The Translation of a Savage, Complete - Gilbert Parker
The woman given to her as maid had been well chosen. Armour had done this
carefully. She was Scotch, was reserved, had a certain amount of
shrewdness, would obey instructions, and do her duty carefully. What she
thought about the whole matter she kept to herself; even the solicitor at
Montreal could not find out. She had her instructions clear in her mind;
she was determined to carry them out to the letter--for which she was
already well paid, and was like to be better paid; because Armour had
arranged that she should continue to be with his wife after they got to
England. She understood well the language of Lali's tribe, and because
Lali's English was limited she would be indispensable in England.
Mackenzie, therefore, had responsibility, and if she was not elated over
it, she still knew the importance of her position, and had enough
practical vanity to make her an efficient servant and companion. She
already felt that she had got her position in life, from which she was to
go out no more for ever. She had been brought up in the shadow of Alnwick
Castle, and she knew what was due to her charge--by other people; herself
only should have liberty with her. She was taking Lali to the home of
General Armour, and that must be kept constantly before her mind.
Therefore, from the day they set foot on the Aphrodite, she kept her
place beside Mrs. Armour, sitting with her,--they walked very
little,--and scarcely ever speaking, either to her or to the curious
passengers. Presently the passengers became more inquisitive, and made
many attempts at being friendly; but these received little encouragement.
It had become known who the Indian girl was, and many wild tales went
about as to her marriage with Francis Armour. Now it was maintained she
had saved his life at an outbreak of her tribe; again, that she had found
him dying in the woods and had nursed him back to life and health; yet
again, that she was a chieftainess, a successful claimant against the
Hudson's Bay Company--and so on.
There were several on board who knew the Armours well by name, and two
who knew them personally. One was Mr. Edward Lambert, a barrister of the
Middle Temple, and the other was Mrs. Townley, a widow, a member of a
well-known Hertfordshire family, who, on a pleasant journey in Scotland,
had met, conquered, and married a wealthy young American, and had been
left alone in the world, by no means portionless, eighteen months before.
Lambert knew Richard Armour well, and when, from Francis Armour's
solicitor, with whom he was acquainted, he heard, just before they
started, who the Indian girl was, he was greatly shocked and sorry. He
guessed at once the motive, the madness, of this marriage. But he kept
his information and his opinions mostly to himself, except in so far as
it seemed only due to friendship to contradict the numberless idle
stories going about. After the first day at sea he came to know Mrs.
Townley, and when he discovered that they had many common friends and
that she knew the Armours, he spoke a little more freely to her regarding
the Indian wife, and told her what he believed was the cause of the
marriage.
Mrs. Townley was a woman--a girl--of uncommon gentleness of disposition,
and, in spite of her troubles, inclined to view life with a sunny eye.
She had known of Frank Armour's engagement with Miss Julia Sherwood, but
she had never heard the sequel. If this was the sequel--well, it had to
be faced. But she was almost tremulous with sympathy when she remembered
Mrs. Armour, and Frank's gay, fashionable sister, Marion, and
contemplated the arrival of this Indian girl at Greyhope. She had always
liked Frank Armour, but this made her angry with him; for, on second
thoughts, she was not more sorry for him and for his people than for
Lali, the wife. She had the true instinct of womanhood, and she supposed
that a heathen like this could have feelings to be hurt and a life to be
wounded as herself or another. At least she saw what was possible in the
future when this Indian girl came to understand her position--only to be
accomplished by contact with the new life, so different from her past.
Both she and Lambert decided that she was very fine-looking, not
withstanding her costume. She was slim and well built, with modest bust
and shapely feet and ankles. Her eyes were large, meditative, and
intelligent, her features distinguished. She was a goodly product of her
race, being descended from a line of chiefs and chieftainesses--broken
only in the case of her grandfather, as has been mentioned. Her hands
(the two kindly inquisitors decided) were almost her best point. They
were perfectly made, slim, yet plump, the fingers tapering, the wrist
supple. Mrs. Townley then and there decided that the girl had
possibilities. But here she was, an Indian, with few signs of
civilisation or of that breeding which seems to white people the only
breeding fit for earth or heaven.
Mrs. Townley did not need Lambert's suggestion that she should try to
approach the girl, make friends with her, and prepare her in some slight
degree for the strange career before her.
