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Home> Security >Cyber Crime >Information Commissioner's Office changes charging structure
Information Commissioner's Office changes charging structure
THE GOVERNMENT has announced a new charging structure for data controllers to ensure the continued funding of the Information Commissioner's Office (ICO).
The new structure was laid before Parliament on 20 February as a Statutory Instrument and will come into effect on 25 May 2018, to coincide with the General Data Protection Regulation.
Until then, organisations are legally required to pay the current notification fee, unless they are exempt. To help data controllers understand why there's a new funding model and what they'll be required to pay from 25 May 2018, the ICO has produced a Guide to the Data Protection Fee.
The ICO's data protection work is currently funded through fees levied on organisations that process personal data, unless they are exempt. This is done under powers granted in the Data Protection Act 1998.
When the GDPR comes into effect on 25 May 2018, it will remove the requirement for data controllers to pay the ICO a fee.
The Government, which has a statutory duty to ensure the ICO is adequately funded, has proposed the new funding structure based on the relative risk to the data that an organisation processes.
The model is divided into three tiers and is based on a number of factors including size, turnover and whether an organisation is a public authority or charity.
For very small organisations, the fee won't be any higher than the £35 they currently pay (if they take advantage of a £5 reduction for paying by direct debit).
Larger organisations will be required to pay £2,900. The fee is higher because these organisations are likely to hold and process the largest volumes of data, and therefore represent a greater level of risk.
There will continue to be financial penalties for not paying fees, but these will be in the form of civil monetary penalties rather than a criminal sanction.
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\section{Background}
Modern industrial processes are often monitored by a large array of sensors. Machine learning techniques can be used to analyse unbounded streams of sensor signal in an on-line scenario. This paper illustrates the idea using propietary data collected from a two-stage centrifugal compression train driven by an aeroderivative industrial engine (Rolls-Royce RB211) on a single shaft. This large-scale compression module belongs to a major natural gas terminal\footnote{A simplified process diagram of the compression train can be found in Figure \ref{fig:process_diagram} at the appendix.}. The purpose of this modular process is to regulate the pressure of natural gas at an elevated, pre-set level. At the compression system, sensors are installed to monitor the production process. Real-valued measurements such as temperature, pressure, rotary speed, vibration... etc., are recorded at different locations \footnote{A list of sensors is available in the appendix.}.
Streams of sensor signals can be treated as a multidimensional entity changing through time. Each stream of sensor measurement is basically a set of real values received in a time-ordered fashion. When this concept is extended to a process with \(P\) sensors, the dataset can therefore be expressed as a time-ordered multidimensional vector \( \{ \mathbb{R}_t^P:t\in [1,T] \} \).
The dataset used in this study is unbounded (i.e. continuous streaming) and unlabelled, where the events of interest (e.g. overheating, mechanical failure, blocked oil filters... etc) are not present. The key goal of this study is to identify sensor patterns and anomalies to assist equiptment maintenance. This can be achieved by finding the representation of multiple sensor data. We propose using recurrent auto-encoder model to extract vector representation for multidimensional time series data. Vectors can be analysed further using visualisation and clustering techniques in order to identify patterns.
\subsection{Related Works}
A comprehensive review \cite{bakeoff} analysed traditional clustering algorithms for unidimensional time series data. It has concluded that Dynamic Time Warping (DTW) can be an effective benchmark for unidimensional time series data representation. There has been attempts to generalise DTW to multidimensional level \cite{vlachos,gillian,holt,ko,petitjean,liu,wang,Shokoohi,giorgino}. Most of these studies focused on analysing time series data with relatively low dimensionality, such as those collected from Internet of Things (IoT) devices, wearable sensors and gesture recognition. This paper contributes further by featuring a time series dataset with much higher dimensionality which is representative for any large-scale industrial applications.
Among neural network researches, \cite{srivastava-et-al} proposed a recurrent auto-encoder model based on LSTM neurons which aims at learning video data representation. It achieves this by reconstructing sequence of video frames. Their model was able to derive meaningful representations for video clips and the reconstructed outputs demonstrate sufficient similarity based on qualitative examination. Another recent paper \cite{davino} also used LSTM-based recurrent auto-encoder model for video data representation. Sequence of frames feed into the model so that it learns the intrinsic representation of the underlying video source. Areas with high reconstruction error indicate divergence from the known source and hence can be used as a video forgery detection mechanism.
Similarly, audio clips can treated as sequential data. A study \cite{chung} converted variable-length audio data into fixed-length vector representation using recurrent auto-encoder model. It found that audio segments that sound alike usually have vector representations in same neighbourhood.
There are other works related to time series data. For instance, a recent paper \cite{malhotra} proposed a recurrent auto-encoder model which aims at providing fixed-length representation for bounded univariate time series data. The model was trained on a plurality of labelled datasets with the aim of becoming a generic time series feature extractor. Dimensionality reduction of the vector representation via t-SNE shows that the ground labels can be observed in the extracted representations. Another study \cite{hsu} proposed a time series compression algorithm using a pair of RNN encoder-decoder structure and an additional auto-encoder to achieve higher compression ratio. Meanwhile, another research \cite{lee-d} used an auto-encoder model with database metrics (e.g. CPU usage, number of active sessions... etc) to identify anomalous usage periods by setting threshold on the reconstruction error.
\section{Methods}
A pair of RNN encoder-decoder structure can provide end-to-end mapping between an ordered multidimensional input sequence and its matching output sequence \cite{sutskever2014,cho2014}. Recurrent auto-encoder can be depicted as a special case of the aforementioned model, where input and output sequences are aligned with each other. It can be extended to the area of signal analysis in order to leverage recurrent neuron's power to understand complex and time-dependent relationship.
\subsection{Encoder-Decoder Structure}
At high level, the RNN encoder reads an input sequence and summarises all information into a fixed-length vector. The decoder then reads the vector and reconstructs the original sequence. Figure \ref{fig:seq2seq} below illustrates the model.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=1\textwidth]{seq2seq.png}
\caption{Recurrent auto-encoder model. Both the encoder and decoder are made up of multilayered RNN. Arrows indicate the direction of information flow.}
\label{fig:seq2seq}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{Encoding}
The role of the recurrent encoder is to project the multidimensional input sequence into a fixed-length hidden context vector \(c\). It reads the input vectors \(\{\mathbb{R}_t^P:t\in [1,T]\}\) sequentially from \(t=1,2,3,...,T\). The hidden state of the RNN has \(H\) dimensions which updates at every time step based on the current input and hidden state inherited from previous steps.
Recurrent neurons arranged in multiple layers are capable of learning complex temporal behaviours. In this proposed model, LSTM neurons with hyperbolic tangent activation are used at all recurrent layers \cite{hochreiter1997}. An alternative choice of using gated recurrent unit (GRU) neurons \cite{cho2014} can also be used but was not experimented within the scope of this study. Once the encoder reads all the input information, the sequence is summarised in a fixed-length vector \(c\) which has \(H\) hidden dimensions.
For regularisation purpose, dropout can be applied to avoid overfitting. It refers to randomly removing a fraction of neurons during training, which aims at making the network more generalisable \cite{srivastava2014}. In an RNN setting, \cite{zaremba2014} suggested that dropout should only be applied non-recurrent connections. This helps the recurrent neurons to retain memory through time while still allowing the non-recurrent connections to benefit from regularisation.
\subsubsection{Decoding}
The decoder is a recurrent network which uses the representation \(c\) to reconstruct the original sequence. To exemplify this, the decoder starts by reading the context vector \(c\) at \(t=1\). It then decodes the information through the RNN structure and outputs a sequence of vectors \( \{ \mathbb{R}_t^K:t\in [1,T] \} \) where \(K\) denotes the dimensionality of the output sequence.
Recalling one of the fundamental characteristics of an auto-encoder is the ability to reconstruct the input data back into itself via a pair of encoder-decoder structure. This criterion can be slightly relaxed such that \(K \leqslant P\), which means the output sequence is only a partial reconstruction of the input sequence.
Recurrent auto-encoder with partial reconstruction:
\begin{equation}
\label{seq2seq_autoencoder_relax_encoder}
\begin{cases}
f_{encoder} : \{ \mathbb{R}_t^P:t \in [1, T] \} \rightarrow c \\
f_{decoder} : c \rightarrow \{ \mathbb{R}_t^K:t \in [1, T] \} \\
\end{cases} K \leqslant P
\end{equation}
In the large-scale industrial system use case, all streams of sensor measurements are included in the input dimensions while only a subset of sensors is included in the output dimensions. This means that the entire system is visible to the encoder, but the decoder only needs to perform partial reconstruction of it. End-to-end training of the relaxed auto-encoder implies that the context vector would summarise the input sequence while still being conditioned on the output sequence. Given that activation of the context vector is conditional on the decoder output, this approach allows the encoder to capture lead variables across the entire process as long as they are relevant to the selected output dimensions.
It is important to recognise that reconstructing part of the data is an easier task to perform than fully-reconstructing the entire original sequence. However, partial reconstruction has practical significance for industrial applications. In real-life scenarios, multiple context vectors can be generated from different recurrent auto-encoder models using identical sensors in the encoder input but different subset of sensors in the decoder output. The selected subsets of sensors can reflect the underlying operating states of different parts of the industrial system. As a result, context vectors produced from the same temporal segment can be used as different diagnostic measurements in industrial context. We will illustrate this in the results section by two examples.
\subsection{Sampling}
For a training dataset of \(T^\prime\) time steps, samples can be generated where \(T < T^\prime\). We can begin at \(t=1\) and draw a sample of length \(T\). This process continues recursively by shifting one time step until it reaches the end of the training dataset. For a subset sequence with length \(T\), this method allows \(T^\prime - T\) samples to be generated. Besides, it can also generate samples from an unbounded time series in an on-line scenrio, which are essential for time-critical applications such as sensor data analysis.
\begin{algorithm}[H]
\label{consecutive_sampling}
\caption{Drawing samples consecutively from the original dataset}
\SetKwInOut{Input}{Input}
\Input{Dataset length \(T^\prime\)}
\Input{Sample length \(T\)}
\(i\leftarrow 0\) \;
\While{\(i \leqslant i+T \) } {
Generate sample sequence \((i, i+T]\) from the dataset\;
\(i\leftarrow i+1\)\;
}
\end{algorithm}
Given that sample sequences are recursively generated by shifting the window by one time step, successively-generated sequences are highly correlated with each other. As we have discussed previously, the RNN encoder structure compresses sequential data into a fixed-length vector representation. This means that when consecutive sequences are fed through the encoder structure, the resulting activation at \(c\) would also be highly correlated. As a result, consecutive context vectors can join up to form a smooth trajectory in space.
Context vectors in the same neighbourhood have similar activation therefore the industrial system must have similar underlying operating states. Contrarily, context vectors located in distant neighbourhoods would have different underlying operating states. These context vectors can be visualised in lower dimensions via dimensionality reduction techniques such as principal component analysis (PCA).
Furthermore, additional unsupervised clustering algorithms can be applied to the context vectors. Each context vector can be assigned to a cluster \(C_j\) where \(J\) is the total number of clusters. Once all the context vectors are labelled with their corresponding clusters, supervised classification algorithms can be used to learn the relationship between them using the training set. For instance, support vector machine (SVM) classifier with \(J\) classes can be used. The trained classifier can then be applied to the context vectors in the held-out validation set for cluster assignment. It can also be applied to context vectors generated from unbounded time series in an on-line setting. Change in cluster assignment among successive context vectors indicates a change in the underlying operating state.
\section{Results}
Training samples were drawn from the dataset using windowing approach with fixed sequence length. In our example, the large-scale industrial system has \(158\) sensors which means the recurrent auto-encoder's input dimension has \(P=158\). Observations are taken at \(5\) minutes granularity and the total duration of each sequence was set at \(3\) hours. This means that the model's sequence has fixed length \(T=36\), while samples were drawn from the dataset with total length \(T^\prime=2724\). The dataset was scaled into \(z\)-scores, thus ensuring zero-centred data which facilitates gradient-based training.
The recurrent auto-encoder model has three layers in the RNN encoder structure and another three layers in the corresponding RNN decoder. There are \(400\) neurons in each layer. The auto-encoder model structure can be summarised as: RNN encoder (\(400\) neurons / \(3\) layers LSTM / hyperbolic tangent) - Context layer (\(400\) neurons / Dense / linear activation) - RNN decoder (\(400\) neurons / \(3\) layers LSTM / hyperbolic tangent). Adam optimiser \cite{kingma} with \(0.4\) dropout rate was used for model training.
\subsection{Output Dimensionity}
As we discussed earlier, the RNN decoder's output dimension can be relaxed for partial reconstruction. The output dimensionality was set at \(K=6\) which is comprised of a selected set of sensors relating to key pressure measurements (e.g. suction and discharge pressures of the compressor device).
We have experimented three scenarios where the first two have complete dimensionality \(P=158; K=158\) and \(P=6; K=6\) while the remaining scenario has relaxed dimensionality \(P=158; K=6\). The training and validation MSEs of these models are visualised in figure \ref{fig:output_dims} below.
\begin{figure}[h]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.65\textwidth]{output_dims.png}
\caption{Effects of relaxing dimensionality of the output sequence on the training and validation MSE losses. They contain same number of layers in the RNN encoder and decoder respectively. All hidden layers contain same number of LSTM neurons with hyperbolic tangent activation.}
\label{fig:output_dims}
\end{figure}
The first model with complete dimensionality (\(P=158; K=158\)) has visibility of all dimensions in both the encoder and decoder structures. Yet, both the training and validation MSEs are high as the model struggles to compress-decompress the high dimensional time series data.
For the complete dimensionality model with \(P=6; K=6\), the model has limited visibility to the system as only the selected dimensions were included. Despite the context layer summarises information specific to the selected dimensionality in this case, lead variables in the original dimensions have been excluded. This prevents the model from learning any dependent behaviours among all available information.
On the other hand, the model with partial reconstruction (\(P=158; K=6\)) demonstrate substantially lower training and validation MSEs. Since all information is available to the model via the RNN encoder, it captures the relevant information such as lead variables across the entire system.
Randomly selected samples in the held-out validation set were fed to this model and the predictions can be qualitatively examined in details. In figure~\ref{fig:heatmaps} below, all the selected specimens demonstrate high similarity between the original label and the reconstructed output. The recurrent auto-encoder model captures the shift in mean level as well as temporal variations across all output dimensions.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.8\textwidth]{heatmaps.png}
\caption{A heatmap showing eight randomly selected output sequences in the held-out validation set. Colour represents magnitude of sensor measurements in normalised scale.}
\label{fig:heatmaps}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Context Vector}
Once the recurrent auto-encoder model is successfully trained, samples can be fed to the model and the corresponding context vectors can be extracted for detailed inspection. In the model we selected, the context vector \(c\) is a multi-dimensional real vector \(\mathbb{R}^{400}\). Since the model has input dimensions \(P=158\) and sequence length \(T=36\), the model has achieved compression ratio \(\frac{158\times36}{400}=14.22\). Dimensionality reduction of the context vectors through principal component analysis (PCA) shows that context vectors can be efficiently embedded in lower dimensions (e.g. two-dimensional space).
At low-dimensional space, we used supervised classification algorithm to learn the relationship between vectors representations and cluster assignment. The trained classification model can then be applied to the validation set to assign clusters for unseen data. In our experiment, a SVM classifier with radial basis function (RBF) kernel (\(\gamma=4\)) was used. The results are shown in figure \ref{fig:pca_cluster} below.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.5\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{pca_cluster_2.png}
\caption{\(2\) clusters}
\label{fig:pca_cluster_2}
\end{subfigure}
~
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.25\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{context_timeline_2.png}
\label{fig:context_timeline_2}
\end{subfigure}
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.5\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{pca_cluster_6.png}
\caption{\(6\) clusters}
\label{fig:pca_cluster_6}
\end{subfigure}
~
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.25\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{context_timeline_6.png}
\label{fig:context_timeline_6}
\end{subfigure}
\caption{The first example. On the left, the context vectors were projected into two-dimensional space using PCA. The black solid line on the left joins all consecutive context vectors together as a trajectory. Different number of clusters were identified using simple \(K\)-means algorithm. Cluster assignment and the SVM decision boundaries are coloured in the charts. On the right, output dimensions are visualised on a shared time axis. The black solid line demarcates the training set (\(70\%\)) and validation sets (\(30\%\)). The line segments are colour-coded to match the corresponding clusters.}
\label{fig:pca_cluster}
\end{figure}
In two-dimensional space, the context vectors separate into two clearly identifiable neighbourhoods. These two distinct neighbourhoods correspond to the shift in mean values across all output dimensions. When \(K\)-means clustering algorithm is applied, it captures these two neighbourhoods as two clusters in the scenario depicted in figure~\ref{fig:pca_cluster_2}.
