The Parvenu Family; or, Phoebe: girl and wife

Front matter

THE PARVENU FAMILY; OR, PHCEBE: GIRL AND WIFE. rv PERCY FITZGERALD, AUTHOR OF "BELLA DOXNA," "NEVER FORGOTTEN," ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. III. LONDON: RICHARD BENTLEY AND SON, Snblislurs in ©rtinarB to gjrr the (fi««n. 1876. (All Rights Reserved.) CONTENTS OF VOL. III. CHAPTER PAGE , I. CONJUGAL TROUBLES - - I II. A CRISIS - - - - - 14 III. OPEN REBELLION - - - - 29 IV. AT LAST A BREAKDOWN - - - 41 V. THE FAMILY AGAIN - - - 51 VI. AN AWKWARD ACCIDENT_ - - -62 VII. A SRIRMISH - - - - 85 VIII. A PRINGLE NIGHT - - - 96 IX. THE FAMILY MORTIFIED - - - IIO X. THE PRODIGAL RETURNS - - - "7 XI. SORE DISAPPOINTMENT - - - 132 XII. SKIRMISHING ... - 145 XIII. SAM STANDS - - - - 1 54 XIV. PHŒBE DESOLATE- - - - 1 72 XV. THE CONTEST - - - - 1 Contents. IV CHAPTER PAGE XVI. MR. PRINGLE RETURNS HOME - - 206 XVII.

A CRUEL HUSBAND - - - 2IS XVIII. MISS LACROIX REFUSES - - - 224 XIX. PHŒBE'S ULTIMATUM - 238 XX. "DO YOUR WORST" » 246 XXI. A DISCOVERY - - - - 2S7 XXII. A PLAN ----- 264 XXIII. DANCING ON A VOLCANO - - 283 XXIV. DESPERATION - 293 XXV.

Epilogue

Chapter I. Conjugal Troubles

With Phœbe, as we have seen, the staving off a debt was equivalent to its extinction ; and the occasion of any rescue from dan ger was the subject of jubilation. No thing so goaded Mr. Pringle as these little bursts of Phœbe's, or made him so impatient. Her good spirits on these occasions were so natural and genuine that he was again and again taken in, as it were, and VOL. in. I Phœbe. 2 led to believe that she had some piece of good news for him. " Now," she would say, in her cosy way, " didn't I tell you so ? As Tom says, you don't understand that we are really very well off, after all !" This allusion to Tom — whom he now had begun to look on as a sort of police man — was certain to make the storm burst. Then came the thunder, and the pitiless, cutting blast ; and in a few moments Phœbe was in her room, in a passionate state of wounded grief and indignation, vowing that she would never make an exertion to please one who was so unkind and cruel.

Mrs. Dawson saw all that was going on with the greatest clearness ; and, plain, practical woman as she was, resolved to let matters work themselves out, as a sort of useful discipline. Being, moreover, a comfortable lady, and fond of her ease, she did not wish to know too much, and Phœbe. 3 assumed that everything was going on pretty well, and that they were only wrangling at first, as she herself had done, and as all young married folk must do. She had her own friends with claims upon her, as she considered it ; or, as they might have put it, upon whom she asserted her claims of hospitality. As she had now no companion to lighten the dull evenings, the restoratives of visitings and junketings were more necessary for her than ever. At one of these houses she met her old friend Lord Garterley, who asked in a friendly way after Phœbe, and, with a renewed warmth, declared that he would go and see her so soon as he came to town.

Phœbe was enchanted one morning when the white head and pink face found their way to her little drawing-room ; dis played all her smiles and piquancy ; and, in her thoughtless way, gave him quite a flourishing account of their situation. She was, in truth, only thinking of how she was i — Phœbe. 4 behaving, and how she was impressing her visitor, for this poor little lady could never bring her mind to look beyond the existing moment. Accordingly, when Mr. Pringle came in after one of his weary tramps, " looking for something " (Tom, in allu sion to these lonely walks, had facetiously told him that he had got him the office of "Inspector of Public Buildings"), Phœbe had one of her little " surprises" for him. " It's all right !" she cried ; " who do you think has been here ? and I was so nice and charming to him."