Mrs. Townley had an infinite amount of tact. She knew it was best to
approach the attendant first. This she did, and, to the surprise of other
lady-passengers, received no rebuff. Her advance was not, however, rapid.
Mackenzie had had her instructions. When she found that Mrs. Townley knew
Francis Armour and his people, she thawed a little more, and then, very
hesitatingly, she introduced her to the Indian wife. Mrs. Townley smiled
her best--and there were many who knew how attractive she could be at
such a moment. There was a slight pause, in which Lali looked at her
meditatively, earnestly, and then those beautiful wild fingers glided
out, and caught her hand, and held it; but she spoke no word. She only
looked inquiringly, seriously, at her new-found friend, and presently
dropped the blanket away from her, and sat up firmly, as though she felt
she was not altogether an alien now, and had a right to hold herself
proudly among white people, as she did in her own country and with her
own tribe, who had greatly admired her. Certainly Mrs. Townley could find
no fault with the woman as an Indian. She had taste, carried her clothes
well, and was superbly fresh in appearance, though her hair still bore
very slight traces of the grease which even the most aristocratic Indians
use.
But Lali would not talk. Mrs. Townley was anxious that the girl should be
dressed in European costume, and offered to lend and rearrange dresses of
her own, but she came in collision with Mr. Armour's instructions. So she
had to assume a merely kind and comforting attitude. The wife had not the
slightest idea where she was going, and even when Mackenzie, at Mrs.
Townley's oft-repeated request, explained very briefly and
unpicturesquely, she only looked incredulous or unconcerned. Yet the
ship, its curious passengers, the dining saloon, the music, the sea, and
all, had given her suggestions of what was to come. They had expected
that at table she would be awkward and ignorant to a degree. But she had
at times eaten at the trader's table at Fort Charles, and had learned how
to use a knife and fork. She had also been a favourite with the trader's
wife, who had taught her very many civilised things. Her English, though
far from abundant, was good. Those, therefore, who were curious and rude
enough to stare at her were probably disappointed to find that she ate
like "any Christom man."
"How do you think the Armours will receive her?" said Lambert to Mrs.
Townley, of whose judgment on short acquaintance he had come to entertain
a high opinion.
Mrs. Townley had a pretty way of putting her head to one side and
speaking very piquantly. She had had it as a girl; she had not lost it as
a woman, any more than she had lost a soft little spontaneous laugh which
was one of her unusual charms--for few women can laugh audibly with
effect. She laughed very softly now, and, her sense of humour supervening
for the moment, she said:
"Really, you have asked me a conundrum. I fancy I see Mrs. Armour's face
when she gets the news,--at the breakfast-table, of course, and gives a
little shriek, and says: 'General! oh, General!' But it is all very
shocking, you know," she added, in a lower voice. "Still I think they
will receive her and do the best they can for her; because, you see,
there she is, married hard and fast. She bears the Armour name, and is
likely to make them all very unhappy, indeed, if she determines to
retaliate upon them for any neglect."
"Yes. But how to retaliate, Mrs. Townley?" Lambert had not a suggestive
mind.
"Well, for instance, suppose they sent her away into seclusion,--with
Frank's consent, another serious question,--and she should take the
notion to fly her retirement, and appear inopportunely at some social
function clothed as she is now! I fancy her blanket would be a wet one in
such a case--if you will pardon the little joke."
Lambert sighed. "Poor Frank--poor devil!" he said, almost beneath his
breath.
"And wherefore poor Frank? Do you think he or the Armours of Greyhope are
the only ones at stake in this? What about this poor girl? Just think why
he married her, if our suspicions are right,--and then imagine her
feelings when she wakes to the truth over there, as some time she is sure
to do!"
Then Lambert began to see the matter in a different light, and his
sympathy for Francis Armour grew less as his pity for the girl increased.
In fact, the day before they got to Liverpool he swore at Armour more
than once, and was anxious concerning the reception of the heathen wife
by her white relatives.
Had he been present at a certain scene at Greyhope a day or two before,
he would have been still more anxious. It was the custom, at breakfast,
for Mrs. Armour to open her husband's letters and read them while he was
engaged with his newspaper, and hand to him afterwards those that were
important. This morning Marion noticed a letter from Frank amongst the
pile, and, without a word, pounced upon it. She was curious--as any woman
would be--to see how he took Miss Sherwood's action. Her father was deep
in his paper at the time. Her mother was reading other letters. Marion
read the first few lines with a feeling of almost painful wonder, the
words were so curious, cynical, and cold.