When the number of clusters increases, they begin to capture more subtleties. In the six clusters scenario illustrated in figure~\ref{fig:pca_cluster_6}, successive context vectors oscillate back and forth between neighbouring clusters. The trajectory corresponds to the interlacing troughs and crests in the output dimensions. Similar pattern can also be observed in the validation set, which indicates that the knowledge learned by the auto-encoder model is generalisable to unseen data.
Furthermore, we have repeated the same experiment again with a different configuration (\(K=158; P=2\)) to reassure that the proposed approach can provide robust representations of the data. The sensor measurements are drawn from an identical time period and only the output dimensionality \(K\) is changed (The newly selected set of sensors is comprised of a different measurements of discharge gas pressure at the compressor unit). Through changing the output dimensionality \(K\), we can illustrate the effects of partial reconstruction using different output dimensions. As seen in figure \ref{fig:ex2_pca_cluster}, the context vectors form a smooth trajectory in the low-dimensional space. Similar sequences yield context vectors which are located in a shared neighbourhood. Nevertheless, the clusters found by \(K\)-means method in this secondary example also manage to identify neighbourhoods with similar sensor patterns.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.35\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{ex2_pca_cluster_2.png}
\caption{\(2\) clusters}
\label{fig:ex2_pca_cluster_2}
\end{subfigure}
~
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.6\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{ex2_context_timeline_2.png}
\label{fig:ex2_context_timeline_2}
\end{subfigure}
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.35\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{ex2_pca_cluster_6.png}
\caption{\(6\) clusters}
\label{fig:ex2_pca_cluster_6}
\end{subfigure}
~
\begin{subfigure}[b]{0.6\textwidth}
\includegraphics[width=\textwidth]{ex2_context_timeline_6.png}
\label{fig:ex2_context_timeline_6}
\end{subfigure}
\caption{The second example. The sensor data is drawn from the same time period as the previous example, only the output dimension has been changed to \(K=2\) where another set of gas pressure sensors were selected. }
\label{fig:ex2_pca_cluster}
\end{figure}
\section{Discussion and Conclusion}
Successive context vectors generated by windowing approach are always highly correlated, thus form a smooth trajectory in high-dimensional space. Additional dimensionality reduction techniques can be applied to visualise the change of time series features. One of the key contributions of this study is that similar context vectors can be grouped into clusters using unsupervised clustering algorithms such as \(K\)-means algorithm. Clusters can be optionally labelled manually to identify operating state (e.g. healthy vs. faulty). Alarm can be triggered when the context vector travels beyond the boundary of a predefined neighbourhood. Clusters of the vector representation can be used by operators and engineers to aid diagnostics and maintenance.
Another contribution of this study is that dimensionality of the output sequence can be relaxed. This allows the recurrent auto-encoder to perform partial reconstruction. Although it is easier for the model to reconstruct part of the original sequence, such simple improvement allows users to define different sets of sensors of particular interest. By changing sensors in the decoder output, context vectors can be used to reflect underlying operating states of various aspects of the large-scale industrial process. This ultimately enables users to diagnose the industrial system by generating more useful insight.
This proposed method essentially performs multidimensional time series clustering. We have demonstrated that it can natively scale up to very high dimensionality as it is based on recurrent auto-encoder model. We have applied the method to an industrial sensor dataset with \(P=158\) and empirically show that it can represent multidimensional time series data effectively. In general, this method can be further generalised to any multi-sensor multi-state processes for operating state recognition.
This study established that recurrent auto-encoder model can be used to analyse unlabelled and unbounded time series data. It further demontrated that operating state (i.e. labels) can be inferred from unlabelled time series data. This opens up further possibilities for analysing complex industrial sensors data given that it is predominately overwhelmed with unbounded and unlabelled time series data.
Nevertheless, the proposed approach has not included any categorical sensor measurements (e.g. open/closed, tripped/healthy, start/stop... etc). Future research can focus on incorporating categorical measurements alongside real-valued measurements.
\subsection*{Disclosure}
The technical method described in this paper is the subject of British patent application GB1717651.2.
\bibliographystyle{splncs04}
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Saffiyah Khan is a political activist born on November 27, 1997, English singer and model of Pakistani and Bosnian origins.
She became an icon of passive resistance in 2017 after being photographed facing a member of the English Defense League (EDL), a far-right group, during an anti- Muslim demonstration in Birmingham.
In 2019, she participated in the Encore album of the British ska band The Specials.
Biography
Saffiyah Khan was born in Great Britain, but is originally of Pakistani and Bosnian origins...
On April 8, 2017, aged 20, she was photographed standing up to Ian Crossland, the leader of the English Defence League (EDL), a far-right group, during an anti-Muslim demonstration organised in Birmingham the day after the Westminster bombings , . Having come to observe the demonstration in order to support the "people they harass and attack", Saffiyah Khan stepped in to protect a veiled woman, Saira Zafar, taken to task by several demonstrators,.
The photograph, taken by Joe Giddens, of the Press Association agency was relayed by many British media including The Guardian, The Daily Telegraph, The Daily Mirror and the BBC before the story took on an international dimension,,,. It resonates with other shots illustrating recent resistance movements. On May 1 , 2016, Simon Lindberg photographed Tess Asplund facing neo-Nazis in Borlänge, Sweden. Three months later, Jonathan Bachman grabbed Ieshia Evans face-to-face with police during a Black Lives Matter protest in Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
Khan was noticed by members of the Specials because she wore a T-shirt with her likeness on the images shot the day of the demonstration. She was invited by singer Lynval Golding to one of their upcoming concerts. In 2019, she participated in the album Encore, performing a revisited version of Prince Buster's Ten Commandments of Man .
In the spring of 2017, Khan took her first steps on the catwalk during the fashion show of Turkish designer Dilara Findikoglu. She then engaged with the modeling agency Elite and its Collective division which represents talents rather than professional models
References
Pakistani political people | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 9,813 |
BANDCAMP NAVIGATOR Bandcamp Navigator, August 2020: From Sci Fi-Inspired Jazz to a New Take on Soul By Robert Newsome · August 31, 2020
Bandcamp Navigator is a column dedicated to a fan favorite Bandcamp practice: tag-hopping. Each month, Robert Newsome selects an album from Bandcamp's homepage, and follows the tag at the bottom of the album page to uncover a world of musical discoveries.
I've had more time to read lately, since I'm not really leaving the house too often. For some reason or another, I find myself being drawn to apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic science fiction (wonder why that could be?) After a bleak trek through Chelsea Quinn Yarbro's False Dawn, which depicts a world destroyed by environmental devastation, I decided to follow it up with Octavia Butler's Clay's Ark, about a disease that turns human beings into mutants. This made me wonder if there were any Butler-inspired works on Bandcamp (other than that one Blöödhag song). Guess what? There certainly are.
Nicole Mitchell & Lisa E. Harris
EarthSeed
Nicole M Mitchell
EarthSeed Nicole M Mitchell .
2 x Vinyl LP, Compact Disc (CD)
This album, named for the Octavia Butler-created religion focused on the idea that humanity is a seed that should take root among the stars, presents an interstellar version of Rahsaan Roland Kirk's "journey agent" from his 1976 "Theme for the Eulipions." Rather than Kirk's soothing, mellow, "duty-free gift for the traveler," Mitchell and Harris present here a jarring, unsettling work that mirrors the troubled environments in Butler's stories. "Whole Black Collision" begins with discordant strings and a strained trumpet improvisation before transitioning into soaring vocals that weave in and out of harmony with one another. EarthSeed is jarring, difficult, and surprising; a work filled with tension and conflict that unexpectedly transition to moments of delicate beauty, echoing Butler's idea that, "the only lasting truth is Change."
Among EarthSeed's many sounds is the sound of the #theremin, an electronic instrument that adds an otherworldly sheen to any work on which it appears, including the next stop on our travels, a German electronic pop record.
Remote Control Discovery Zone .
On her debut release as Discovery Zone, Fenster's JJ Weihl has created an electronic fantasy land. It's a world fully realized, and one that contains a wide array of landscapes—like the candy-coated pop of "Dance II," which has the feel of a long-lost track from a fantasy collaboration between DeBarge and NuShooz. There's also the ambient/vaporwave influenced "Tru Nature"; the floating, spaced out "Time Zone"; and the melancholic and bittersweet synth ballad "Fall Apart." The latter is also a fine example (along with the works of Bart Graft) of why more synth-pop songs should include scorching guitar solos. The entire album is anchored at the mid-way point by "Sophia Again," a dreamlike conversation between an artificial intelligence program and its creator which provides Remote Control's sonic world-building with a unifying mythology.
It's probably not going to surprise you when I tell you that the beats on this Discovery Zone record were provided by #drum machines. They're used by thousands of artists, but the tag isn't as vast as you might expect. There's a lot there, sure, but everyone using computerized beats just isn't calling it out in the tags. Luckily, there's enough variety there for us to continue our journey.
Foreign Tapes
Vacation Foreign Tapes .
This short three-song release is perfectly titled; it offeers a short, laid-back, sunny break. Opening with the bouncy pop of the title track, Foreign Tapes takes post-punk basslines, shimmering synthesizers, minimalist drum machine beats, and a little Latin percussion, and blends them together into a perfect icy-sweet mixture. Closing track "Come Die With Me" takes a menacing bassline and wraps it in jittery tempos and smooth vocal harmonies to create the perfect driving song for cruising the beaches on a hot summer night. It's even got a fuzzed-out, bass-drop breakdown to boom at the stop signs while you wait for the tourists to cross the road. This trio of pop treats is a lasting reminder to, as the harmonies of "Buenas Vibes" tell us, "Savor each wave that you catch while they last."
#Balearic, as a musical descriptor rather than just a Spanich archipelago, rose to prominence in the mid-'80s, describing a laid-back form of dance music, the influence of which is still going strong today.
Enzo Elia
Alles Paletti!
Black Pearl Records
ENZO ELIA • "Alles Paletti!" • Album Black Pearl Records .
These delightful dance tracks are heavily influenced by '80s and '90 club music, but there's more to them than just throwback vibes. Sure, they'd fit right in at an Ibizan dance club—but it's easy to imagine these tunes as the soundtrack to a coastal sunset—and that's really what makes this music special. It's cinematic in nature. Not content to create body-moving beats, Enzo Elia has given us music that creates scenes in the mind of the listener. "Giugno – Today the Sun," with its smooth acoustic guitars and longing lyrics, could accompany our hero on their search for a lost love. Our opening credits, with scenes of gulls, palm trees, and linen-suited jet-setters would blend perfectly with the handclaps and bubbling bassline of the instrumental version of "Sweet Nothing." The pounding Italo/synthwave hybrid of "Jazzato Sportivo" would, of course, play behind the film's climactic jet ski chase.
Enzo Elia augments his laid back dance beats with #cosmic synths. These swirling otherworldly sounds have resonated since synthesizers were invented and are used to great effect on a truly outstanding Nigerian highlife record.
Odo-Omore Osarenren & Ewaen Osetin Stars
Oyoetigbe – The Birth Of A Child
Dig This Way Records
Ode-Omore Osarenren & Ewaen Osetin Stars - Oyoetigbe - The Birth Of A Child Dig This Way Records .
Italy's Dig This Way Records have uncovered a true gem with their reissue of this 1988 disco/highlife/funk masterpiece. These four tracks are just packed with joy; an incredibly fun listen from start to finish. Blaring horn sessions emerge from the throbbing basslines and give way to cosmic synthesizers that sound like nothing I've heard before. Breezy rhythm guitars wind their way around blissful group vocals and weave their way through a backbeat that holds everything together and has a dancefloor-filling power that radiates from the group's native Benin City across the globe.
We're moving on now, from #Nigeria to the UK where we find a hip-hop collaboration between an MC of Nigerian descent and a French producer.
LuGhz x Dan.Akill
lughz
MY WAY lughz .
French producer (and founder of Pani Problem Productions) Dan.Akill provides the perfect skeleton for the muscle of MC LuGhz's musical flow. The beats are open, minimalist at times, giving space for LuGhz's hard-hitting lyrics without getting in the way. "One For Da Money" is deceptively simple on the surface, built around an altered vocal riff and a shuffling drum machine, but LuGhz fills the space it provides, and his words provide the track with complexity and depth. Penultimate track and album standout "Raindrops" shouts out Old Dirty Bastard in the lyrics and subtly references Wu-Tang's lo-fi production on the track, providing a bed of strings, tinkling piano, and shuddering bass for LuGhz's tales of his youth.
Any genre you can think of probably has an #underground scene. That's where the good stuff can be found before everyone else realizes how good it is. It's always been this way, to the point where now there's plenty of excellent music to be found by reaching back in time to reissue lesser-known artists who deserve more widespread attention.
Najveribest
O jalu je riječ
Kotoriba, Croatia
O jalu je riječ (Remastered) Najveribest .
The album notes call this reissued blast of '90s Croatian punk "thrash/punk/HC crossover"—and that's technically correct, I suppose; but it leans strongly toward the "hardcore" end of that spectrum. Think: gruff shouted vocals, sloppy snarling guitars, and breakneck drums that sound like they're played by someone who's being chased. Occasionally a pastoral acoustic interlude or entry-level prog break will find its way into the proceedings, likely as a result of the stated thrash influence, but it's blatantly obvious that Najveribest spent more time listening to DRI than to Toxik. The album standout here is "Idemo na More," a blistering explosion of a song—with an out-of-nowhere Little Richard tribute thrown in—about (if Google Translate is to be believed) getting drunk on wine and having a picnic on the beach.
We're going to jump now from Najveribest's #thrash-influenced punk to a Virginia band offering a faster, darker take on the genre.
Ghastly, Graven & Grimoireless
Ghastly, Graven & Grimoireless Battlemaster .
Compact Disc (CD), T-Shirt/Apparel, Vinyl LP
Judging from the cover art of a solitary wizard poring over a bloodstained scroll in his stone tower, you could be forgiven for thinking this is an atmospheric dark ambient release. But seconds after pressing play, those ideas fade like the cheap cantrips of a level-1 illusionist. What you get here are six tracks of fiery Aura Noir-style blackened thrash, with vocals reminiscent of Battles in the North-era Immortal. "Black Challenge" opens with a descending riff that immediately gets the blood boiling and stomps straight ahead into an incendiary acrobatic solo. "Thaumaturgical Nonchalance" is a 21st century update of Megadeth's "Five Magics," in which the narrative voice has transcended mere supernatural mastery and progressed to the point of apathy towards their immense mystic powers, driving the point home with a thunderous mosh break at the two-and-a-half minute mark.
Battlemaster are from #Richmond, a town with a huge and varied music scene, offering, as we've seen, scorching blackened thrash as well as soul-infused hip-hop instrumentals.
Tennishu
TexasHollow
TexasHollow Tennishu .
From multi-instrumentalist and producer Marcus "Tennishu" Tenney comes this collection of short tracks that bounce and flow, mixing booming hip-hop beats and jazz-influenced synthesizer workouts. Ranging in mood from the ominous tension of "Things Change" to the effervescent sax and floating vocal hook of "Dreams" to the expansive orchestral synth and stuttering drum machines of "The Back Door," TexasHollow is a multifaceted work, brimming over with ideas and building an emotional and soulful signature sound on a solid foundation of classic influences.
Bandcamp offers thousands of #soul and soul-influenced artists—including our final stop, an eclectic mix of several genres.
MOZIAH
Dax Nextdoor
Dax Nextdoor MOZIAH .
On this refreshing, uplifting album, MOZIAH grabs handfuls of genre conventions and runs them through a kaleidoscope. It's a colorful blur, where trap beats wrap themselves around bright 90's-style indie pop guitar, elements of dub reggae flow into blotches of synth-pop and patches of soul. The sounds created by these collisions of style are constantly shifting and changing, but always fascinating. "Skerred" is a perfect microcosm of the album as a whole, presenting foreboding melodies and angelic vocal harmonies which reinforce its themes of uncertainty and unease, culminating in an anthemic conclusion accompanied by a blaring horn section and a blazing guitar solo.