A dim notion darted into the luckless fellow's brain, that this must refer to his offended parent. " What," he said eagerly, " do you mean " " You foolish fellow, you think that I am a child, and can do nothing. And, what's more, he is coming to dine to day. What do you say to Lord Garterley ? There !" Phœbe. 5 His face fell. But he had now found it useless to rage, so he turned away, biting his lips. " Then entertain him yourself," he said at last, " as you have chosen to ask him." " I don't think he would object to that," said Phœbe, looking at herself in the glass with a pleased simper. " I assure you he was quite gallant to-day. He paid me such nice compliments." He turned impatiently away, and tried hard to keep himself calm. She had that power over him, at least, that she had inspired him with a certain dread of the inconvenience that attended such scenes.

" What did you say to him ? Did you say anything of the way we were in ?" " What way ?" she said innocently. " Of course not. I was not going to be so foolish as that. I took care to keep our selves up before him. I made him think," Phœbe. added she, with a profoundly sagacious air, " that we were quite rich." " Child ! idiot ! you did that ?" cried he, with a sad disregard of conjugal decorum. "Don't call me those names," said Phœbe, colouring. " I am not accustomed to it. I know who is considered a child by the men." "Yes," sneered Mr. Pringle; "that blackguard brother of yours, I suppose — " " You can't help this sort of language," said Phœbe, trembling ; " it's the fault of your low belongings." She could have " cut off her tongue " after she made this speech, and felt deeply humiliated at having condescended to pick up such " a handful of mud."

Alas ! for poor human nature, she was a little com forted when she saw that it had had due effect. This recrimination was as idle in its results as the others of the same pattern, Phœbe. 7 but it will be seen how " the little rift within the lute " was widening into a huge crack. On his side there was no use pro testing. Lord Garterley was to come to dinner, and must be entertained in the best way they could. Something, he thought, might be done by working on that nobleman. He tried to get Phœbe to understand what was all-important, and in a half-shy, half-gruff fashion, pointed out to her that she might remind that lord of his promises and honeyed words. Phœbe was sharp enough to detect the secret cause of his hesitation. " I wonder," she said scornfully, " you could ask a child to make such a request.

Can't you ask for yourself like other men." However, a suitable repast was prepared, at a serious cost. Tom fortunately came in, and with his usual generosity pressed a " fiver " into his Phib's hand, and bid her do the thing handsomely. Phœbe herself Phœbe. took nearly a couple of hours in dressing, and came down with all her trinkets on, and in chains of gold, like a little captive. The rooms were all lit up, and the whole had really the air of a prosperous establish ment, sustained by plenty of money. Lord Garterley was in high spirits and good-humour. He " rallied " Phœbe on her looks, found the delicacies and wines excellent, talked about old friends and old times, declared he must have them down to Garterley, and that they must fix a day for the visit. Phœbe was enchanted, and already saw herself ordering an entirely new stock of dresses at Madame Melanie's. She, indeed, became so exhilarated that she was carried away into talking of their position — of her " wanting him to buy a carriage for her."

Lord Garterley listened to this prattle with much amusement, and encouraged her to tell him more of her plans. He then asked about the " pitiless parents," as he styled the Pringle family, which convulsed Phœbe. 9 the young hostess, who called them " nasty cruel people." She then retired to her drawing-room, quite pleased with herself, thinking that she had exhibited real powers of diplomacy, and shown Mr. Pringle what she could do. When the latter was left with Lord Garterley, he was to find the fruits of the diplo macy. " You are doing well, I see," said the nobleman. " I was afraid that what I heard was true. But you are all right." Mr. Pringle's brow darkened. " There's the folly of it !" he said, " she don't under stand it. We have little or nothing." " Get along !" said his lordship ; " that's the way all rich people talk.