Richard sat opposite her. He also was engaged with his paper, but,
chancing to glance up, he saw that she was becoming very pale, and that
the letter trembled in her fingers. Being a little short-sighted, he was
not near enough to see the handwriting. He did not speak yet. He watched.
Presently, seeing her grow more excited, he touched her foot under the
table. She looked up, and caught his eye. She gasped slightly. She gave
him a warning look, and turned away from her mother. Then she went on
reading to the bitter end.
Presently a little cry escaped her against her will. At that her mother
looked up, but she only saw her daughter's back, as she rose hurriedly
from the table, saying that she would return in a moment. Mrs. Armour,
however, had been startled. She knew that Marion had been reading a
letter, and, with a mother's instinct, her thoughts were instantly on
Frank. She spoke quickly, almost sharply:
"Marion, come here."
Richard had risen. He came round the table, and, as the girl obeyed her
mother, took the letter from her fingers and hastily glanced over it.
Mrs. Armour came forward and took her daughter's arm. "Marion," she said,
"there is something wrong--with Frank. What is it?"
General Armour was now looking up at them all, curiously, questioningly,
through his glasses, his paper laid down, his hands resting on the table.
Marion could not answer. She was sick with regret, vexation, and shame;
at the first flush, death--for Frank--had been preferable to this. She
had a considerable store of vanity; she was not very philosophical.
Besides, she was not married; and what Captain Vidall, her devoted
admirer and possible husband, would think of this heathenish alliance was
not a cheer ful thought to her. She choked down a sob, and waved her hand
towards Richard to answer for her. He was pale too, but cool. He
understood the case instantly; he made up his mind instantly also as to
what ought to be--must be--done.
"Well, mother," he said, "it is about Frank. But he is all right; that
is, he is alive and well-in body. But he has arranged a hateful little
embarrassment for us--he is married."
"Married!" exclaimed his mother faintly. "Oh, poor Lady Agnes!"
Marion sniffed a little viciously at this.
"Married? Married?" said his father. "Well, what about it? eh? what about
it?"
The mother wrung her hands. "Oh, I know it is something
dreadful--dreadful! He has married some horrible wild person, or
something."
Richard, miserable as he was, remained calm. "Well," said he, "I don't
know about her being horrible. Frank is silent on that point; but she is
wild enough--a wild Indian, in fact."
"Indian? Indian? Good God--a red nigger!" cried General Armour harshly,
starting to his feet.
"An Indian? a wild Indian?" Mrs. Armour whispered faintly, as she dropped
into a chair.
"And she'll be here in two or three days," fluttered Marion hysterically.
Meanwhile Richard had hastily picked up the Times. "She is due here the
day after to-morrow," he said deliberately. "Frank is as decisive as he
is rash. Well, it's a melancholy tit-for-tat."
"What do you mean by tit-for-tat?" cried his father angrily.
"Oh, I mean that--that we tried to hasten Julia's marriage--with the
other fellow, and he is giving us one in return; and you will all agree
that it's a pretty permanent one."
The old soldier recovered himself, and was beside his wife in an instant.
He took her hand. "Don't fret about it, wife," he said; "it's an ugly
business, but we must put up with it. The boy was out of his head. We are
old, now, my dear, but there was a time when we should have resented such
a thing as much as Frank--though not in the same fashion, perhaps--not in
the same fashion." The old man pressed his lips hard to keep down his
emotion.
"Oh, how could he--how could he!" said his mother: "we meant everything
for the best."
"It is always dangerous business meddling with lovers' affairs," rejoined
Richard. "Lovers take themselves very seriously indeed, and--well, here
the thing is! Now, who will go and fetch her from Liverpool? I should say
that both my father and my mother ought to go."
Thus Richard took it for granted that they would receive Frank's Indian
wife into their home. He intended that, so far as he was concerned, there
should be no doubt upon the question from the beginning.
"Never--she shall never come here!" said Marion, with flashing eyes; "a
common squaw, with greasy hair, and blankets, and big mouth, and black
teeth, who eats with her fingers and grunts! If she does, if she is
brought to Greyhope, I will never show my face in the world again. Frank
married the animal: why does he ship her home to us? Why didn't he come
with her? Why does he not take her to a home of his own? Why should he
send her here, to turn our house into a menagerie?"
