sees the blow which is about to fall.

He looked at her and hesitated. "How like your poor

dear mother you are, Clara!" he cried. "As I looked at

you then it was as if she had come back from the grave."

He stooped towards her and kissed her. "There, run

away to your sister, my dear, and do not trouble yourself

about me. Nothing is settled yet, but you will find that

all will come right."

Clara went upstairs sad at heart, for she was sure

now that what she had feared was indeed about to come to

pass, and that her father was going to take Mrs.

Westmacott to be his wife. In her pure and earnest mind

her mother's memory was enshrined as that of a saint, and

the thought that any one should take her place seemed a

terrible desecration. Even worse, however, did this

marriage appear when looked at from the point of view of

her father's future. The widow might fascinate him by

her knowledge of the world, her dash, her strength, her

unconventionality--all these qualities Clara was willing

to allow her--but she was convinced that she would be

unendurable as a life companion. She had come to an age

when habits are not lightly to be changed, nor was she a

woman who was at all likely to attempt to change them.

How would a sensitive man like her father stand the

constant strain of such a wife, a woman who was all

decision, with no softness, and nothing soothing in her

nature? It passed as a mere eccentricity when they heard

of her stout drinking, her cigarette smoking, her

occasional whiffs at a long clay pipe, her horsewhipping

of a drunken servant, and her companionship with the

snake Eliza, whom she was in the habit of bearing about

in her pocket. All this would become unendurable to her

father when his first infatuation was past. For his own

sake, then, as well as for her mother's memory, this

match must be prevented. And yet how powerless she was

to prevent it! What could she do? Could Harold aid her?

Perhaps. Or Ida? At least she would tell her sister and

see what she could suggest.

Ida was in her boudoir, a tiny little tapestried

room, as neat and dainty as herself, with low walls hung

with Imari plaques and with pretty little Swiss brackets

bearing blue Kaga ware, or the pure white Coalport china.

In a low chair beneath a red shaded standing lamp sat

Ida, in a diaphanous evening dress of mousseline de

soie, the ruddy light tinging her sweet childlike face,

and glowing on her golden curls. She sprang up as her

sister entered, and threw her arms around her.

"Dear old Clara! Come and sit down here beside me.

I have not had a chat for days. But, oh, what a troubled

face! What is it then?" She put up her forefinger and

smoothed her sister's brow with it.

Clara pulled up a stool, and sitting down beside her

sister, passed her arm round her waist. "I am so sorry

to trouble you, dear Ida," she said. "But I do not know

what to do.

"There's nothing the matter with Harold?"

"Oh, no, Ida."

"Nor with my Charles?"

"No, no."

Ida gave a sigh of relief. "You quite frightened me,

dear," said she. "You can't think how solemn you look.

What is it, then?"

"I believe that papa intends to ask Mrs. Westmacott

to marry him."

Ida burst out laughing. "What can have put such a

notion into your head, Clara?"

"It is only too true, Ida. I suspected it before,

and he himself almost told me as much with his own lips

to-night. I don't think that it is a laughing matter."

"Really, I could not help it. If you had told me

that those two dear old ladies opposite, the Misses

Williams, were both engaged, you would not have surprised

me more. It is really too funny."

"Funny, Ida! Think of any one taking the place of

dear mother.

But her sister was of a more practical and less

sentimental nature. "I am sure," said she, "that dear

mother would like papa to do whatever would make him most

happy. We shall both be away, and why should papa not

please himself?"

"But think how unhappy he will be. You know how

quiet he is in his ways, and how even a little thing

will upset him. How could he live with a wife who would

make his whole life a series of surprises? Fancy what a

whirlwind she must be in a house. A man at his age

cannot change his ways. I am sure he would be

miserable."

Ida's face grew graver, and she pondered over the

matter for a few minutes. "I really think that you are

right as usual," said she at last. "I admire Charlie's

aunt very much, you know, and I think that she is a very

useful and good person, but I don't think she would do as

a wife for poor quiet papa."

"But he will certainly ask her, and I really think

that she intends to accept him. Then it would be too

late to interfere. We have only a few days at the most.

And what can we do? How can we hope to make him change

his mind?"

Again Ida pondered. "He has never tried what it is

to live with a strong-minded woman," said she. "If we

could only get him to realize it in time. Oh, Clara, I

have it; I have it! Such a lovely plan!" She leaned

back in her chair and burst into a fit of laughter so

natural and so hearty that Clara had to forget her

troubles and to join in it.

"Oh, it is beautiful!" she gasped at last. "Poor

papa! What a time he will have! But it's all for his

own good, as he used to say when we had to be

punished when we were little. Oh, Clara, I do hope your

heart won't fail you.

"I would do anything to save him, dear."

"That's it. You must steel yourself by that

thought."

"But what is your plan?"

"Oh, I am so proud of it. We will tire him for ever

of the widow, and of all emancipated women. Let me see,

what are Mrs. Westmacott's main ideas? You have listened

to her more than I. Women should attend less to

household duties. That is one, is it not?"

"Yes, if they feel they have capabilities for higher

things. Then she thinks that every woman who has leisure

should take up the study of some branch of science, and

that, as far as possible, every woman should qualify

herself for some trade or profession, choosing for

preference those which have been hitherto monopolized by

men. To enter the others would only be to intensify the

present competition."

" Quite so. That is glorious!" Her blue eyes were

dancing with mischief, and she clapped her hands in her

delight. "What else? She thinks that whatever a man

can do a woman should be allowed to do also--does she

not?"

"She says so."

"And about dress? The short skirt, and the

divided skirt are what she believes in?"

"Yes."

"We must get in some cloth."

"Why?"

"We must make ourselves a dress each. A brand-new,

enfranchised, emancipated dress, dear. Don't you see my

plan? We shall act up to all Mrs. Westmacott's views in

every respect, and improve them when we can. Then papa

will know what it is to live with a woman who claims all

her rights. Oh, Clara, it will be splendid."

Her milder sister sat speechless before so daring a

scheme. "But it would be wrong, Ida!" she cried at last.

"Not a bit. It is to save him."

"I should not dare."

"Oh, yes, you would. Harold will help. Besides,

what other plan have you?"

"I have none."

"Then you must take mine."

"Yes. Perhaps you are right. Well, we do it for a

good motive.

"You will do it?"

"I do not see any other way."

"You dear good Clara! Now I will show you what you

are to do. We must not begin too suddenly. It might

excite suspicion."

"What would you do, then?"

"To-morrow we must go to Mrs. Westmacott, and sit

at her feet and learn all her views."

"What hypocrites we shall feel!"

"We shall be her newest and most enthusiastic

converts. Oh, it will be such fun, Clara! Then we shall

make our plans and send for what we want, and begin our

new life."

"I do hope that we shall not have to keep it up long.

It seems so cruel to dear papa.

"Cruel! To save him!"

"I wish I was sure that we were doing right. And yet

what else can we do? Well, then, Ida, the die is cast,

and we will call upon Mrs. Westmacott tomorrow.