You and your sharp brother-in-law have been put ting your heads together, and knocking some money out of the public." And he looked with a good-humoured smile across the claret that he was holding in his glass. Phœbe. 10 At that moment came a sound of a loud and angry voice from the hall, very voci ferous and threatening. " Lord bless me ! What's that ?" said Lord Garterley. Mr. Pringle turned pale. He knew those tones well. They belonged to the terrible " furniture man," who had been to him like Faust's terrible master — now soothed, now propitiated with a small sum, only to return more insolent and intolerant than ever. As the hired waiter opened the door softly, the voice came in with him: " If he can be giving dinners to lords, he should pay for the chairs and tables they sit on !" This speech was heard by Lord Garterley, who discreetly rose up and said : " I had better go to the drawing-room and 'join the ladies,' as they say."

And he got up ; and with a cautious air, as though he too felt the influence of the Phœbe. 11 presence of a dunning tradesman, left the hapless owner of the mansion to face the enemy. The despairing, even agonising, face struck him with compassion. He came back. " I heard what he said. I suppose you are pressed by these tradesmen ?" With an almost ghastly smile the hapless young man said : " I am at the last. We have nothing. My father has cast me off. I dare say I shall be turned out of this house in a few days." The astonishment that came into the peer's face was most genuine. " But she talked of buying a carriage and other things ?" " She knows nothing, and will know nothing. It makes me despair. I have to face it all, while she " and he glanced up to the ceiling. This was most significant.

It was as though he said, " She dresses and prattles away as you see." Phœbe. 12 " Bless me !" said the other, bewildered, and sitting down acfain. " You must tell me about this. But wait a bit ;" and he got up and went out of the room. After a few moments' talking the hall-door was shut, and he returned. There was something almost tragic, or rather pathetic, in the contrast between what was going on in the two floors of this hapless domicile — the pretty uncon scious child, who was sitting in her sort of Fairyland above, wondering why the gentlemen were so long coming up, and the wretchedness of the imposture that was below. " I can do very little for any one," said Lord Garterley. " I am ashamed to men tion this to you ; but I have a little interest in one of the banks." " Anything !" said the other eagerly.

" A clerk's place, seventy pounds a year. Reflect." Mr. Pringle was silent. Phœbe. 13 " Well, we shall see about something else later on. And when I next sfo down to your people — they are always asking me — I will speak to them seriously about you. They can't let their son be reduced to this state of destitution. And you will forgive me for advising — it seems unkind—but I would give up this sort of thing. Get into a smaller house. But don't visit it on her ; be gentle with her ; she is very young. No : I won't go up. You will say good night to her for me." Meanwhile 'the little lady of the house, still smiling, wondered why on earth the gentlemen did not come up.

Chapter II

A CRISIS. This state of things could not go on very long. Lord Garterley was one of those epicureans on whom anything like poverty or "difficulties " operated disagreeably. It gave him painful impressions, and quite routed the little poetical world of fancies in which he lived. He could understand the genuine poor, and to them was really chari table ; but, to take the instance of Phœbe, her difficulties completely altered the ap pearance she wore in his eyes. She had been turned into prose, and to prose of the worst kind. Phœbe. 15 For the next few days the recollection of that scene weighed on him most disagree ably — not, too, without a compassion which interfered with his other enjoyments. So he made haste to speak to his banker friend — to get rid of the whole business — who said, in that general way which is so significant of nothing particular, that he would certainly keep the matter in mind, and that if anything offered he would let him know.