Marion drew her skirt back, as if the common squaw, with her blankets and
grease, was at that moment near her.
"Well, you see," continued Richard, "that is just it. As I said, Frank
arranged this little complication with a trifling amount of malice. No
doubt he didn't come with her because he wished to test the family
loyalty and hospitality; but a postscript to this letter says that his
solicitor has instructions to meet his wife at Liverpool, and bring her
on here in case we fail to show her proper courtesy."
General Armour here spoke. "He has carried the war of retaliation very
far indeed, but men do mad things when their blood is up, as I have seen
often. That doesn't alter our clear duty in the matter. If the woman were
bad, or shameful, it would be a different thing; if--"
Marion interrupted: "She has ridden bareback across the continent like a
jockey,--like a common jockey, and she wears a blanket, and she doesn't
know a word of English, and she will sit on the floor!"
"Well," said her father, "all these things are not sins, and she must be
taught better."
"Joseph, how can you?" said Mrs. Armour indignantly. "She cannot, she
shall not come here. Think of Marion. Think of our position."
She hid her troubled, tear-stained face behind her handkerchief. At the
same time she grasped her husband's hand. She knew that he was right. She
honoured him in her heart for the position he had taken, but she could
not resist the natural impulse of a woman where her taste and convention
were shocked.
The old man was very pale, but there was no mistaking his determination.
He had been more indignant than any of them, at first, but he had an
unusual sense of justice when he got face to face with it, as Richard had
here helped him to do. "We do not know that the woman has done any
wrong," he said. "As for our name and position, they, thank God! are
where a mad marriage cannot unseat them. We have had much prosperity in
the world, my wife; we have had neither death nor dishonour; we--"
"If this isn't dishonour, father, what is?" Marion flashed out.
He answered calmly. "My daughter, it is a great misfortune, it will
probably be a lifelong trial, but it is not necessarily dishonour."
"You never can make a scandal less by trying to hide it," said Richard,
backing up his father. "It is all pretty awkward, but I daresay we shall
get some amusement out of it in the end."
"Richard," said his mother through her tears, "you are flippant and
unkind!"
"Indeed, mother," was his reply, "I never was more serious in my life.
When I spoke of amusement, I meant comedy merely, not fun--the thing that
looks like tragedy and has a happy ending. That is what I mean, mother,
nothing more."
"You are always so very deep, Richard," remarked Marion ironically, "and
care so very little how the rest of us feel about things. You have no
family pride. If you had married a squaw, we shouldn't have been
surprised. You could have camped in the grounds with your wild woman, and
never have been missed--by the world," she hastened to add, for she saw a
sudden pain in his face.
He turned from them all a little wearily, and limped over to the window.
He stood looking out into the limes where he and Frank had played when
boys. He put his finger up, his unhandsome finger, and caught away some
moisture from his eyes. He did not dare to let them see his face, nor yet
to speak. Marion had cut deeper than she knew, and he would carry the
wound for many a day before it healed.
But his sister felt instantly how cruel she had been, as she saw him limp
away, and caught sight of the bowed shoulders and the prematurely grey
hair. Her heart smote her. She ran over, and impulsively put her hands on
his shoulder. "Oh, Dick," she said, "forgive me, Dick! I didn't mean it.
I was angry and foolish and hateful."
He took one of her hands as it rested on his shoulder, she standing
partly behind him, and raised it to his lips, but he did not turn to her;
he could not.
"It is all right--all right," he said; "it doesn't make any difference.
Let us think of Frank and what we have got to do. Let us stand together,
Marion; that is best."
But her tears were dropping on his shoulder, as her forehead rested on
her hand. He knew now that, whatever Frank's wife was, she would not have
an absolute enemy here; for when Marion cried her heart was soft. She was
clay in the hands of the potter whom we call Mercy--more often a stranger
to the hearts of women than of men. At the other side of the room also
the father and mother, tearless now, watched these two; and the mother
saw her duty better and with less rebelliousness. She had felt it from
the first, but she could not bring her mind to do it. They held each
other's hands in silence. Presently General Armour said: "Richard, your
mother and I will go to Liverpool to meet Frank's wife."