Starting with apocalyptic literature didn't turn out so dire, after all. The borders between genres continue to become more porous and less rigidly defined, and with this comes an expansion of the territory, leaving us with more and more uncharted areas to explore. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 1,897 |
Q: How can i use $mq props in my components in vue? I am trying to use vue-mq package for my responsive media query. I am facing problem when trying to make a grid system using the $mq prop.
My code looks something like this:
<v-col
v-for="(exploreProduct,index) in exploreNeedsProducts"
:key="index"
:cols="$mq | mq({ mobile: 2, tablet: 4, laptop: 6 })">
I am sure my process is somewhat wrong because v-col don't have :column props. I tried using :cols but still doesn't works. According to the documentation:
<grid-component :column="$mq | mq({
phone: 2,
tablet: 3,
laptop: 4
})">
</grid-component>
Plugin registration:
Vue.use(VueMq, {
breakpoints: {
mobile: 450,
tablet: 900,
laptop: 1250,
desktop: Infinity,
}
});
The question is how do I implement this code in my v-col?
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,326 |
using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using System.Text;
using System.Threading.Tasks;
namespace PitFortressTests.Performance
{
using System.Diagnostics;
using System.IO;
using Microsoft.VisualStudio.TestTools.UnitTesting;
[TestClass]
public class PerformanceSetMine : BaseTestClass
{
[TestCategory("Performance")]
[TestMethod]
public void PerformanceSetMine_WithRandomAmounts1()
{
FileStream input = File.Open("../../Tests/SetMine/mine.0.txt", FileMode.Open);
using (StreamReader reader = new StreamReader(input))
{
var commands =
reader.ReadToEnd()
.Split(new[] { "\r\n" }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries)
.Select(x => x.Split(new char[] { ' ' }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries))
.ToList();
Stopwatch timer = new Stopwatch();
timer.Start();
for (int i = 0; i < commands.Count; i++)
{
switch (commands[i][0])
{
case "player":
this.PitFortressCollection.AddPlayer(commands[i][1], int.Parse(commands[i][2]));
break;
case "mine":
this.PitFortressCollection.SetMine(
commands[i][1],
int.Parse(commands[i][2]),
int.Parse(commands[i][3]),
int.Parse(commands[i][4]));
break;
}
}
timer.Stop();
Assert.IsTrue(timer.ElapsedMilliseconds < 80);
Assert.AreEqual(commands.Count - 8, this.PitFortressCollection.MinesCount, "Mines Count did not match!");
var mines = this.PitFortressCollection.GetMines();
using (StreamReader reader2 = new StreamReader(File.Open("../../Results/SetMine/mine.0.result.txt", FileMode.Open)))
{
foreach (var mine in mines)
{
var line = reader2.ReadLine().Split(' ');
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[0]), mine.Delay, "Mine Delay did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[1]), mine.Id, "Mine Id did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[2]), mine.XCoordinate, "Mine Coordinates did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[3]), mine.Damage, "Mine Damage did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(line[4], mine.Player.Name, "Mine Player did not match!");
}
}
}
}
[TestCategory("Performance")]
[TestMethod]
public void PerformanceSetMine_WithRandomAmounts2()
{
FileStream input = File.Open("../../Tests/SetMine/mine.1.txt", FileMode.Open);
using (StreamReader reader = new StreamReader(input))
{
var commands =
reader.ReadToEnd()
.Split(new[] { "\r\n" }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries)
.Select(x => x.Split(new char[] { ' ' }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries))
.ToList();
Stopwatch timer = new Stopwatch();
timer.Start();
for (int i = 0; i < commands.Count; i++)
{
switch (commands[i][0])
{
case "player":
this.PitFortressCollection.AddPlayer(commands[i][1], int.Parse(commands[i][2]));
break;
case "mine":
this.PitFortressCollection.SetMine(
commands[i][1],
int.Parse(commands[i][2]),
int.Parse(commands[i][3]),
int.Parse(commands[i][4]));
break;
}
}
timer.Stop();
Assert.IsTrue(timer.ElapsedMilliseconds < 80);
Assert.AreEqual(commands.Count - 8, this.PitFortressCollection.MinesCount, "Mines Count did not match!");
var mines = this.PitFortressCollection.GetMines();
using (StreamReader reader2 = new StreamReader(File.Open("../../Results/SetMine/mine.1.result.txt", FileMode.Open)))
{
foreach (var mine in mines)
{
var line = reader2.ReadLine().Split(' ');
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[0]), mine.Delay, "Mine Delay did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[1]), mine.Id, "Mine Id did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[2]), mine.XCoordinate, "Mine Coordinates did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[3]), mine.Damage, "Mine Damage did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(line[4], mine.Player.Name, "Mine Player did not match!");
}
}
}
}
[TestCategory("Performance")]
[TestMethod]
public void PerformanceSetMine_WithRandomAmounts3()
{
FileStream input = File.Open("../../Tests/SetMine/mine.2.txt", FileMode.Open);
using (StreamReader reader = new StreamReader(input))
{
var commands =
reader.ReadToEnd()
.Split(new[] { "\r\n" }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries)
.Select(x => x.Split(new char[] { ' ' }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries))
.ToList();
Stopwatch timer = new Stopwatch();
timer.Start();
for (int i = 0; i < commands.Count; i++)
{
switch (commands[i][0])
{
case "player":
this.PitFortressCollection.AddPlayer(commands[i][1], int.Parse(commands[i][2]));
break;
case "mine":
this.PitFortressCollection.SetMine(
commands[i][1],
int.Parse(commands[i][2]),
int.Parse(commands[i][3]),
int.Parse(commands[i][4]));
break;
}
}
timer.Stop();
Assert.IsTrue(timer.ElapsedMilliseconds < 80);
Assert.AreEqual(commands.Count - 8, this.PitFortressCollection.MinesCount, "Mines Count did not match!");
var mines = this.PitFortressCollection.GetMines();
using (StreamReader reader2 = new StreamReader(File.Open("../../Results/SetMine/mine.2.result.txt", FileMode.Open)))
{
foreach (var mine in mines)
{
var line = reader2.ReadLine().Split(' ');
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[0]), mine.Delay, "Mine Delay did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[1]), mine.Id, "Mine Id did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[2]), mine.XCoordinate, "Mine Coordinates did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[3]), mine.Damage, "Mine Damage did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(line[4], mine.Player.Name, "Mine Player did not match!");
}
}
}
}
[TestCategory("Performance")]
[TestMethod]
public void PerformanceSetMine_WithRandomAmounts4()
{
FileStream input = File.Open("../../Tests/SetMine/mine.3.txt", FileMode.Open);
using (StreamReader reader = new StreamReader(input))
{
var commands =
reader.ReadToEnd()
.Split(new[] { "\r\n" }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries)
.Select(x => x.Split(new char[] { ' ' }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries))
.ToList();
Stopwatch timer = new Stopwatch();
timer.Start();
for (int i = 0; i < commands.Count; i++)
{
switch (commands[i][0])
{
case "player":
this.PitFortressCollection.AddPlayer(commands[i][1], int.Parse(commands[i][2]));
break;
case "mine":
this.PitFortressCollection.SetMine(
commands[i][1],
int.Parse(commands[i][2]),
int.Parse(commands[i][3]),
int.Parse(commands[i][4]));
break;
}
}
timer.Stop();
Assert.IsTrue(timer.ElapsedMilliseconds < 80);
Assert.AreEqual(commands.Count - 8, this.PitFortressCollection.MinesCount, "Mines Count did not match!");
var mines = this.PitFortressCollection.GetMines();
using (StreamReader reader2 = new StreamReader(File.Open("../../Results/SetMine/mine.3.result.txt", FileMode.Open)))
{
foreach (var mine in mines)
{
var line = reader2.ReadLine().Split(' ');
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[0]), mine.Delay, "Mine Delay did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[1]), mine.Id, "Mine Id did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[2]), mine.XCoordinate, "Mine Coordinates did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[3]), mine.Damage, "Mine Damage did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(line[4], mine.Player.Name, "Mine Player did not match!");
}
}
}
}
[TestCategory("Performance")]
[TestMethod]
public void PerformanceSetMine_WithRandomAmounts5()
{
FileStream input = File.Open("../../Tests/SetMine/mine.4.txt", FileMode.Open);
using (StreamReader reader = new StreamReader(input))
{
var commands =
reader.ReadToEnd()
.Split(new[] { "\r\n" }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries)
.Select(x => x.Split(new char[] { ' ' }, StringSplitOptions.RemoveEmptyEntries))
.ToList();
Stopwatch timer = new Stopwatch();
timer.Start();
for (int i = 0; i < commands.Count; i++)
{
switch (commands[i][0])
{
case "player":
this.PitFortressCollection.AddPlayer(commands[i][1], int.Parse(commands[i][2]));
break;
case "mine":
this.PitFortressCollection.SetMine(
commands[i][1],
int.Parse(commands[i][2]),
int.Parse(commands[i][3]),
int.Parse(commands[i][4]));
break;
}
}
timer.Stop();
Assert.IsTrue(timer.ElapsedMilliseconds < 80);
Assert.AreEqual(commands.Count - 8, this.PitFortressCollection.MinesCount, "Mines Count did not match!");
var mines = this.PitFortressCollection.GetMines();
using (StreamReader reader2 = new StreamReader(File.Open("../../Results/SetMine/mine.4.result.txt", FileMode.Open)))
{
foreach (var mine in mines)
{
var line = reader2.ReadLine().Split(' ');
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[0]), mine.Delay, "Mine Delay did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[1]), mine.Id, "Mine Id did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[2]), mine.XCoordinate, "Mine Coordinates did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(int.Parse(line[3]), mine.Damage, "Mine Damage did not match!");
Assert.AreEqual(line[4], mine.Player.Name, "Mine Player did not match!");
}
}
}
}
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 1,217 |
Translating & Writing Webnovels
October 24, 2020 + Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity, BL Translations
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 012 Refugees
They bumped and swayed all the way to the farmstead. Lin Yuan threw up twice. Finally, before he could throw up a third time, they arrived. The once unfarmed land was already opened and sowed with seeds. Although Lin Yuan didn't know what kind of seeds——based on his friend's words while at college he was a typical city guy who couldn't distinguish the five crops (TN: millet, soybeans, sesame, barley, rice or other types – basically a phrase that encompasses all grains) from each other, if left in a farm field he would not even recognize what was rice and what was wheat.
This was a bit of an exaggeration, after all Lin Yuan felt he could definitely tell the difference between rice and wheat, but his friend's words could be considered a straightforward portrayal.
"Boss." The driver jumpex down and placed a mounting stool for Lin Yuan. Lin Yuan stepped down using the mounting stool and stood on the land he owned ——from now on he could be considered a small-time landowner.
If in the future he had a son, he could say to his son: "Son, look, this is the empire dad conquered." (TN: LOL can't even describe how ironic this is. ML: what am I, chopped liver? Even the author thinks so.)
This was obviously not possible.
The sky had already darkened now, only by the moonlight could the grass huts not too far away could be seen. Outside the settlement of grass huts was a firepit. Here there was plenty of wood, being next to the mountain and all. At this time, most have already slept. The people wake at sunrise and sleep at sunset. Without the worry of starvation life seemed much simpler.
Lin Yuan did not want to wake them when they had already rested just to inform them their boss had arrived. So, their small group arrived silently to where Lin Yuan would be living.
The house did not have a complex design but it was very large, fit for living quite a few people.
This was likely the least luxurious house of a landowner, but very practical. Lin Yuan was very satisfied.
Si Niang and the rest began to unpack but the time was limited so they only cleaned up the bedrooms and set up the beds.
"This bed is constructed well." Si Niang touched the wood. Although she was not an artisan but life gave her experience.
Lin Yuan couldn't tell whether it was good or bad so he pretended by nodding.
When walking over he did not see a well, the front had a river but river water was turbid. In order to use river water you have to wait until the sand settled before cooking it to a boil. That was too troublesome, so that night Lin Yuan gave up on washing his face and brushing his teeth. Without washing his feet either he climbed onto the bed for sleep.
The others were of similar situations.
After a day riding in an ox cart, his whole person felt sore. Lin Yuan lay on the bed and asked Er Liang: "Er Liang, before at home did I have a time where I went to sleep without washing my feet?"
Er Liang said quietly: "Yes, when young master was tired you just took off your shoes before crawling into bed."
Lin sniffed at the air: "It's a good thing my feet don't smell."
Er Liang: "Of course, young master doesn't need to farm so your feet doesn't sweat. Of course there would be no smell."
Lin Yuan looked at him with disdain: "As if you farm."
Er Liang said, pleased with himself: "My dad said being able to serve young master is the fortune accumulated in my past life."
"Sleep quickly." Lin Yuan had Er Liang blow out the light.
The next morning, Lin Yuan was awoken by Er Liang. He slept too deeply that he didn't even notice it began to rain in the middle of the night. Waking up in the morning it was quite chilly. He rubbed his arms and had Er Liang bring out a cotton coat to wear.
Er Liang: "Earlier I went to find Li da ye and Yang er ye (TN: ye is a term of respect for older men and here Er Liang calls them based on their sworn brotherhood order). They are waiting outside."
Lin Yuan thought as he put on his socks, who was "your da ye"? The original owner's da ye (TN: da ye is also a term to address an older uncle. And used colloquially as a curse word btw) arrived? Over such a long distance and only being a step later than them, was this person a fortune teller who could calculate that he would build a farmstead here?
"What do you mean your da ye, Yang da ye." Lin Yuan, "say their names."
Er Liang: "Ai, it's brother Dao and Yang Zi'an."
Lin Yuan: "…..Then call them as I would, big brother Li and second brother Yang. Don't da ye er ye, it's weird."
Er Liang rubbed the back of his head, not understanding what was weird.
Lin Yuan walked out his room and seessaw brother Dao and Yang Zi'an sitting on the chairs. These two looked more weather-beaten than before, after all they must go out into the fields everyday to supervise. Lin Yuan first cupped his hand in greeting, before saying: "Third brother said that the people in the north are beginning to flee elsewhere and that we should prepare early."
Brother Dao: "That fast?"
Yang Zi'an: "Nothing to be afraid of, here we are surrounded by mountains. If there are truly refugees coming in they wouldn't flee in our direction."
Brother Dao obviously did not feel the same, he rubbed at his chin and said: "We can't be sure, refugees may not come here but what about mountain bandits?"
Mountain bandits, as the name implied, were bandits that wondered the mountains. Mostly made up of young or middle-aged men with nimble bodies that would not be too tall or bulky so that they could move through the forest easily.
These bandits had long been a source of trouble for this area's landowners.
Nobody wanted to be robbed. Although giving them their food supply would gain them peace, but handing over their food would cause their heart to be in pain.
"We are here." Yang Zi'an squat down onto the floor. Dipping his finger in water he casually drew a map that showed their location, "On this side is the official road. Only a small path leads here and there is no merchant road either."
"Mountain bandits rob passing merchants and wealthy landowners, but they never stay in one place too long. Our location resembles a valley, moreover there is no important road or any well-known wealthy landowners around. Mountain bandits will not come here even if they have nothing better to do."
"Refugees will also not flee towards the mountains. They head to places where there are people such as cities. If refugees truly come over here then that means Wu City….."
Yang Zi'an sighed: "Take them in, Wu City will be finished, don't take them in, Wu City will also be finished."
His meaning both Lin Yuan and brother Dao understood.
By taking in refugees, Wu City's food supply would not be enough to support the increase in population. The city's residents themselves did not have enough to eat let alone share with outsiders. When the time came, the conflict in Wu City would escalate. They didn't believe that Wu City could still maintain order in such a conflict.
But if the city didn't take in the refugees, eventually once refugee numbers increased in crowds, they would have the guts to commit desperate acts in order to survive.
So long as refugees arrived, no matter what Wu City did it would always be wrong.
Lin Yuan sighed: "I will have the driver go to Wu City in three days to bring a message to third brother to warn him once he discovers refugees to immediately come over."
Yang Zi'an nodded: "Fine."
Brother Dao sat on the side not saying anything. He looked out the window and sighed lightly. He had a heroic spirit and a sense of justice but this kind of situation was not something they could take part of as heroes.