Lord Garterley, having thus done his duty, dismissed the matter, and turned to some new and charming persons whom he had just met, and whom he " must have down to Garter ley at once." That night had not been without its effect on poor Phœbe, who was a little scared at what had taken place, and in an indistinct way began to realise that there were gloomy times in store for them all. Most directly did she seem to be affected by Lord Garterley going away in that Phœbe. abrupt and rude manner, without coming up "to join the ladies." She had her dress and trinkets so nicely arranged, and her pretty speeches settled. " I would have asked him," she said, " to make you something or other at Gar terley. He could not have refused me. He is so rich — seven or eight hundred a year is nothing to him," " For heaven's sake stop,!" cried her husband, putting his hands to his head.

" Stop this perpetual chatter of yours ! Are you mad, or an idiot, that you go on worrying me in this way ?" " Ungentlemanly ! " answered poor Phœbe, "always ungentlemanly." Indeed they were nearer the edge of the precipice than they knew. Mr. Pringle had reached the stage when, grown des perate, he made no further exertion, and was content to let things take their course — when he found, too, some satisfaction in saying to his Phœbe, Phœbe. 17 " Never mind ! Only wait a little, then you'll find out. You'll pay for all this, and I shall enjoy it." Unfortunately, just at this time a " run of ill luck " had overtaken Tom, as in the end it does all such clever fellows ; and it seemed as though everything he did, and everything he touched, failed him. He lost all his bets ; his fortune at billiards and other games of skill deserted him ; and one evening, when it had grown dusk, he drove up mysteriously to say good-bye to his sister.

" The game is up for the present, Phib, and I must keep away for a time." " What ! ruined at last ?" said Mr. Pringle, with satisfaction ; " is that the end of it ?" Tom, for a long time, had known as well as if he had been told it of the treat ment his darling sister was experiencing. He had only been prevented from inter fering, by the feeling that it might do her vol. in. Phœbe. further harm. He was glad now of an opportunity of giving, not a bit, but the whole of his mind. " Let me tell you, I shall not be so far away as but that I can reach you ; and let me warn you now — I know of your doings, and if — " " Tom ! Tom !" cried Phœbe piteously. " Don't ! He is very good." The poor soul had now learned that such interferences were anything but pro fitable. " Go on with your threatenings," said the other.

" You're a fine example to set up preaching." " Never you mind," said Tom. " Look at her face ; it's quite pinched and worn. You're not treating her well. You had better change this game in time." o fc> " She's been complaining, I suppose ?" " No ; she'd die first. But you don't understand her. She's too good for you. But see, take my warning ; treat her Phœbe. 19 well — kindly, affectionately — or I'll come back, and make you smart for every harsh word. Mind, I mean what I say. I'll come on you when you won't expect me. So take care. There, Phib ;" and he squeezed into her little hand some notes that he could ill spare, to the amount of some forty or fifty pounds. Then, with out waiting for thanks, and dropping his threatening tone, he said, in a friendly way, ■" Good-bye, old fellow. Let me hear good accounts of you."

After this scene, it may be conceived that Mr. Pringle was not in an amiable humour with his spouse. Phœbe, too, was not a little defiant and excited by this support, and said to him, in her curious way : " Now you'll try and be good, won't you, and mind what Tom says ? If you promise to turn over a new leaf I'll forgive you all that you have done, and the way you have treated me. You see, everybody 2 — Phœbe. 20 is remarking my looks. So you must pro mise me." This indiscreet speech had the opposite effect to what was intended. " Forgive me ? You ? After all you have done to me — sunk me, ruined me, in every way ! No matter, you shall pay for it yet !" " You had better take care," she said, with heightening colour ; " if you are 'threatening me I shall call Tom back ;" and she tossed her head with defiance.

He could hardly trust himself to speak, but with a trembling voice said — and he knew that this speech would punish her most effectively : " Go out of my sight ! I am beginning to hate you. I wish I had never set eyes on you." Phœbe, who had already forgotten all that had gone before, seemed terror stricken at this declaration. " No ! no ! You don't really mean that Phœbe. 21 you don't wish that you had never seen me ?" " I do. It was an unlucky day that I met you." She then almost pleaded : " And you wish that our meetings at the school — those delightful, stolen meet ings, to which I look back — " " Ugh !" he said, with a purposely emphasised disgust, " that was all acting — with you, at least. The other was a woman — not an idiot or a baby." " What ! and you really liked Ade laide ?" " As if a poor foolish creature like you could have been compared to her !"

Phœbe gave a groan. This weapon had pierced her as effectively as he could have desired. At the moment came a diversion of but too common a kind in these days — a man was " in the hall that wouldn't go away without seeing some one." These " men Phœbe. 22 in the hall " had become a periodical source of agony to the owner of the house, but were not the least trouble or anxiety to Phœbe, who used to say innocently : " Why don't you tell them to go away and not come teasing here ? They worry me so dreadfully." And it was Phœbe again, who, after the usual painful scene of struggle to get the man to go away, would declare as inno cently : " You see, I told you ; if you only spoke firmly — " Phœbe herself could never be got to face these awful beings, and, when her husband was absent, would send down messages by the maid, which were not of the slightest effect.

Then, driven into a corner, she would throw down her arms, piteously confess that she had not the courage to face the enemy ; and, when Mr. Pringle returned, beg of him to aid her. The present caller was a butcher of extraordinary insolence, which was, as it Phœbe. 23 were, whetted on the steel that he carried at his belt when engaged in his profes sional duties. Mr. Pringle's heart sank and his face turned pale as he thought of what was before him. It suddenly passed through his mind that what was in Phœbe's hand at that moment would be a welcome mode of release. But in Phœbe's soul there was the same idea ; and she was only looking at him with a hard pitilessness. Disdaining to make any appeal, he left the room, and went below desperately to face the butcher. That personage was more truculent than usual.

He was a broad fellow, with cheeks the colour of his own prime beef. He taunted his customer " with calling himself a gentleman." He roared and bellowed at him, and declared that he would " return that evening ; and, if his money was not ready for him, would put a man in, and sell off every stick." During the rest of that wretched day Phœbe. 24 Mr. Pringle was hurrying wildly about the streets, his only refuge ; while Phœbe, turned perfectly reckless by his unlucky declaration, was meditating plans of vengeance. He little knew, under all that light thoughtlessness, what a warmth of attachment there was to him. But she had been stung, wounded to the soul. " As he does not care for me," she thought, as she lay on her bed, beating her poor little cheeks against her pillow, " I will show him that I do not care for him."

After thinking it over again and again, she rose up. "He would like my money, though he does not care for me. Well, he shall see." And she put on her things and went out, hurrying off to Regent Street. As she was speeding on her way rather blindly and wildly, she heard her name called out : " Miss Dawson !" and, turning Phœbe. 25 recognised Lady Cecilia Shortlands, whom she had met at Lord Garterley's. The lady had not heard of her marriage. " The fact is," she said, " I did not know where you were, or I would have sent to you before ; but I want you to do some thing for me. I have organised a fancy quadrille at Lady Llanthony's ; mine is of the time of Charles the Second ; and Miss Wynter has disappointed me. I want you to take her place." Phœbe was very pretty, she thought, and would just do.

Go to a ball ; get a fancy dress ! It was the last thing she could dream of; but suddenly she recollected she had the money in her pocket ; she was still of im portance, still sought for herself by other people. It would make him feel ! The lady only thought how convenient was this nice substitute, and, giving her the address of Madame Sylvie, who had the pattern of the dress and the dress itself ready, went her way smiling. Phœbe. In a fever of excitement Phœbe put herself into the hands of the artist, and recklessly ordered everything that would set her off. To the amazement of the personage, she even insisted on paying in advance for the dress, forcing the money into her hands. The amount de manded was even more than the little sum in her possession ; but, of course, that made no difference.

She returned home and surveyed her husband with a little malevolent devil peeping out of her eye. His humour had changed in the interval. After a struggle, the necessity, the abject necessity and humiliation of the case had forced him into considering what would be for his advantage. After all, why should a little domestic squabble stand in the way ? This money would deliver them from the insolent butcher. Only a few kind words to the sweet Phœbe — even a smile — a talisman she never could resist — and the Phœbe. 27 notes would be put into his hand with an eager delight. As the hour for the return of the butcher drew near, he came tq the resolution that he would "make it up," as it is called. But he little knew the " heart-scald," as it were, that his words had given. Anything but want of love — that could not be for given !

The wild defiance in her eyes might have warned him. He heard sounds of feet in the hall, and strange voices, as he went out of his room to go upstairs. Great cardboard boxes were being brought in, with a huge oil-skin-covered basket, on which two fussy Frenchwomen attended. Phœbe was at the top of the first landing. " What is this ?" Mr. Pringle said ; " what do you mean by all this ?" " Dresses," said Phœbe, with a false vivacity. " Don't you see ? I'm going to the fancy ball to-night." " But I won't allow it," he said, with a Phœbe. voice that was almost inarticulate from trembling. " Send them away." " Hush !" said Phœbe ; " come in here." And she closed the door. " That would be very foolish ; for, you see, the goods are paid for." " Paid for ?" he gasped. " Yes, with Tom's money. Yes," she added, with the same look in her eyes, " I can do what I like with my own money !"

At moments like this there is going on in the human soul a turmoil that suggests the conflicts of pandemonium. To think now of the little pastoral scene in Miss Cooke's garden — the pretty prattling Phœbe and her Apollo-like lover ! — this, indeed, offered a terrible contrast.

Chapter III. Open Rebellion

He knew not what to say — what to do. The triumph, such as it was, was with Phœbe. The goaded Pringle was bereft of speech — nay, even of wit or intellect. At last he said : " Leave the room — leave the room, this instant !" and he seized her arm roughly. " I am going," said Phœbe frightened. " Don't push me in that way." " This is certain — you shan't wear those things, if you have bought them. You don't leave this house to-night." " Shan't I ?" said she. " We shall see." Phœbe. 30 Madame Sylvie's agents were in the hall, and caught enough to understand what was going on. Indeed, one of the ladies had her ear to the door, when it was abruptly opened ; but they were well accustomed to such unpleasant discussions between gentlemen and their wives on the subject of dressing. When they were gone he repeated : " Not one inch do you go out to-night !"

" All right," said she ; " but you are too rough ; look at the way you have marked my arm with your fingers." Even a touch made an impression on Phœbe's delicate skin. But when eight o'clock came, she was engaged in her room, with many candles blazing, getting ready for the event. When she was arrayed, she looked so piquant and brilliant that she really forgot her plans, and wished to go and show herself to him, and be told she was looking ravishing. Phœbe. 31 When she appeared descending the stairs, she had actually the notion of running up to him with a kiss, and asking— " Are you not proud of me ?" But the greeting that met her was, " You don't go out of this house to night !" And it curdled all the affection into a bitter sort of whey, and called the little pet demon again into her eye.

" We shall see !" she said, girding herself up for the conflict. " Tell Jane to call me a cab." " She shall go with you if she does, and never come back. I'll discharge you on the spot if you attempt to do it," added he, turning to the servant. Jane was frightened, though wages were due to her, and did not move. " I know what to do !" cried Phœbe, running to the door. " Sir," she cried, to a o-entleman who was passing, "would you be kind enough to call me a cab ?" Phœbe. 32 This person stared on seeing the gentle man and the other figures in the hall, then smiled. But on Phœbe's eager entreaty, he bowed, and did as she desired. Mr. Pringle, sinking under this mortifi cation, and seeing that she was uncontrol lable, fled into his room. Thus the scene terminated. Phœbe Avent to the ball, bearing under her finery a wretched heart, and being, in deed, morally speaking, a little delirious.