Marion shuddered a little, and her hands closed on Richard's shoulder,
but she said nothing.
CHAPTER III
OUT OF THE NORTH
It was a beautiful day--which was so much in favour of Mrs. Frank Armour
in relation to her husband's people. General Armour and his wife had come
down from London by the latest train possible, that their suspense at
Liverpool might be short. They said little to each other, but when they
did speak it was of things very different from the skeleton which they
expected to put into the family cupboard presently. Each was trying to
spare the other. It was very touching. They naturally looked upon the
matter in its most unpromising light, because an Indian was an Indian,
and this unknown savage from Fort Charles was in violent contrast to such
desirable persons as Lady Agnes Martling. Not that the Armours were
zealous for mere money and title, but the thing itself was altogether a
propos, as Mrs. Armour had more naively than correctly put it. The
general, whose knowledge of character and the circumstances of life was
considerable, had worked out the thing with much accuracy. He had
declared to Richard, in their quiet talk upon the subject, that Frank
must have been anything but sober when he did it. He had previously
called it a policy of retaliation; so that now he was very near the
truth. When they arrived at the dock at Liverpool, the Aphrodite was just
making into the harbour.
"Egad," said General Armour to himself, "Sebastopol was easier than this;
for fighting I know, and being peppered I know, by Jews, Greeks,
infidels, and heretics; but to take a savage to my arms and do for her
what her godfathers and godmothers never did, is worse than the devil's
dance at Delhi."
What Mrs. Armour, who was not quite so definite as her husband, thought,
it would be hard to tell; but probably grief for, and indignation at, her
son, were uppermost in her mind. She had quite determined upon her
course. None could better carry that high, neutral look of social
superiority than she.
Please Heaven, she said to herself, no one should see that her equanimity
was shaken. They had brought one servant with them, who had been gravely
and yet conventionally informed that his young master's wife, an Indian
chieftainess, was expected. There are few family troubles but find their
way to servants' hall with an uncomfortable speed; for, whether or not
stone walls have ears, certainly men-servants and maid-servants have eyes
that serve for ears, and ears that do more than their bounden duty.
Boulter, the footman, knew his business. When informed of the coming of
Mrs. Francis Armour, the Indian chieftainess, his face was absolutely
expressionless; his "Yessir" was as mechanical as usual. On the dock he
was marble--indifferent. When the passengers began to land, he showed no
excitement. He was decorously alert. When the crucial moment came, he was
imperturbable. Boulter was an excellent servant. So said Edward Lambert
to himself after the event; so, likewise, said Mrs. Townley to herself
when the thing was over; so declared General Armour many a time after,
and once very emphatically, just before he raised Boulter's wages.
As the boat neared Liverpool, Lambert and Mrs. Townley grew nervous. The
truth regarding the Indian wife had become known among the passengers,
and most were very curious--some in a well-bred fashion, some
intrusively, vulgarly. Mackenzie, Lali's companion, like Boulter, was
expressionless in face. She had her duty to do, paid for liberally, and
she would do it. Lali might have had a more presentable and dignified
attendant, but not one more worthy. It was noticeable that the captain of
the ship and all the officers had been markedly courteous to Mrs. Armour
throughout the voyage, but, to their credit, not ostentatiously so. When
the vessel was brought to anchor and the passengers were being put upon
the tender, the captain came and made his respectful adieus, as though
Lali were a lady of title in her own right, and not an Indian girl
married to a man acting under the influence of brandy and malice. General
Armour and Mrs. Armour were always grateful to Lambert and Mrs. Townley
for the part they played in this desperate little comedy. They stood
still and watchful as the passengers came ashore one by one. They saw
that they were the centre of unusual interest, but General Armour was
used to bearing himself with a grim kind of indifference in public, and
his wife was calm, and so somewhat disappointed those who probably
expected the old officer and his wife to be distressed. Frank Armour's
solicitor was also there, but, with good taste, he held aloof. The two
needed all their courage, however, when they saw a figure in buckskin and
blanket step upon the deck, attended by a very ordinary, austere, and
shabbily-dressed Scotswoman. But immediately behind them were Edward
Lambert and Mrs. Townley, and these, with their simple tact, naturalness,
and freedom from any sort of embarrassment, acted as foils, and relieved
the situation.