In the face of famine and suffering, it was difficult to resist, everyone could only go with the flow.
"Also have third brother spread rumors, so that others can be more aware." Lin Yuan said, "and call the guys at the oil plant to come over as well with their weapons."
Once the refugees moved south, they must hide themselves and pass a duration of time of being self sufficient.
Until the refugees spread elsewhere, or……
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 011 To Be Alive
The arrival of spring meant the warming of the earth, dead trees sprouting new leaves and the land thriving.
The corpses of beggars frozen to death had already been moved and vendors began to show up on the streets. It was as if the tragedies of the winter did not exist, now was still peaceful and prosperous times.
But there were fewer temporary laborers on the streets, instead there were more beggars.
Er Liang was currently packing their things as they must move to the farmstead. Although the dormitories for the workers had yet to be finished building, Lin Yuan's private dwelling with a yard was already finished. Lin Yuan had thought it would still require some more time but the speed of the artisans was much faster than expected.
The oil plant business was already stabilized and on the right track. Basically, it was enough for Lin Yuan to check the accounts only once a month. Jiang Gui could also help in supervising.
Since the income coming from the oil plant increased and Jiang Gui's dividend along with it, Jiang Gui began to regard the oil plant as a hen that could lay eggs. Everyday after work he would visit the place and afterwards happily go have a drink or two. He was often seen in a good mood the past few days.
Si Niang and Gou zi was also packing up, after all they had lived there for several months and accumulated quite a lot of things.
Jiang Gui showed up to speak with Lin Yuan. "You are leaving, us three, ah no, four brothers, the three of you are on that side leaving me here by myself." Jiang Gui sighed, slightly depressed, "if not for my job at the government office, I will also come along."
Lin Yuan: "Third brother don't say that, the oil plant still requires gege's care."
Jiang Gui promised: "Of course, I won't have fourth brother lose out even one bit, or else my name shall be written backwards."
Jiang Gui was a clever person with a clear view of things. He was able to adapt to all kinds of situations and put on the right attitude when facing different types of people.
"You should find more people to be on hand." Jiang Gui said quietly, "I can see that the world will fall into complete upheaval soon. With more people you can protect yourselves better. Later, I will have people bring more hoes over, when needed it can be used as weapons."
Lin Yuan paused, that the world would fall into upheaval was something everyone could sense, but most people still clung to the thought that maybe it wouldn't and continued living their days. So long as the fire didn't burn to their doors they wouldn't be able to truly feel afraid.
"Third brother, don't worry." Lin Yuan patted Jiang Gui's shoulder, "by the end of next year, the granary will be full and third brother can also come over."
Jiang Gui sighed: "We'll see."
Staying in Wu City, at least there was protection in the form of a city wall. Even if it was short and crumbling apart, but a broken down wall was still a wall. Besides, Wu City also had soldiers guarding it. If outside you were to encounter bandits or refugees who were just a bit more ruthless, then normal people wouldn't be able to provide much of a fight.
But Jiang Gui also understood Lin Yuan's thinking, his property was in a remote and desolate place without any people around. It was also surrounded by a river in the front and a mountain in the back. If anything did happen all they had to do to save their lives was to hide in the mountains.
But this was only as a last resort because Jiang Gui was unwilling to live that kind of life.
No one wanted to live the life of a vagrant.
Lin Yuan did not try to convince him, after all Jiang Gui was no fool. If that day truly came, Jiang Gui would seek shelter at his farmstead.
"Third brother, no need to send me off." Lin Yuan climbed onto the ox cart as Wu City could not buy any horses. Ox was still an alright choice, slow but better than walking. Lin Yuan even hired a driver for his cart.
Jiang Gui stood just to the side of the city walls, watching as Lin Yuan's cart left farther and farther.
A soldier that guarded the city gates recognized him and laughed: "You are like a wife sending her husband off. They have already gone and you are still watching."
Jiang Gui swatted at the soldier: "Don't talk nonsense! I will go complain to your superior so that you will spend the rest of your life guarding gates!"
The soldier was not intimidated, still smiling mischievously: "Brother Jiang, I've heard you became rich recently?"
Jiang Gui: "What rich, where did you hear such nonsense. If I was rich would I still be here talking to you? I would already be at a restaurant eating the best."
The soldier thought about it and agreed. Sitting down he drank water from a bowl: "I heard that the north already has disturbances."
Jiang Gui widened his eyes: "What?"
Soldier: "I heard from my cousin that a lot of people died and lead to a plague."
Jiang Gui shocked: "A plague?"
Soldier: "It's said that some cities already sealed themselves. A lot of people are fleeing south. Don't know how many are going to arrive this time."
Jiang Gui felt a bit scared. When leaving he muttered to himself, "We'll see, we'll see."
If truly there were refugees coming in from the north, even if he didn't want to seek shelter with Lin Yuan he would still have no choice but to.
Although an ox cart was not as fast as horse carriages but it was more stable. Lin Yuan sat in the cart and felt as if his organs would be thrown up. The ox cart might be stable but the road was rocky. These days there was no such thing as paved roads, no cement just plain dirt. If you don't travel on official roads then the road would be even worse.
At noon the carriage stopped to rest. Lin Yuan ate a flat cake which was made by Si Niang and was both plentiful and tasty, not the least bit dry with the amount of oil used. Only one was enough to fill the stomach but the driver ate two. He was a middle-aged man, tall and skinny but not lacking in strength. Chewing on the savory flat cake he said: "Four more hours until we are there."
Eight hours in total, Lin Yuan's heart was full of despair.
The driver took a bite of the cake with a side of pickled vegetables and a drink of water, saying in contentment: "Boss, I have yet to meet a more generous person than you." He had been a driver for many years but it was the first time a boss had given him two oil cakes to eat.
Driving a cart was hard work and also not many people could afford it. Most just relied on their legs to get anywhere.
Wealthy families had their own carriages and would not need to hire him.
Only merchants from other regions would rent a carriage. They migjt not treat him unwell but the most they would give him were two buns made of mixed grains. But today he not only got two oil cakes but also pickled vegetables. He decided, he would save the oil cakes given to him in the evening for his wife and children.
Lin Yuan sat resting under a tree while Er Liang and Gou zi went to pick wild berries. "These are snake berries, tastes good." Gou zi picked some berries that were small and dark red, though some were already rotten.
Er Liang picked one up, after rubbing it he put it in his mouth but soon stuck his tongue out: "A bit sour."
Gou zi laughed: "You have yet to get used to eating it."
Si Niang watched with a smile. Compared to when Lin Yuan first met her she appeared much younger now.
It was on a whim that Lin Yuan asked her age and found out she was only 28. She married at 13 and gave birth at 15. If just by appearance, to say she was 48 Lin Yuan would believe it.
Si Niang was this time period's microcosm of all farmer girls. Marry at an early age and have children early. If lucky they would survive childbirth, if unlucky both mother and child could lose their life. Their dream was to have plentiful harvest so that their families would not starve. If there were to be surplus then that would be the best thing ever. The landowner taking 10% less of the harvest was something to be content about.
Lin Yuan said to Si Niang: "Si Niang, once we arrive, if you like, find someone suitable and remarry."
Si Niang paused, after awhile she said in a bitter tone: "Who will want me? Besides, I have Gou zi."
For her, being alive was already a fortunate thing.
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 010 The Ways of the World
It was late winter but Lin Yuan still wore a cotton coat as the weather had yet to warm. He sneezed and rubbed his hands together. Si Niang was on the side burning the charcoal, it would take awhile before the room warmed.
The price of charcoal was not cheap so Lin Yuan did not buy much. Once the last few pieces were burned then the only choice left was burning firewood.
Poor families even had to save on the burning of firewood.
There's no help for it, the people going up the mountains to cut wood had decreased because if one was not careful one could come down with a cold very easily.
A fever in the winter, death would not be far along.
People would obviously choose their life over being comfortable.
Before winter ended, Lin Yuan practically never left the house. Even with a cotton coat it was still not warm enough. Walking outside in this weather, before long one would not be able to take it. Er Liang was in a similar situation as Lin Yuan. The north might also be cold but the south was wet and cold. No matter how much one wore the cold wet air still seeped in.
Lin Yuan hugged a tangpozi in his hands as he asked Er Liang: "Where are Si Niang and the others?"
Er Liang rubbed his hands: "Si Niang is kneading dough, we will have noodles tonight."
No fresh vegetables, only some pickled vegetables.
Although there were greenhouses, but Wu City had none, the entire winter was only pickled vegetables.
Er Liang looked out the window, sighing: "Wonder where brother Chen is."
This topic was something Lin Yuan never spoke about with Er Liang. The two words brother Chen was like taboo words.
That loyal and upright young man, perhaps had already lost his life. Only, Lin Yuan and Er Liang hoped he had survived instead.
"Young master." Er Liang said, "brother Chen knows we will come here. If next year he still doesn't show up we should set up a cenotaph."
Lin Yuan did not refuse, nodding: "Alright."
Winter for people like Lin Yuan who had modest wealth could be considered comfortable. He didn't have to go out and could stay indoors curled up in the warmth. Every three days he visited the oil plant, every week he checked the accounts but normally he hibernated. But for the common people, it was a bitter experience. During this winter a lot of beggars froze to death on the streets. Most of the beggars had long term ailments or illness, living day by day. Once winter came very few could make it pass.
During the past few years the circumstances had not been good, even the city's wealthy families no longer provided charity by setting up free porridge. The streets were empty and vendors also no longer showed up.
Lin Yuan also did not dare to go out in the streets. He might not be a good person but he did have sympathy. He was afraid that once he went out he would not be able to resist in bringing those people who were close to freezing to death back to his home.
But he currently had no money left, all of it used to hire people.
Er Liang didn't dare to go out either. Last time he went to buy meat he came back crying.
Only Si Niang and Gou zi went out. These two fled here from famine back home and had seen all kinds of tragedies. They had already become numb.
But they still had lingering fears because they knew, if not for Lin Yuan they would be no different from the people who froze to death.
Gou zi was still young so Lin Yuan did not give him any heavy work. There's actually not any heavy work to be done so Gou zi did some random chores such as sweeping the yard and watching the house.
Er Liang did all the delicate work such as taking care of Lin Yuan's needs. He never slacked in his work, a habit raised while living with the Lin family.
His parents were family servants and had taught him from young to be diligent.
Er Liang still remembered his dad's words: "You must be capable! Otherwise, old Liu's son will take your place. That you are able to serve young master, it is your good fortune accumulated over many lifetimes!"
After serving at young master's side, Er Liang finally understood his dad's meaning.
Serving young master meant he didn't need to farm or do hard manual labor. He could even learn to read and write.
Young master was also a good person and never hit or scolded the servants. He had a very good temperament.
Even now that he had followed young master in his travel away from their hometown, Er Liang did not need to worry about anything. Young master was too capable, could take care of everything. He just needed to stay at young master's side and look after his needs.
Er Liang chatted with Gou zi.
"Gou zi, when you were on your way here, did a lot of people die?" Er Liang asked.
Gou zi chewed on a fried breadstick with an expression of contentment and says: "A lot. From starvation, their stomach bloated high but their arms and legs were like sticks. They said it was from being too hungry, only drinking water, drinking themselves to death."
Er Liang was both surprised and scared: "Then how did you two survive?"
Gou zi swallowed the breadstick: "My mama had me eat the tree bark."
Er Liang asked curiously: "Does tree bark taste good?"
Gou zi nodded: "It's alright. I don't know what kind of tree it was, it's dry but still chewable. Taste better than dry tree bark."
"There was also a kind of grass root." Gou zi said excitedly, "I haven't seen it before in my hometown, once you pull it up on the bottom of the roots there is a tumor (TN: that is the literal translation. I didn't know there are tumors on grass roots??? Can someone explain???) which is also edible. Roasting it makes it soft but not much flavor."
Er Liang listened seriously, but he knew that if he switched places with Gou zi he would have died long ago. He could not endure the hardship, so Er Liang pretended to be mature and patted Gou zi's shoulder: "Gou zi, you don't have it easy."
Gou zi smiled: "It's all in the past. Now I have food and drink, a bed to sleep and a cotton blanket! I have never used a cotton blanket before!"
Gou zi said quietly: "Young master also gave me eggs to eat. I haven't eaten eggs this many times my whole life."
Er Liang looked shocked: "You didn't raise chickens in your old home?"
Gou zi: "We did but mama took them all to sell on market days. Then we can buy salt and other things home. How can we eat it ourselves."
Gou zi said excitedly: "When I grow older and have children, it would be great if young master can give my son eggs to eat as well."
Er Liang: "……" Young man, you might be getting a little ahead of yourself.
Gou zi rubbed his nose, chuckling: "My mama no longer have cold hands and feet. Mama says this is because we are eating well."
Gou zi asked Er Liang: "Brother Er Liang, you have always served at young master's side?"
Er Liang proudly puffed up his chest: "My parents are both Lin family servants, I followed young master when I was eight."
Gou zi was a bit envious: "Then you must often eat eggs?"
Er Liang said: "Young master always had me eat with him, whatever young master eats I will also eat. Everyday there is meat to eat!"
Eat meat everyday, that was practically the life of gods and immortals. Gou zi was envious to the point he could only swallow profusely.
"Brother Er Liang, you have such a good life." Gou zi said, "I must work harder, then young master will also give me meat to eat."
Er Liang encouraged: "You can do it!"
Gou zi grinned at Er Liang.
Their chat was completely overheard by Lin Yuan who was sitting next to the window.
The ways of the world currently was worse than he had thought.
Then a few years later, when war broke out, what would the world turn into?
Right now he had only started establishing his property. Once the field was ready to harvest next year and the farmstead was built, he will have someone send a message to original owner's family to have them come over. He had received original owner's body, even if it was after original owner's death, but he was still in debt to the original owner. Moreover, it was thanks to the original owner's legal mother's money that he was able to survive.
His consicence had yet to feed the dogs so he could not disregard original owner's family.
Lin Yuan took a sip of tea, letting out a soundless sigh.
TN1: Not much happening in this chapter but it does foreshadow how the situation will worsen in Yuan dynasty China and Lin Yuan is forced to finally make a decision.
TN2: So I got my first review on NU! I was kind of surprised that they thought this is a dark and serious story. It is definitely serious with a lot of characters and world building and plot but I wouldn't consider it dark. The MC is also pretty relatable even if he comes into his role of leader and eventually emperor. But isn't it more satisfying this way where everything was bad before MC comes along and makes changes? Everyone must have had a hero dream before right? And this hero doesn't need to self-sacrifice in order to save the world. It's quite interesting reading about the backgrounds of side characters and how they have been victims of the times and how they face the 'radical' changes Lin Yuan brings.
But it's true that this is not a fluffy brainless story. If not for its BL characteristics I think guys would enjoy reading it more than gals who are looking for some romantic fluff. There's a lot of wars and empire building and world dominating going on here. Just curious, are there any guy readers of this story?
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 009 There's Chicken To Eat
Cheng Huang temple was covered with spider webs and dust. Originally, it was not a very popular temple, now it was even worse with the current turbulent times. Lin Yuan used a rag to wipe at the table then set up the offerings. The offerings were made by Si Niang, a few white buns and a plate of cabbages, nothing else. Normally there would be roasted chicken but Lin Yuan was even unwilling to spend on it for himself, let alone as offerings.
"Ai." Brother Dao let out a sigh: "In the past Cheng Huang temple was not this bleak."
Jiang Gui used a wooden stick to sweep up the spider webs, hearing brother Dao he chuckled: "Actually it is about the same, only you didn't come the years before."
After saying so Jiang Gui took a scroll of painting and hung it up next to Lord Cheng Huang (TN: Shing Wong, deity in Chinese mythology).
Lin Yuan examined it for awhile but still could not recognize the abstract looking person in the painting.
Jiang Gui: "How can you not recognize, this is second lord Guan Yu (TN: military general under warlord Liu Bei)."
Lin Yuan nodded, expressing his understanding.
Just as Lin Yuan thought everything was ready, the voice of one of brother Dao's guys came from outside: "Brother Dao! I caught a chicken!"
Brother Dao went outside and brought the chicken in by its wings.
Jiang Gui sighed: "It's a pity the times are not good, otherwise we must prepare san sheng (TN: literally translates to three sacrificial animals)."
Lin Yuan asked: "What is the san sheng?" Although he liked to read historical novels but in relation to swearing brotherhood he was not too clear.
Jiang Gui: "Pig meat, fish, and eggs are the san sheng."
Lin Yuan: "……"
If swearing brotherhood must require this many offerings, then forget it, after all in the ancient times the offerings were not taken back and eaten after they cooled down instead it remained there until it spoiled then it was thrown away.
They remained busy for another while. Brother Dao poured the wine in the bowl, made a cut on the chicken's neck and let the blood into the wine. Then he took out the knife he always carried on him and gave his finger a cut, dripping a few drops into the wine bowl.
"Here." He handed the knife to Jiang Gui.
Jiang Gui looked a bit timid at the prospect, trying several times before making the cut, looking as his blood dripped into the bowl with heartache.
Using a knife on yourself did require courage.
Lin Yuan tried when he was young, if not careful even a piece of metal strip could cut your finger but if intentionally then it was more difficult as your brain would control your body to not harm yourself.
As a result Lin Yuan decided decisively: "Brother Jiang, I have never used a knife on myself before, help me out."
Saying so he stretched a finger forward.
Jiang Gui while saying: "How can I possibly", gave Lin Yuan a cut in the finger without hesitation.
Lin Yuan: "……" Why do I see that particular expression of joy at other's misfortune on Jiang Gui's face.
The three of them then separated the bowl of wine and blood concoction into three separate bowls, one person holding one bowl and knelt in front of Lord Guan's painting.
Brother Dao, with a solemn expression, announced: "Let us begin."
"The skies above, I, Li Congrong with Jiang Gui and Lin Yuan from this day forth will be friends as close as brothers."
"The skies above, I, Jiang Gui with Li Congrong and Lin Yuan from this day forth will be friends as close as brothers."
It was only now that Lin Yuan finally knew brother Dao's true name.
So he was a pause late before speaking: "The skies above, I, Lin Yuan with Li Congrong and Jiang Gui from this day forth will be friends as close as brothers."
"Henceforth, we shall enjoy the same blessings and withstand the same difficulties. Do not beseech to be born on the same year, same month, and same day, but we beseech to die on the same year, same month, and same day. If I violate this vow then let the heavens rain thunder upon me."
Saying so, the three of them drank the wine and blood concoction in one gulp.
As he was drinking, Lin Yuan thought, drinking blood is truly not hygienic, what if someone had harmful bacteria? Then wouldn't that mean misfortune for three?
"Third brother, fourth brother." Brother Dao was in a good mood, grasping Lin Yuan's and Jiang Gui's hands.
Lin Yuan asked in a quiet voice: "And the second brother?"
Your order starts with the third number?
Brother Dao patted Lin Yuan's shoulder intimately: "Yang Zi'an is also my sworn brother."
Lin Yuan said sincerely: "Big brother, you have quite a few brothers."
Brother Dao laughed loudly: "Just giving me some face (TN: to give respect/appreciation). That second brother is also a straightforward fellow and is also working with us, you guys calling him second brother will not lose out."
Lin Yuan/Jiang Gui: "……"
"We should find a day to drink together." Brother Dao said with a smile. In these times, sworn brothers were even closer than blood brothers.
"Big brother." Lin Yuan said to brother Dao, "second brother Yang is still on my land."
Brother Dao rubbed at his nose: "Then we can wait until he comes back."
Yang Zi'an was an honest fellow. He took his guys to Lin Yuan's land which was completely new fertile land. As the land would become thinner the more you farm it since farming families didn't have enough fertilizer so they must sow in cycles.
Sow for a year then leave it for half a year to let the earth recover itself.
They found a flat land to build grass huts, using mud and hay to reinforce the walls which could be dried in one to two days. At night they slept on hay, 40 men squeezing in together. In this way the cold would not be felt.
Food was prepared by Lin Yuan and was carried with them when they left for his land.
There were coarse grains and fine grains but they usually ate the coarse grains. The fine grains were eaten every three days. If one was still hungry then it was combined with coarse grains.
"Compared to before it is much better." A man held a bowl of porridge which was rather thin but at leaat there was white rice. He drank it carefully, sighing in satisfaction, "before there was no white porridge, only bran."
The person next to him was eating a bun: "Drink it quickly, my bowl is already finished."
The man ignor6es him, patting the earth: "Tomorrow is the beginning of harvesting. Boss truly said 50% of harvest?"
Yang Zi'an came out from the grass hut, blowing warm air into his palms: "Boss said it, I expext he also dare not lie to us."
The man nodded: "Right, we have so many of us, even if he were to lie then he must think it over."
There was also a youngster eating buns with their porridge nearby, saying with hope: "I don't have excessive hope for receiving that many grains, just looking forward to eating my fill everyday. Being tired is nothing, in the past at my old home the boss only gives 20% to us and we must farm on an empty stomach."
"My mama saved her portion for me and my brothers, she then starved to death."
"After mama died, dad fell and broke his leg in the mountains, with no money to buy medicine, he also died."
The man sighed: "Who doesn't have a similar past."
Everyone had a painful past, saying it aloud, were they competing on who was more miserable?
The youngster smiled at the man: "As long as everyday I can eat fully."
Yang Zi'an took up a hoe and farmed along with his men. He was born in a family that worked the land and also undertook academic studies so he recognized some words as well as farming. He never spoke of his past to anyone though.
His family in his old hometown was a wealthy family but they didn't have tenant farmers. The land was farmed by his family's servants instead.
Later, a group of bandits passed by. Yang Zi'an at the time was at his friend's place in the neighboring town. When he came back he found himself to be orphaned and his home destroyed.
His whole family had been massacred, even his two year old baby brother did not escape.
Even now he wanted revenge, but what could he use for revenge? Have these guys go fight for their lives with those bandits?
He could ignore his own life and death but what rigjt did he have to request the same of his men who were like friends to him?
Over time, the idea of revenge buried itself deep in his heart. He never said anything nor did he bring it up.
Just as they finished breakfast and prepared to work, a group of people could be seen heading towards their direction.
Yang Zi'an: "Don't be anxious! Take your hoes! Pick up anything heavy!"
If these were bandits, then they must prepare to fight, at least they should have weapons on hand.
The crowd moved in closer. Only then did Yang Zi'an discover Li Congrong at the head of the crowd.
"All of you put down the weapons, it is brother Dao." Yang Zi'an shouted out.
Hearing this the people at his side then put down the heavy objects they planned to use as weapons.
Brother Dao arrived first, behind him followed a group of artisans in tight sleeved shirts. And behind the artisans were refugees barely covered qith rags for clothes, all of them malnourished and shivering in the cold. Their faces showed their uncertainty and loss of what to do.
Yesterday morning, a tall muscular man arrived suddenly, saying that he had work for them, a meal for a day's work. Hearing this, they arrived since they had nothing else to lose. The most was wealthy families tricking them to become family servants with a slave contract. But being a servant was better than the days they were currently living.
So long as they didn't starve then doing anything was fine.
"These people are here to build a house." Brother Dao said, "both farming and building will not be affected."
Yang Zi'an looked at the refugees: "And you are here to supervise them?"
Brother Dao grinned, showing white teeth: "Can't leave them alone. With no strength they'll listen, with strength and food in their bellies who knows."
Yang Zi'an: "That is the truth."
Brother Dao suddenly shifted closer, whispering: "I brought a roasted chicken and some wine. We can enjoy a cuppa later."
Yang Zi'an heard roasted chicken and couldn't help swallowing profusely. He was already craving it, he couldn't remember the last time he tasted roasted chicken.
These years, don't even mention meat, he ate whatever was at hand, even tree bark and grass roots.
When fleeing, a lot of people ate the wrong thing and slowly their bodies became unwell. That he had lived till now was fortunate.
At the moment, the artisans had the refugees first build grass huts, next to the ones already built by Yang Zi'an's men. Although artisans did not have high status but they were still respected for having true skills. Even the grass huts they built were better than the huts Yang Zi'an and his men built.
Yang Zi'an was pulled away by brother Dao to eat roast chicken.
With a cup of wine and a chicken leg, brother Dao ssid with a wide smile: "Gege found you two younger brothers."
Yang Zi'an: "….."
Back then, he was tricked into swearing brotherhood with brother Dao. He guessed those two unlucky fellows had a similar experience as he did.
Brother Dao: "You know them as well, one is Jiang Gui and the other is Lin Yuan. Later when you see them, you must call them third brother and fourth brother, don't forget."
Yang Zi'an took a bite of chicken leg, thinking privately, based on Li Congrong's hobby, he estimated that he would have a fifth brother, sixth brother, seventh brother, eigth brother before long. Maybe even a eightieth brother.
Forget it, there was roast chicken to eat, it was better not to think of worrisome thoughts.
If everytime brother Dao swore brotherhood there was chicken to eat, then this business was still acceptable.
AN: Yang Zi'an: "This fellow just likes to swear brotherhood all over the place, I, Yang Zi'an will rather starve to death, or jump to my death than admit that I have N numbers of little brothers."
Li Congrong: "Come, have a piece of chicken."
Yang Zi'an: "Zhen xiang." (TN: literally translates to 'truly savory'. It is a popular phrase used in Chinese internet language that is used to describe slapping your own face, or going back on your own words. It came from a movie where the MC goes to the countryside but all he wants is to go back to the city and claims he will rather die and jump to death than eat the food there. Several hours later he eats the food and says "Zhen xiang." LOL)
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 008 Swearing Brotherhood
There was no need to worry about the sale of the soybean oil. Wu City was a big enough market for it. Jiang Gui met and talked collaborations with the owners of oil shops. The city had a total of 12 oil shops. Compared to the production costs of sesame oil, the production cost of soybean oil was cheaper and the daily production was also stable. Although one could not say it would completely replace sesame oil but the owners of oil shops still accepted the soybean oil in their stores.
Lin Yuan did some calculations, each day's profit was around 1000 coins.
"Should we sell outside Wu City as well?" Jiang Gui saw the benefits of soybean oil business so he was eager to expand the business. Who would not dislike making more money?
However, Lin Yuan shook his head: "Brother Jiang, it's not that this little brother is unwilling, but if we were to sell elsewhere, who will make the trips? Besides, Wu City has you and brother Dao so we can make money in peace. Nowadays, the outside is in upheaval. The oil extraction method may be easy but only we know about it."
"If someone wants to seize….." Lin Yuan did not finish.
Jiang Gui sighed: "I am too impatient, unlike you who thinks deeper."
Lin Yuan consoled: "Brother Jiang, think of it this way, although we are not crazy rich but at least it is stable source of income."
Now that the income had stabilized, and daily expenses not being too big, Lin Yuan must now put more attention to his land.
Yang Zi'an's 40 people had already gone over to his land with farming tools prepared by Jiang Gui. Lin Yuan was now deeply aware of the benefits of having a friend in the government. Although Jiang Gui did not have any major powers nor could he sway the upper officials, but among the common people he still had quite the power.
The good thing was that he no longer had to watch his wallet thin after every spending. Lin Yuan truly sighed in relief.
"Brother Jiang." Lin Yuan poured tea for Jiang Gui, saying seriously, "I should have people begin to build my own farmstead. I must still continue to trouble you."
Jiang Gui drank the cup of hot tea. Although it was nothing fancy but to be able to have any tea to drink was a luxury now. He nodded: "No problem, no problem, I shall not have even one bit of lazing from them."
Lin Yuan explained in detail: "I don't want to build a normal dwelling with a courtyard but a three floor building."
Jiang Gui looked confused: "Ah? You want to construct a theater house?"
Lin Yuan shook his head: "No. Er Liang bring over pen and ink."
Er Liang let out an "ai" and quickly set up paper and prepared the pen and ink.
Although Lin Yuan did not know how to write calligraphy but a simple drawing was still doable. He drew a rectangular building with doors evenly spaced throughout.
"Like this." Lin Yuan handed the paper to Jiang Gui.
Jiang Gui was also no literati and knew nothing of the four arts (TN: zither, Go chess, calligraphy, painting) but after looking closely he got the gist of it. He asked Lin Yuan in puzzlement: "This is all squares and rectangles, like a large coffin. How can you build it this way."
Brother, I'm afraid this had nothing on Chengdu's New Century Global Mall (TN: a building in Chengdu, China).
Lin Yuan laughed awkwardly: "To be promoted and gain wealth." (TN: the phrase in Chinese is 升官发财 which in pinyin is 'sheng guan fa cai'. The second word 官 which means official sounds the same as 棺 which means coffin. Lin Yuan is just trying to give a reason through a pun and hopes Jiang Gui believes his 'reasoning')
Jiang Gui finally got it and slapped his thigh: "A good message! No wonder little brother Lin is a scholar. You have more knowledge than me."
"But the price will not be cheap." Jiang Gui knit his eyebrows together.
Lin Yuan: "Is 50 taels enough?"
Lin Yuan said: "I want it to be quick so there needs to be more people. The best case scenario is to be finished by the summer."
Jiang Gui stood up: Since you already asked, as gege I of course must help. A lot of refugees have come to Wu City. We can have them build the building, just give them food. That will save some money."
These refugees were not accepted into Wu City. Their arrival often heralded a decrease in safety of a city's residents so they had not been allowed in and instead must remain outside the city gates in grass shacks. The passing of winter saw the lessening of refugee numbers.
Some died, some left.
Those that were left, all of them were young and in their prime.
Jiang Gui said: "When they just arrived last year, I even saw some children. But now only two are left, and almost on the verge of death."
Lin Yuan frowned: "Did they feeze to death?"
Jiang Gui nodded, sighing: "The higher ups won't allow their entrance into the city and I can't do anything about it either. My own situation is difficult. My hands are truly tied."
Jiang Gui might be a kind person but without the wealth to express his kindness it was still useless.
Lin Yuan said: "I'm fine with them doing the building but they may not be easy to manage."
He was afraid that once a person was at their limits then they would choose to walk on the edge of a blade. The saying that the barren hills and wild rivers would produce wicked people was not untrue (TN: A saying that refers to environment influencing people). Once a person had nothing to hold them back then they would turn into beasts.
Jiang Gui took another sip of tea, knitting his brows together: "I will talk with brother Dao."
Brother Dao was after all a gang leader and managing people was a skill required.
Lin Yuan did not refuse: "See if brother Dao is willing to manage them."
"No problem!" Brother Dao was currently chopping up the firewood. Hearing Jiang Gui's question he agreed readily. He wiped at the sweat on his forehead and even took a palm leaf fan to fan himself after putting away the axe.
Lin Yuan watched in envy. Brother Dao's physique was robust and sturdy with hard muscles and a tall height. Standing next to him one could even feel the heat rolling off of him. Lately, the weather had not warmed much, even if Lin Yuan and Er Liang shared the same blanket the both of them still felt the cold. If not for brother Dao's smelly feet Lin Yuan was all too willing to invite him for a sleepover.
Brother Dao looked at Lin Yuan in a new light, an expression of respect on his face: "Little brother Lin, you have the heart to do good deeds, gege will not say anything else but help you manage them well. You are giving them a chance to survive, and if they don't know to be grateful then I will let them know the ramifications of stepping out of line."
To be able to save money as well as help others in need. This could be considered a situation where he had it both ways.
Lin Yuan was also in quite a good mood, cupping his hands: "Then I will trouble gege."
Brother Dao patted Lin Yuan's shoulder. He looked at Jiang Gui and then said suddenly: "Us three, we have quite the predestined affinity, now we even collaborate in business, how about we find a day and swear brotherhood."
Lin Yuan: "….."
Jiang Gui: "….."
They were just having a chat, how did it come to swearing brotherhood?
Jiang Gui was the first to react, he let out a laugh: "Exactly! Swearing brotherhood, becoming sworn brothers, this way relationships will be closer."
Lin Yuan said quickly: "But my father and mother are both in the north….."
In this time, swearing brotherhood might not have any legal effects but once sworn then they would be as close as blood brothers.
Jiang Gui and brother Dao both looked at Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan: "…..Once father and mother knows in the future they will surely be delighted little brother has found himself two good older brothers."
Original owner's dad and mom, apologies, this was not something he intended.
The day was picked by a fortune-teller on the street. He was an old liar, lied his entire life, and actually even gain some jianghu experience from his lying. In short, say whatever one wants to hear no matter who they were. And quite a few people actually believed him.
Such as brother Dao.
"Chen Half-Immortal." Brother Dao said respectfully, "these two are my good brothers, please help us find an auspicious day to swear brotherhood."
Half-Immortal rubbed at his beard. He was originally very skinny, so with a large and billowy daoist robe on he appeared quite convincing as a mysterious daoist with supernatural abilities. His face was already full of lines but still he scrunched it up even more, reaching out a hand to calculate: "Tomorrow at noon."
Lin Yuan remained expressionless off to the side. Half-Immortal, wasn't that too quick and random?
Having picked a day, brother Dao was about to pay, but Chen Half-Immortal pressed his hand down, asking seriously in a whisper: "Little Dao, I heard you have recently been doing business? I won't accept your payment, let me also take part?"
In an instant the aura of mystery crumbled into pieces.
Brother Dao still looked befuddled, no matter what, he was unwilling to believe that this shrewd old man was the Half-Immortal in his heart.
Chen Half-Immortal, seeing that brother Dao had still not come out of his shock, so he said again: "Don't you worry, I have money."
The profession of fortune-telling was originally like being a doctor, the older you got the more money you make.
If you're young, the common people would not believe in your abilities.
Always feeling that the older ones were more trustworthy.
The doctors at medicinal shops, even if they were still young, must grow a long beard and pretend they were older than they actually were.
Otherwise patients would not come in.
Jiang Gui was not a superstitious person. He said with a smile: "Half-Immortal, brother Dao has no say, the business belongs to this little brother. If you want to take part then you must speak with him."
Chen Half-Immortal looked at Lin Yuan with a squint.
Lin Yuan stood there staring at Chen Half-Immortal, pondering whether Chen Half-Immortal was nearsighted or farsighted?
Chen Half-Immortal looked around and seeing that yhere were no people familiar with him, he quickly walked over to Lin Yuan: "Little brother, look at it this way, you only have a few people at hand, the most you could do now is eat up Wu City's market. I have some friends who does errands in other cities. You can have them do the errands outside while you stay and count the money. What do you say?"
Lin Yuan: "Half-Immortal, my business has just started, I don't dare to think that far. If in the future there is an opportunity then I will come find you."
Chen Half-Immortal became anxious: "Little brother, that is white and shiny silver……"
Brother Dao: "Half-Immortal!"
Chen Half-Immortal: "Ai."
Brother Dao's expression was not that good: "Don't ask anymore about this kind of stuff, and don't meddle, just do your fortune-telling."
Chen Half-Immortal dared not say anymore. He had arrived in Wu City two years ago, and it was thanks to brother Dao's support that he wasn't bullied. He dared not offend brother Dao so he immediately became quiet.
Brother Dao ws feeling quite depressed, he truly and sincerely believed Chen Half-Immortal was a Half-Immortal, but the result was that not only was he not a Half-Immortal but a shrewd old man. He walked in the front, feeling angry with himself, thinking that in the past two years he had been a complete fool.
Lin Yuan and Jiang Gui walked in the back giving each other looks.
No helping it, Lin Yuan walked over and consoled: "Brother Dao, it's nothing big. Half-Immortal, after all, is only half. The other half is a common person and must eat, drink, defecate and support one's family."
Brother Dao sighed: "He lied to me."
"Tomorrow noon, we will go to Cheng Huang temple." Brother Dao brushed aside thoughts of Half-Immortal and discussed with Lin Yuan and Jiang Gui, "Don't forget to bring the things, wine and bowl. A knife too, a sharp one."
Lin Yuan: "A knife?" We are swearing brotherhood, not dying together in the name of love, right?
Brother Dao was reminded that Lin Yuan was from the north and his age was also young so he likely didn't understand these jianghu rules: "Swearing brotherhood requires dropping some blood into a bowl of wine, three people then drink from the bowl."
Lin Yuan: "Fine." So long as the opening was not too big since the ancient times had no bandaids. Lin Yuan asked: "Is it alright to use a needle instead?"
This caused brother Dao and brother Jiang to look at him with disdain.
Lin Yuan's heart felt extremely sorrowful, these two didn't know how frightening tetanus could be.
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 007 Flesh to Dust
Brother Dao was a person who adhered to the spirit of loyalty and brotherhood. Peoples of all trades in Wu City were willing to associate and give him respect. He was also of poor origins so didn't go around oppressing his fellow neighbors and other common people. Other than helping people collect their debts, he also took his guys up the mountains to gather firewood which was only worth one coin per bundle. And even then not many people bought it anyway. Other than some wealthy families who would buy it, the average common families gathered firewood themselves.
Nowadays, the society was breaking down, even gambling parlors were not as grand and busy as before with only some wealthy people playing inside. As for those gambling addicts who needed to take out high interest loans, they had also lessened considerably.
"We're here." Brother Dao lead Lin Yuan to the city's eastern part.
Compared to the northern part of the city, the eastern part could be considered a refugee camp. Only people who had no regular jobs lived here, relying on taking manual labor or selling some small trinkets as a means to maintain livelihood.
When walking through, Lin Yuan even witnessed a group of children fighting over a dry bean curd cake. This type of food was cheap and able to fill the stomach, but it was awfully difficult to eat, just a few and your throat would be feeling uncomfortable. During better times, it was used to feed livestock.
Lin Yuan turned his head, unwilling to look further.
The sight tugged on his conscience but as for helping, he had yet to have the ability.
Brother Dao remained expressionless. When he first came to Wu City he also lived in the eastern part so he was very familiar with the situation in this part of the city.
"The brother I mentioned, his surname is Yang, looks very dignified and has an indomitable spirit. Although he is poor, it would be unwise to belittle him." Brother Dao said to Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan replied sincerely with cupped hands: "I wouldn't dare to."
Being born in this time period meant living a life of fighting with animals over food and yet be responsible for maintaining one's life. Lin Yuan might be an orphan but he had never lacked for food or warm clothes in the orphanage. The biggest grievance he had to face was losing in a fight over snacks and candies with other children.
Thinking this way, Lin Yuan felt that he must be considered one of the fortunates.
Brother Dao shouted a greeting outside the place they stopped at: "Brother Yang, I've brought someone to visit you!"
Coincidentally, brother Yang was at home that day. Lin Yuan heard footsteps and then the creaking of the door.
The person was wearing a tight sleeved shirt but compared to brother Dao, had a leaner physique. One hand was carrying a bundle of firewood as if about to send it somewhere. He had upturned monolid eyes that curled downwards in the inner corners which made him appear rather haughty, looking out of place in this run down area.
"Who might this be?" Yang Zi'an put down the bundle of firewood and let them in before closing the door.
Brother Dao replied immediately: "This is my newly acquainted brother, surname Lin given name Yuan. He has a business proposal, is brother Yang willing?"
Yang Zi'an quirked his lips in a bitter smile: "Brother Dao, look at me, nowadays I am unable to sell any firewood, I don't have any options for being picky."
The way he spoke, as if even if it was murder and arson he was still willing to participate.
Brother Dao sighed: "My situation is soon to worsen as well. The price for food is increasing, even if hungry none of us dare to eat, instead chew a few dry beans to help the hunger."
Lin Yuan discovered that if he didn't say anything quick, these two would continue to compete who was more miserable so he quickly explained his motive of hiring workers.
Yang Zi'an looked surprised: "20 people?"
Lin Yuan nodded: "The business has yet to become stable, if it succeeds than I plan to hire more."
Soybean oil was not a business he could do for too long. The most important thing was to make money then buy some more land and stock up the granary. The land he bought was also rather remote without any people nearby or important battle sites, extremely appropriate for staying away from the upcoming war and upheaval.
"Early spring I must find some people to open up the land for farming." As he spoke, Yang Zi'an already led them inside to sit. It was a very simple house with just four bare walls. The houses in the eastern part were built by their dwellers themselves and were originally grass huts. But with the weather getting cold the only option was to find a way to reinforce it.
The wall was made up of mud and hay, the roof was thick sogon grass. This kind of dwelling was just barely able to be lived in, just enough as a shelter. It would not protect the sweller much from the cold in the winter or the heat in the summer. Truthfully, it was not a good place to live in but there was no other choice.
Lin Yuan: "I also need to find some tenant farmers." He had no connections here so finding tenant farmers was not an easy task, it would be a headache if he were to stumble upon crafty troublemakers.
Yang Zi'an heard farm field and his eyes light up. The thing to put manual laborers at ease the most was farmland, anything else was just empty talk.
"How much is the rent?" Yang Zi'an asked.
Lin Yuan: "50% of the harvest."
Yang Zi'an swallowed.
He had never seen such a generous landowner before. Nowadays, even for the kindest landowner the most they would leave their tenant farmers was 40%. Ruthless ones just giving 20% was also reality. 20% grains was only enough for tenant farmers to maintain livelihood if they scrimp and save.
"Let's do it." Yang Zi'an said, "here I have 60 people, 20 people to extract oil, 40 to open up the land."
Lin Yuan's eyes widened: "It's not yet spring, the earth is still frozen, can it even be opened?"
Yang Zi'an waved his hand: "We were originally farmers, relying on the land to live. Recently the weather has warmed a bit, the earth is not as hard so we can have the land ready before sowing the seeds."
Lin Yuan knew nothing of farming but the people at Yang Zi'an's side were all of farming origins, no one could be more professional than them in relation to farming and agriculture.
"If brother Yang say so then that is what we will do." Lin Yuan said quickly, "I also need to have some people build a house."
He prepared to build a communal building similar to apartment buildings for the tenant farmers. In this era, death was caused by a number of things but the most important was illness. Just a cold meant death, not to mention other more serious kinds. He had no desire for his tenant farmers to become disposable objects, every once in a while needing a replacement.
Anything else he had no ability for, but improving the living conditions was doable.
It didn't have to be anything fancy, just three floors high. Except, there was no concrete now. He could find a replacement for cement and bricks, though. While expensive, Lin Yuan could still support the expense.
In short, so long as there was money, Lin Yuan was sure the artisans and smiths of this time would be able to build a building with only three floors.
Lin Yuan had never belittled the laborers of ancient times.
With everything discussed and agreed upon, Lin Yuan lead 20 people to the farmstead he rented for his temporary oil plant. Yang Zi'an also prepared to bring people to open up the land. They hadn't discuss wages but both agreed, once the land was opened up the same people would be Lin Yuan's tenant farmers. In other words Lin Yuan didn't need to give money or provide living quarters, only guarantee they had food.
Yang Zi'an even said: "We can set up a shack to live in, sleeping close at night. No one died from cold before."
Lin Yuan: "…..Fine."
Brother Dao also went back to pick up his guys. A total of 40 grown men stood in front of Lin Yuan but he couldn't help sighing. Those like brother Dao with a muscular physique was too few, he could tell that brother Dao must have had good days in the past.
The average person, no matter how much physical labor they worked, if their diet was also not good, then they wouldn't be able to grow any muscles, instead they would just look malnourished. At least they were not too old and still had strength.
But once they grew older, then they would begin to suffer pains and ailments.
Brother Dao's guys didn't have any dependents. They all came from the same village where the villagers scattered in all directions when they fled. The ones following brother Dao had lost touch with their own families. Now, they were just responsible for themselves. As for finding their lost families, they didn't dare to think of it.
The world was this large, once they lost touch then it would be difficult to reunite during ancient times.
Yang Zi'an's people on the other hand did have dependents, their burden being greater. Hearing that there was work, every one of them laughed and smiled in joy. It had been a long while since they had not felt hungry.
A large group of people left for the oil plant. Normally, such a large crowd could not be seen so the passerbys on the street looked at them in curiosity.
A small child drinking squash soup asked: "Mama, what are they doing?"
The woman also didn't know: "Mama also doesn't know."
Curious passerbys: "This many people, not carrying any weapons or anything, what are they doing?"
"You ask me? Not like I know."
The farmstead was very big, but inside other than a few stoves and metal pots and wooden stools, there was nothing else. The backyard had a well so at least getting water was convenient.
Lin Yuan explained in detail how to extract oil. The day before they must let the soybeans first ferment. Then on the second day could the process begin. Because there was no special chemicals the oil production could not be compared to modern times. But in comparison to squeezing oil from vegetables the situation was much better off.
A group of grown men stared gaping at the pot of oil, their eyes disbelieving.
"So this is oil?"
"Oh my heavens, oil is actually not squeezed out."
Some asked Lin Yuan: "Boss, how much is the oil?"
Lin Yuan: "10 coins a pound."
"That cheap!" The men discussed with each other and decided to chip in and buy a pound worth of oil home so that their families could try some. After entering winter, they didn't dare to buy any oil, their normal diet being a few mian wo (TN: Chinese doughnut) a day.
After learning the steps, they began to work, cherishing the opportunity since scattered work could not be found anymore and firewood did not make enough. If there was no money then they would starve.
If one starves for too long then one would become bloated and death would not be long to follow.
Brother Dao supervised on the side. After watching for awhile he couldn't resist entering the fray. Watching water become oil was as if seeing water produce money. It made one's heart pound eagerly.
The sky gradually darkened and the last orange light disappeared with the setting sun. The farmstead was lit with oil lamps. Lin Yuan tried to convince them to rest for the day but this group of people were unwilling. They were still affected by the novelty. As more pots of oil came out their sense of accomplishment was no less then plentiful harvest after farming.
And this was much lighter work compared to harvest.
"Alright, then I will go back first, you all make sure to rest." Lin Yuan notified them. After finding out brother Dao did not want to go back either, he decided to leave first by himself.
Brother Dao had two people send him home. Lin Yuan did not refuse. He had no choice, currently he was rather frail due to young age and lack of exercise. If he were to encounter a robbery then he would end up returning home stripped of everything.
The two fellows sending him home were not much older than him at 17-18 years of age. At first they were rather reserved as Lin Yuan was their boss but soon they became more familiar and began to talk.
"I have never seen this much oil in my life!"
"You can even take a bath with that much oil!"
They asked Lin Yuan excitedly: "Boss, how did you know that oil can be produced this way?"
Lin Yuan told a small white lie: "In the north, a visiting merchant used the information to buy a house."
"Boss, you weren't afraid he was lying to you?"
"Merchants can be ruthless!"
Lin Yuan looked at their innocent and naive faces and sighed soundlessly. The history books would not record these regular people. The flesh and blood of the living would soon become dust in the wind.
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 006 Feeling Pain Along With Happiness
As a 21st century successful person who was deeply appreciated by his boss, from a regular worker promoted to department head with an annual salary raised from ¥60,000 to ¥200,000 in just two years, Lin Yuan might not be able to guarantee anything else but in swaying people in his favor, he was a professional.
He began his analysis starting with the market.
Then analyzed the public's purchasing power, examining the past and imagining the future.
"As long as soybean oil can be extracted, then we don't need to worry about sales." Lin Yuan spoke excitedly.
Jiang Gui and brother Dao also listened excitedly. At certain times, the atmosphere could infect a person, otherwise why would so many multi-level marketing oranizations sound like they have eaten jinsangzihoupian (TN: literally 'golden voice throat tablet' a type of medicine for the sore and dry throat)?
To tell the truth, brother Dao didn't fully understand but he got the gist of it, that the soybean oil could make money, and quite a lot. When Lin Yuan was analyzing, he also conveniently laid on the flattery. Brother Dao took a gulp of wine to soothe hi shock.
"Is it really possible?" Jiang Gui couldn't help feeling apprehension along with the excitement.
Lin Yuan smiled at him: "Brother Jiang, I am not lying to you, if I say even one fake word then I shall be hit with heaven's lightening."
Lin Yuan thought with a serious face: Sorry, I'm an atheist.
"Excellent!" Jiang Gui hollered, "pour the wine!"
Brother Dao suddenly asked: "20 people must not be enough."
Lin Yuan replied quickly: "Brother Dao, little brother currently has very little funds. I originally thought to have brother Dao's guys come be managers, as for the workers underneath, little brother was thinking of finding the city's manual laborers to come work."
Brother Dao looked at Lin Yuan, not the least bit angry: "200 coins per month. As for the workers underneath I can point you to a direction. Last year, a group of people came from the southwest and are currently living outside the city's eastern gate. They are mostly whole families who don't mind manual labor, even begging is feasible for them. I am familiar with their leader, we are sworn brothers and follow the code of brotherhood. All you need to guarantee are meals."
Only guarantee meals?
Lin Yuan: "Of course I trust brother Dao, but I am a stranger to them, what if….."
Brother Dao waved his hand, giving off the feeling of jianghu heroes: "Don't worry over this and that, if you agree then I will go speak for you. If they are lazy or commut crimes, there's no need for you to do anything, I will be the first to chop them up."
Lin Yuan outwardly remained expressionless but inside was like the roaring sea.
An underworld gang leader talking about punishing others for committing crimes?
Brother Dao's large hand patted Lin Yuan's shoulder, looking at him with an expression that conveyed: I have high expectations of you.
With a sigh, brother Dao said: "Nowadays business is hard, the times are in upheaval, my guys are nearly starving. As their leader I am guilty, I am guilty!"
This guy was already drunk.
Jiang Gui's face was flushed completely red, ans he also started crying: "Brother Dao, you are a good man, unlike me. Nowadays the government is in a turmoil, the prison is full of the common people. I have a guilty conscience, a guilty conscience!"
Lin Yuan: "How about…..we go back?"
Jiang Gui immediately pounced and grabbed Lin Yuan's hand, excitedly saying to brother Dao: "Brother Dao, little brother Lin is the number one good person I have ever met all these years, concerned with the welfare of the common people. Truly the heart of a Buddha, this kind of person, if we don't help him my conscience will hurt."
Lin Yuan looked on with a dead fish face, brother, the fellow who accepted my 10 tael 1 guan bribery, was it you, or was it you?
Brother Dao also looked towards Lin Yuan, asking absentmindedly: "Little brother Lin, you have yet to reach 20?"
Lin Yuan immediately replied: "I am fifteen at xusui (TN: one's age, according to the traditional Chinese method of reckoning where a person's age is one year at birth, and increases by one year at the beginning of the first solar term each year, rather than on one's birthday)."
Brother Dao: "No wonder you are this smooth-skinned, I had thought you to be some family's lady."
Brother Dao: "Hahahahaha!"
Lin Yuan: "….." This joke was not funny at all.
Brother Dao laughed carefreely: "When does work start?"
Lin Yuan: "As soon as possible. Everything is ready, we just need workers."
Actually, the production cost of the oil extraction method was low for the amount of oil that was produced. The skills needed was also low, even complete newcomers could quickly get the hang of it. The only disadvantage was that it required a lot of manpower as well as steam and high temperatures.
Brother Dao: "Tomorrow I will have my people go over. The eastern gate people, how many do you want?"
Lin Yuan: "Also 20, as long as the result is good then we can increase."
Brother Dao slapped the table, full of heroic spirit: "Good! Come, drink!"
Brother Jiang and brother Dao were sent home by Lin Yuan. Only brother Dao posed a bit of a problem as he didn't know where he lived, the only choice left was to bring him back to his place.
Looking at the drunk that was brother Dao who was still hollering about having more wine, Lin Yuan asked Er Liang with a headache: "If in the morning he discovers we left him to sleep on the floor, would he chop us up?"
Er Liang looked at his muscles, his arm wider than his own thigh, and replied seriously: "No need to use a knife, one fist and we are gone."
Lin Yuan sighed, reality was too cruel. He made fun of Er Liang: "Then we will sleep on the bed and you can sleep on the floor."
Er Liang didn't fall for it: "I will just curl up at the foot of the bed, the night is cold."
Lin Yuan: "Fine, did you buy tangpozi?"
Er Liang paused: "Forgot."
Lin Yuan: "Then you must curl up tight, don't get a cold."
In actuality, both Lin Yuan and Er Liang didn't take up much space. When they normally share the bed there was still a very large space left, enough for another person. But, this brother Dao fellow had a rather tyrannical sleeping posture, arms and legs outstretched and taking up more than half the bed. Lin Yuan and Er Liang could only grievously curl up in the space left.
Er Liang whispered: "In the future I shall also grow big like him."
"Look at this physique, this is what's called a man."
Soon afterwards, Er Liang pinched his nose: "Only, the feet is too smelly."
Lin Yuan opened the windows, saying with difficulty: "It must be difficult for you, how is this simply smelly? This is goddamn smelly, smelly as hell."
Er Liang waved his hand: "You don't have to air the place, originally I smelled it for this long that I nearly can't make it out anymore. The wind blows in and I can now smell it again."
Lin Yuan held his breath: "Don't say anymore. Go fill a basin of water and help this fellow wash his feet. Put some vinegar in the water."
Er Liang went to put on his coat and left with a basin.
Lin Yuan sat at the edge of the bed and looked at the other's feet——the socks were already black in color, but from the edges he could still make out that it was originally white. Lin Yuan sighed, not only did he have to let him stay for a night, they even had to wash his feet for him. How lamentable.
Neither Lin Yuan or Er Liang had any desire to actually manually wash his feet so they just left his feet to soak in the water.
"Does it still smell?" Lin Yuan asked, he felt that his nose was already numb.
Er Liang sniffed carefully, not too sure: "I think so."
They looked at each other but in the end they let it soak for another candle length of time. The water had already cooled before they lifted and dried his feet. Lin Yuan let out a sigh of relief: "Sleep quickly, we must wake early tomorrow."
Er Liang nodded. That night Lin Yuan could not sleep well, his dreams were filled with a giant pair of smelly feet chasing after him to have him sniff at the stinky smell. Lin Yuan shouted loudly in refusal but still could not outrun the other.
After waking up, Lin Yuan felt like he got a new lease on life.
Both in this life, and last life, he had never had such a scary nightmare.
"Young master." Er Liang woke up long before. He brought in a basin of water for Lin Yuan to clean up with.
Lin Yuan was a modern person and knew how much harm coarse salt could do to your teeth if applied directly. So he used water to disperse the salt before rinsing his mouth with it.
Brother Dao was shaken awake by Lin Yuan.
"Who?!" The moment he opened his eyes, brother Dao was alert and aware. He even unconsciously made for his knife. Turning his head to see Lin Yuan, he let out a sigh of relief: "Little brother Lin."
Brother Dao looked around.
Lin Yuan: "This is the place I rented. Yesterday brother Dao and brother Jiang became drunk and as I don't know where you live I brought you over to stay for the night."
Brother Dao: "I have troubled you."
Just as brother Dao prepared to put on his outer clothes and get up, he discovered he could not find his socks.
He looked towards Lin Yuan.
Brother, if I were to steal anything it would be your knife. Who in their right mind would steal a pair of stinky socks?
"Last night was in a rush, little brother prepared a new pair of socks, don't know whether it will fit." Lin Yuan handed over a new pair of socks.
Brother Dao coughed, his slightly tanned face blushed a red that wasn't too obvious: "No problem."
Even he himself thought his feet were smelly, never taking off his shoes when sleeping during the winter.
Once brother Dao was ready they went to eat breakfast together.
Breakfast was meat buns, cabbages, and white porridge.
In these times, this was considered rather rich and sumptuous. Poor families could not afford meat let alone white flour.
A bun that took Lin Yuan two bites to finish but for brother Dao could swallow them whole. After blowing on the porridge twice he directly spilled it down his throat. Lin Yuan watched and felt afraid he might burn his throat.
After eating and drinking his fill, brother Dao let out a loud shout: "Feels great!"
It looked like the daily life of this gang leader was not as good as he thought.
Si Niang and Gou zi also sat at the table.
They did not take any of the meat buns, drinking the white porridge in small cherishing bites, and only taking some cabbages. It was only with a look from Lin Yuan to Er Liang that had two meat buns added to their plate.
Si Niang took a small bite of the meat bun, warm and steamy, the white bun soft and tasty, the meat slightly oily in a good way.
She discreetly wiped the tear from her eye and focused on eating.
"Brother Dao, we can rest a bit before going to look for workers."
Brother Dao nodded, taking a drink from a tea cup, the tea leaves were not fine or expensive but even so the common people could not afford tea.
The reason Lin Yuan was willing to collaborate with brother Dao was because he was a gang leader. Having both powers from the legal and illegal world participating gave him more confidence in the safety of his business.
Otherwise, a youngster from another region like himself, with no background or connections would only lose his business if someone wanted to take a bite out of him.
The illegal side had brother Dao and the legal side had brother Jiang.
Lin Yuan rubbed his chin, thinking that one Jiang Gui was not enough, if only he could have the support of an official with a higher status.
Brother Dao: "Little brother Lin, why did you think of doing business at your young age?"
Lin Yuan said truthfully: "The times are in upheaval so my dad had me come over here to buy some property. If something does happen then the whole family has somewhere to retreat to."
Brother Dao sighed: "That's true, if not for the tumultuous times who is willing to leave their home village for an unfamiliar place and be treated as outsiders and discriminated against."
Lin Yuan heard this and thought that this was a person with a story.
Brother Dao said: "Last year, my guys and I were porters but we could no longer make a living in our old hometown so we arrived at Wu City. As outsiders we were often bullied and looked down upon, and must stick together in order to survive. My village mates trust me so they had me be the leader. I must not fail them."
Lin Yuan agreed.
Brother Dao patted Lin Yuan's shoulder: "Little brother Lin, if you can have my guys eat their full and have warm clothes to wear, even if it is to pierce a hole in the heavens then your brother I, will risk my life to help you."
Lin Yuan began to feel the pressure, straightening his spine: "Definitely, definitely."
Ai~ the pressure of reality, it truly had him feeling pain along with happiness.
AN: Lin Yuan: "Please tell me your story."
Si Niang: "My man died, my two oldest sons died, my life is bitter."
Gou zi: "Dad died, older brothers died, my life is bitter."
Jiang Gui: "I alone must support six people, my life is bitter."
Brother Dao: "My feet smells, my life is bitter."
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 005 To Sway Future Subordinates
Er Liang put a piece of rabbit meat on his rice and added some sauce. He couldn't even bother to talk, so busy stuffing the delicious food in his mouth. He thought as he ate, if young master was here he would definitely be reprimanded.
"Why aren't you both eating?" Er Liang discovered Si Niang and Gou zi only added cabbages to their rice, he said worriedly, "This is not right, how can you gain weight without eating any meat? Young master always complain that I am too skinny."
Er Liang said, pleased with himself, "In the past, only I was picked to be young master's servant boy because I was the fattest of all of them!"
A pity that after eight years old he had slimmed down, ai~
Si Niang chewed the rice in a cherishing manner. In her old home, even when the harvest was plentiful there was no rice as fine as this to eat.
The most was some white rice mixed in with the bran and beans. And that was on the best of days.
She put on a fawning smile: "I don't like to eat meat."
Gou zi also piped up: "I also don't like to eat meat."
Er Liang ate another piece of rabbit meat, thinking it the strangest thing ever: "In this world, other than monks, there are actually people who don't like to eat meat. What a strange thing."
In Er Liang's opinion, there was nothing more delicious than meat in this world.
Si Niang asked in a small voice: "Er Liang, does the young master have any taboos? I am an uneducated person, I'm afraid I won't be able to serve him well."
Er Liang spat out a bone: "My young master has the kindest heart, the heart of a Buddha. Just do what he asks of you, as long as it is part of your responsibilities, anything else you don't need to worry about."
Gou zi swallowed discreetly, looking at the bits of meat still stuck to the bone Er Liang spat out, unwilling to shift his eyes.
Unfortuanately, Er Liang did not catch the look. He only thought that this pair of mother and son were used to not having meat as part of their diet and perhaps as a result couldn't eat meat. So he ate all the meat with a clear conscience.
After finishing, Er Liang let out a rabbit meat scented burp.
"Si Niang, your cooking skills are quite good." Er Liang wiped at the oil on his lips, "generous with the oil, makes it taste better."
Si Niang still now felt a bit dizzy: "Wasted so much oil!"
In her life she had yet to put this much oil in a single dish. That could not be considered pouring oil but pouring money instead.
When she was eating the cabbages she could also taste the oil. Mixed with rice it was unspeakably tasty.
Er Liang waved his hand: "As long as you do the work well for young master, young master will treat you well!"
He thought to himself, once young master's soybean oil was extracted, even drinking oil like water was possible.
"Oh right, I bought a roll of cloth, it's for you to make clothes for yourself and Gou zi." Er Liang said, "it's young master's orders."
Si Niang gaped, saying frantically: "We, we do not deserve….."
Young master gave them shelter, a bed with blankets and food to eat. Compared to life at her old home where she lived in a grass hut that leaked on rainy days, the life now was much better. And not only that but also receiving new clothes!
In farming families only men received new clothes. Only once they were worn old would the woman patch them up and wear them instead. Once the clothes were too ripped would the woman change them into smaller sizes and give them to the children.
Since birth she had never once worn new clothes. They had always belonged to someone else first.
"There's no need for new clothes." Si Niang said, followed by tears falling down. She often could not eat fully as the food must prioritize her husband and children first. Instead, she drank water to stave the hunger and on their way here relied on tree bark and grass roots as sustenance.
She was as thin as a skeleton, skin weather-beaten and stretched thin, arms resembling the bare branches of trees. Her tears had none of the charms of raindrops on a pear blossom or tears on the face of a beauty. It only made people feel sad.
Gou zi also said: "Brother Er Liang, my mama and I we don't want any new clothes."
Er Liang looked surprised: "You aren't cold?"
Unlike them, Er Liang was a family servant, his parents having been the servants of the Lin family before he was born. They had no private property——they lived in the Lin family house, wore Lin family clothes. Their entire life from birth to death was spent at the Lin family. In the hearts of these family servants, they were members of the Lin family.
Therefore, whatever the master gave them they would not have any qualms of receiving or think that they didn't deserve it.
So Er Liang could not understand the feelings of this pair of mother and son.
Gou zi pulled the collar of his shirt and showed Er Liang the dry hay stuffed within, saying proudly: "I rubbed and stuffed them myself, it's very warm."
Er Liang reached out a hand to touch it. The hay had been rubbed and softened, not prickly as expected, and because it was close to the skin it was warm just as Gou zi claimed.
"I've never tried this before!" Er Liang looked interested, "later, help me to also make some hay stuffing."
He treated it as a game.
Er Liang slept in the same bed as Lin Yuan. Since the space was not big he couldn't have Er Liang make his bed on the floor.
Er Liang was still a child with a small stature and didn't take up much room. And besides two people sleeping was warmer.
"I should go buy a tangpozi (TN: basically a hot water bottle put in the sheets to warm the bed) for young master." Er Liang thought he was not attentive enough, feeling guilty, "I actually forgot something this important. If my dad hears this he will definitely scold me."
Lin Yuan flopped an arm on top of Er Liang, saying sleepily: "Sleep, your dad is not here."
Er Liang mumbled some more but Lin Yuan did not catch it, having fallen into sleep.
Early the next morning, Si Niang finished preparing breakfast——steamed rolls, fried breadsticks, and even bought soy milk at the tofu shops. Gou zi also woke up early and began sweeping the yard.
Si Niang still felt anxious, she felt that cooking was too light work.
After eating breakfast, Lin Yuan had Er Liang stay to watch the house, going out himself to reserve a restuarant booth. The house still lacked people, specifically strong and physically intimidating people to scare away crooks.
If only the original owner's nanny brother was still here. That muscular body was practically a human weapon.
The hunter he met awhile ago was also good, it's too bad he wasn't interested in temporary work much less permanent work of being a doorman/bodyguard.
With the booth reserved, Lin Yuan visited Jiang Gui's house. The place Jiang Gui rented was even smaller than Lin Yuan's but not only was Jiang Gui and his wife and child living there but also his parents and parents-in-law.
After finding out that his parents-in-law also lived with Jiang Gui and his family, Lin Yuan could not help but sigh. Although Jiang Gui was far from a gentleman, he also could not be considered a bad man.
His parents-in-law grew older in age but their own sons were reluctant to support their living. Their daughter, wife of Jiang Gui was part of another family since marriage and did not dare to speak of looking after her elderly parents. Jiang Gui noticed his wife secretly crying several times and as a result made the decision to bring them over to his house and be responsible for their care.
He was only one person but he must support six people not counting himself. Lin Yuan truly thought Jiang Gui could be considered a good and courageous man.
"Uncle Jiang, I am a friend of brother Jiang here to send something over." Lin Yuan called from outside the door.
The door unlocking could be heard on the other side and an old man wearing a cotton coat appeared: "What is it?"
Lin Yuan handed over a message card: "I forgot yesterday, I must trouble brother Jiang to send this invitation to brother Dao."
The old man could not read. Squinting his eyes at the card he only felt dizzy. He nodded his head: "Fine, you can be going now."
Lin Yuan: "Great, then I will be leaving first, uncle Jiang."
Uncle Jiang waved his hand expressing his understanding.
Lunch was eaten at home. Si Niang cherished her current situation so despite her cooking skills being average at least she was generous with oil and salt which tasted better than the food from the food stalls outside.
Lin Yuan took a nap after lunch and then left again by himself to walk around the city.
20 workers was not enough but Lin Yuan had his own plans.
Was that brother Dao fellow trustworthy? What were his subordinates like? Lin Yuan was completely in the dark so he gave Jiang Gui a percentage of future earnings. With shared interests Jiang Gui would treat the issue seriously. After seeing just how much money soybean oil could make he would be completely on his side.
And with the ten percent of earnings there was no need to worry about betrayal.
They were now on the same boat so no matter whether it was keeping from being registered as part of the merchant class or operating the business, Jiang Gui must take part.
Money could shake a person's will, especially in Jiang Gui's case with a big family to feed.
From now on they were grasshoppers on the same string.
Only with intertwined interests could Lin Yuan cease his worries. He had been part of workplace scheming for too long and had no belief in brotherhood or friends. Only connections made through interests and benefits were unbreakable.
Therefore, towards these 20 people, Lin Yuan planned to give them managerial duties on top of their own work.
These people had experience mingling among the underworld so with them present, the rest would not dare make any trouble.
As for himself, all he needed to do was to gain the support of the gang leader, brother Dao.
How? Easy. Share another ten percent of the earnings.
If everyone bound themselves in shared interests, then everyone would feel at ease.
Lin Yuan waited early at the reserved booth, wearing a plain cotton shirt as he observed the restaurant's customers. The business looked to be doing well with the crowds and flittering waiters.
He could also see the manager doing calculations with an abacus, almost frantic at the busy pace.
Lin Yuan's booth was on the second floor with a view of downstairs so he soon saw Jiang Gui with a muscular man at his side.
The muscular man was only wearing a thin shirt in the winter cold, his hair messy. Even still, he appeared to resemble a knight-errant of jianghu, free and untamed. On his waist hung a small sheathed knife, likely the most valuable thing he owned.
Lin Yuan waved his hand: "Brother Jiang, over here!"
Jiang Gui also hollered: "Coming up!"
Brother Dao had a bigger pace so he arrived first. Lin Yuan's first impression could be considered quite good. He had a pair of eagle eyes, sharp dark brows, straight nose and sharply defined lips. Though he was a gang leader he had an air of righteousness.
If one was to just look at his outer appearance, then it would be easy to become trustful of him.
"Brother Dao." Lin Yuan cupped his hands in greeting, "this little brother's name is Lin Yuan."
Brother Dao retuned the greeting: "Just call me brother Dao."
It seemed he was unwilling to reveal his true name.
Jiang Gui said: "What are you all standing for? Come sit quickly, we three brothers should drink alcohol and eat meat while we discuss important issues."
Lin Yuan was deeply familiar with swaying people in his favor. Before, when facing clients it was talk about this and that, now facing Jiang Gui and brother Dao it was even easier.
"Brother Jiang, sit." Lin Yuan poured their cups with wine and said with a smile, "first let's talk about my business."
Jiang Gui and brother Dao looked at him in askance, wasn't this about hiring?
Lin Yuan spoke confidently, as if he had a card up his sleeve, thinking privately: if I don't display a big piece of cake, how would I be able to attract any people?
AN: Lin Yuan: "It has always been me who takes advantage of others."
Jiang Gui/brother Dao: "….."
TN: Comments and thoughts appreciated 🙂
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 004 Fate? There's No Fate!
A thing like soybeans, the actual bean could be cooked with rice and made into tofu. The soybean leaves could also be cooked as a vegetable dish. It was a necessary part of the the regular labor worker's diet. But soybeans were cheap and didn't taste that well. People who ate tofu numbered no small amount but as the saying went, life's three bitter professions: boat rowing, metal forging, and tofu selling. There were only four tofu shops in the entire of Wu City.
Lin Yuan grabbed a handful of beans that weren't particularly plump but at least they weren't shriveled either.
"Young master." Er Liang was not feeling confident, "I do hear of extracting oil from soybeans but if it was truly that profitable a business it would have long been occupied wouldn't it?"
Lin Yuan gave Er Liang a slap on the back of the head, not heavy but light and almost playful. He threw a few beans into his mouth and then looked towards the vendor: "How much do you have? I'll take it all."
The vendor did not expect such a big customer, immediately saying: "We still have 300 stones more! It's all this year's harvest, fresh!"
300 stones was equal to 3000 pounds, Lin Yuan nodded: "Cart them to the farmstead outside the city's north gate. Is three days enough?"
Vendor: "Definitely!"
One oral agreement later and Lin Yuan had the materials for oil extraction.
One pound for five coins, 3000 pounds of soybeans worth 300 guan or 30 taels.
These days, farming was not easy.
Lin Yuan sighed. A passerby laughed at him: "30 taels is enough for the vendor and his family to eat his fill for several years. You buy that much, if you went to the tofu shop it would have cost half as much."
Lin Yuan turned his head and saw a man dressed in rough clothes, his muscles filling them to the seams. In his hand was a live rabbit abd his shoes were made of fur. Most likely a hunter.
"A fool with too much money." The hunter grinned.
Lin Yuan also smiled: "He needs to cart the beans which require renting a donkey cart, one tael is likely not enough. People must make a profit, making a living is not easy. 300 stones is likely gathered from an entire village's supply."
The hunter paused, obviously having not thought of that. He saw Lin Yuan's young age and assumed him to be a naive fool when in actuality he had his own calculations. He smiled: "I am in the wrong, little fellow, you have a good heart."
Lin Yuan flapped his hand. Looking at the live rabbit he couldn't hep but feel hungry. He arrived in this time period for this long, but the only meat he had was pig meat. These days not a lot of people ate pig meat because of the strong smell. Not to mention, in order to raise a pig fully grown it took two to three years.
Wealthy people disliked its foul smell and were unwilling to eat it. Poor people could not afford to eat it and neither did they have the time and means to raise it either.
One bite of pig meat was enough to put you off.
But other than pig meat there was only mutton. Although the smell was different but equally overpowering.
Large scale cultivating of pigs actually started during the Ming dynasty.
The pigs of now were small in size with not much flesh, completely different from the fat white pigs of modern times, every one of them black as charcoal.
He reckoned Zhu Bajie (TN: character from Journey to the West) was also a black pig.
"Big brother, how much is this rabbit?" Not only was Lin Yuan craving meat Er Liang was as well. But Er Liang didn't dare to speak, only staring at the rabbit and swallowing profusely.
Lin Yuan only just rented a farmstead for his oil extraction business at 500 coins a month, cheap because of its deserted location. He was quite aware of the need to save, master and servant only eating noodles to fill their bellies.
Today also happened to be the day they would be picking up the pair of mother and son back to their temporary dwelling. They could cook a plate of rabbit meat for dinner.
Lin Yuan's drool was practically visible.
The hunter held the rabbit by the ears, its limbs still moving wanting to escape. He said: "I normally sell to neighbors, most is 30 coins for one. This one is quite fat, I'll sell for 35 coins."
Lin Yuan: "Deal!"
Saying so he made to pay.
With the exchange finished, Lin Yuan asked the hunter: "Big brother, nowadays is it good for business?"
The hunter shook his head, eyebrows drawn: "There's not much prey in the mountains now. Yesterday I spent the whole day in the mountains and only captured this one rabbit."
Lin Yuan: "Why not change to a different type of livelihood?"
The hunter sighed: "I only have physical strength, don't recognize words, and a clumsy mouth. Find another livelihood, the most is be an unskilled labor worker."
The city's unskilled labor work was paid by day, a day's worth of hard physical labor was worth 3 to 4 coins, just enough for a grown man to buy coarse grains to fill his stomach.
"Why, big brother, our meeting is fate. I have a job in need of workers." Lin Yuan immediately advertised his oil plant, "Every month is paid 200 coins. If done well I can even give bonuses."
The hunter looked bewildered: "What is a bonus?"
Lin Yuan: "It means if I make more than expected, I'll share the profits with workers."
The hunter understood: "We are barely more than strangers….."
Lin Yuan: "If there is fate then even thousands of miles cannot stop our meeting!"
Just look at this muscular physique, this kind of fellow was best for physical work!
The hunter also noticed that the young person in front of him had been looking at his chest profusely. Looking down he discovered that his chest muscles were very obvious. Looking up once again at Lin Yuan, a strange expression couldn't help but to cross over his face. He had heard that there were some rich young masters with peculiar interests such as finding strong able-bodied men like him to be bedmates.
But this was something he had heard from a fellow villager who told this to him as a joke.
The hunter's facial expression became increasingly strange: ".….Fate? There's no fate!"
Saying so, he left in a hurry as if a feral dog was chasing after him.
Lin Yuan looked after the other's disappearing figure, looking confused: "He is that unwilling to do temporary work?"
It looked like this person was likely one who was used to freedom.
Er Liang carried the rabbit in one hand, his brain overtaken with the 18 ways to eat a rabbit, completely unaware of his young master's bewilderment.
The mother and son beggars passed these three days in a rare state of normalcy. Though they were only sleeping in a broken down temple but at least there was a roof which was better than sleeping on the streets. With the 10 coins, everyday they were able to buy bean curd cakes to eat. The ragged cotten blanket also protected them somewhat from the cold——even during the best of days they had never once used a cotten blanket before, worn and dirty though it was.
Only the wealthy could afford it!
When Lin Yuan came to pick them up, he discovered that the woman and boy both cleaned up somewhat though their clothes were still dirty with the lack of proper conditions to wash and change.
"Quick, kowtow to the master." The woman pulled the boy along, both kneeling down.
Lin Yuan: "Get up, don't kneel anymore."
The woman then anxiously pulled her son along as she stood up again.
On the way back, Lin Yuan asked her: "Your son is called Gou zi (TN: literally doggy), what is your name?"
The woman had no proper name, only a nickname. In her family she was the fourth child so before marriage everyone called her Si Ya (TN: literally translates to fourth girl). After marriage she was called wife of Tie Tou.
Lin Yuan: "I'll call you Si Niang (TN: literally fourth mother)." Si Niang agreed immediately.
"Everything is ready and prepared so you settle down first and then roast this rabbit for dinner." Lin Yuan instructed, "don't be unwilling to put oil."
The oil he bought was sesame oil, 30 coins per bottle, even more expensive than meat.
No wonder the common people couldn't afford it.
"The both of you will be staying in the second bedroom." They entered the house, "if you lack anything just speak with Er Liang."
After entering the second bedroom, both Si Niang and Gou zi remained stunned in place. The room was furnished with a table, two chairs, a bed, and a dresser. The bed was already made, the mattress stuffed with dry hay but the blanket was cotten, secondhand but it was enough.
"Mama." Gou zi didn't dare to sit in the chairs, aware that his clothes were dirty so he squatted on the floor, looking around, "It's like being in a dream."
Si Niang was no better off. She touched the blanket, then the mattress, large tears falling down: "Gou zi, we stumbled upon a living Buddha."
"Living Buddha" Lin Yuan was currently worrying over how to find workers. Should he just go advertise on the street?
When hiring, if the person's moral quality was lacking and brought trouble, what should he do?
Thus, with a headache Lin Yuan had Er Liang go invite Jiang Gui over just before dinner. He also had Gou zi go buy two taels worth of rice wine.
As for Si Niang she was busy at the stove. In her old home she had to farm, take care of children, cook, and do chores. Cooking was an essential skill so it posed no difficulty for her. Only on the matter of putting oil had her feeling distressed.
Such good quality oil. Back in her old home, two small bottles of oil lasted an entire year for her family of five. When harvest was bad, oil was not even used to cook their meals.
Jiang Gui did not come empty handed, since hearing from Er Liang that they would be having rabbit meat he even specially brought over a pot of squash soup.
"There's no need for brother Jiang to be this courteous." Lin Yuan welcomed him with a wide smile.
Jiang Gui could already smell the delicious scents, his craving increased but he pretended to be nonchalant: "Give and take, this priniciple I do understand."
Lin Yuan and Jiang Gui ate in the main room while Er Liang and the rest ate in the second bedroom. Though only two chairs, at least the table was short enough for one to squat on the floor and still be able to reach it.
Lin Yuan introduced his idea for oil extraction to Jiang Gui: "This is what I am thinking, I am unfamiliar with this area and need brother Jiang to look out for me. I can give you a ten percent of the earnings."
No need to do anything? Money for free?
Jiang Gui put down the chopsticks: "Little brother Lin, you are looking down on Gege (TN: a close way of saying brother). I am not someone who likes to take advantage of others. If you need my help I won't be courteous with you on payment but if you don't then I won't take a cent."
"Gege sees matters clearly." Lin Yuan filled the other's cup with wine, "the matter of hiring, I must trouble Gege with."
Now Jiang Gui understood, Lin Yuan was after all from another region and unfamiliar with the people of Wu City. The gains would not make up the losses of hiring a troublemaker.
"This I can do." Jiang Gui said, "how many people do you want?"
Lin Yuan: "20 for now, strong and healthy would be preferred since it is all physical work."
Jiang Gui chuckled: "How about the gang leader I mentioned before. His subordinates are all strong and muscular. And with their leader there to manage them there won't be a problem."
Lin Yuan: "..…I thought they were debt collectors?"
Jiang Gui waved his hand: "Ai~, it's not like there's debt to collect everyday. It alone is not enough to feed all of them and their families."
It looked like the underworld of ancient times need to take side jobs. Life was truly not easy.
"Then that's fine. Brother, we can set a time to have a chat with the gang leader." Lin Yuan said, "To prevent him from thinking this is a joke we can discuss the payment in person as well."
"That's true, that gang leader is also called brother Dao (TN: literally brother knife). He has a bad temper but also a very straightforward character. Then let's meet up tomorrow evening at a restaurant booth."
Both Lin Yuan and Jiang Gui, this pair of fake brothers, finished eating and drinking, both in a merry mood.
Lin Yuan's thoughts were on having finally found workers.
Jiang Gui's thoughts were on not only having done favors for both sides but also receiving a portion of the earnings. Nothing could be better.
As for soybean oil being successful or not, he didn't care too much.
In any case he had no losses to worry about.
When leaving, Jiang Gui was still thinking, why couldn't he meet more people like little brother Lin, a fool with too much money and a soft heart?
AN: Hunter: "This person's eyes have a wicked glint! He must be coveting my body!
Lin Yuan: "Excuse me?" (Original is also in English xD)
Jiang Gui: "A wealthy fool with a soft heart. A treasure of Wu City."
Lin Yuan: "My rule is to not dig a hole for people I've only just met."
On the verge of stepping into a hole Jiang Gui: "…"
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 003 Par Excellence
The business of selling and buying land fell under the jurisdiction of the regional governments. But in actuality the higher ups weren't personally in charge of such small matters. Instead, it was managed by their subordinates who were minor officials. These minor officials were literate but had not read and studied any texts of sages and scholars. Their salary was low so they made extra to fill their wallets through exploitation of the common people.
Buying land costed 100 taels with an extra 10 taels used to bribe the minor official in charge.
This minor official was an ethnic Han Chinese and spoke in Chinese as well. Although accented by southern dialects, Lin Yuan was still able to understand.
"That stretch of land is good." The minor official known as Jiang Gui, twitched his lips, "although it is uncultivated land but it is fertile. Since you genuinely want to do this business I recommend the best for you."
Lin Yuan was extremely quickwitted and flexible, handing the minor official a banknote worth 100 coins: "Is there any landlord families nearby?"
Jiang Gui saw that Lin Yuan took the hint so his attitude became even better. In addition to Lin Yuan's fairly young age and smiling face, his tone became friendlier in response: "I notice your young age so I selected land that is farther away from those families. Still, make sure to be careful and don't get involved with quarrels."
"But the weather is currently cold, if you want to build a house I'm afraid you'll have to wait until early spring otherwise the foundation won't be deep enough." Jiang Gui, "I normally don't say this much to others but I see that you are not only young but also a straightforward fellow."
Lin Yuan cupped his hands in thanks: "Thank you, da ren (form of address for officials and aristocracy)."
Jiang Gui flapped his hand: "I'm just a minor official, not deserving of being called such. