Rank and Talent; A Novel, Vol. 1 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill

CHAPTER XIV.

“Yea, this man’s brow, like to a title-leaf,

Foretels the nature of a tragic volume.”

Shakspeare.

It is not to be supposed that Oliver should keep the secret which he had heard without the assistance of some of his fellow-servants; and if the servants of the house had kept the secret from the servants of the visitors, they would have been guilty of a gross breach of hospitality; and when a gentleman is in a stable, or a lady in a dressing-room, the distance between them and their respective servants is not so great but that the parties are within hearing of each other.

When, therefore, the party assembled at dinner, Mr. Philip found himself under no necessity of tasking either his own or Oliver’s inventive powers to account for the absence of Mr. John Martindale. Not one made any inquiry. This universal silence was very ominous to Philip; he very naturally supposed that the secret, whatever it was, had been divulged. He laboured hard to seem at ease; but that was no easy task. The party at table felt themselves also under some kind of restraint, so that their talk was very abrupt and unconnected. Could any one think it possible? but it really is a fact, that the guests were almost dying for an opportunity of talking one to another concerning the strange news which they had heard; and they were prepared with some notable aphorism on pride and extravagance ready to be shot forth as soon as the person should by his absence give them leave to speak.

As for the Hon. Philip Martindale himself, a variety of thoughts, hopes, fears, and conjectures, were passing through his mind; but none of them remained long enough there to be soberly and seriously considered, or to produce any composure or settled plan. There was, indeed, one thought which was most frequently springing up amidst the general agitation, and that was the thought of Miss Sampson; and so little command had he over the movements of his own mind, that he found himself paying a more than ordinary degree of attention to that young lady. Lord and Lady Martindale could not fail to notice this; and to the former it was not quite so unpleasant as might have been supposed, from the well-known high and lofty notions which his lordship entertained on the subject of the dignity of high rank. For though Lord Martindale venerated nobility and high birth, he knew that there also needed some other appurtenances to render greatness really and permanently imposing. He also knew that the estate which was destined to keep up the honour of the title was scarcely competent to that great task. He also knew that there was not quite so much destined for his successor as his successor imagined; and he was well aware of the sad necessity which had frequently compelled persons of higher rank than himself to condescend to ennoble plebeian blood “for a consideration.” As to the present posture of affairs, his lordship was not much surprised at the rumors which he had heard; he knew that the property in question had descended rather unexpectedly on its present possessor, and he was also prepared for any disappointment which his own son might experience from the caprice of his relative. His fears, indeed, of disappointment to his son arose from an expectation that Mr. John Martindale might marry, and thus find a new set of connexions that would have a powerful influence on his decisions and arrangements concerning his property. Having then heard that another claimant had started for that property, and observing that the old gentleman had been more than usually attentive to Lady Woodstock, he thought it was time that his son should make some provision for himself. With as good a grace as might be, he therefore resigned himself to the thought that Miss Sampson might be allowed the honor of becoming the Hon. Mrs. P. Martindale.

We are not, indeed, prepared to say that all this was effected in his lordship’s mind without a considerable effort and a powerful conflict. Necessity, it is said, has no law. It would be more correct to say, that necessity is the most arbitrary and powerful lawgiver. Lord Martindale was very much to be pitied, and so was Mr. Philip. But calamities of this kind will sometimes overtake nobility: by a variety of circumstances, which need not be enumerated, there will be often occurring a painful necessity of repairing dilapidated fortunes by intermarriages with plebeians. It does not occur to us at present how this dreadful calamity can be avoided. There are certainly public stations with high salaries and easy duties; these help a little, but comparatively very little; and there are some of those offices which really require men of understanding and application to fill them; and we fear that such is the seditious and discontented spirit of the times, that the people would grumble at any very great multiplication of places of no use but to those who fill them. Yet, upon second thoughts, there are certain laws, such for instance as the game-laws, which are made expressly and obviously for the amusement of the higher classes; might not some legislative arrangement be contrived, which should, on the same exclusive principle, prevent the nobility from intermarrying with plebeians in order to repair the broken fortunes? Seeing that the nobility, and its peculiar privileges, and its high and mighty purity, is one of the great blessings of our constitution, forming a grand reservoir of political wisdom, surely the people would not be very reluctant to contribute liberally towards an arrangement which should be the means of preventing the said nobility from receiving contamination from intermarriages with plebeians. We only suggest that some contrivance might be made; but what contrivance we must leave to the sagacity of wiser heads than our own, and to those who are more interested in it than we are.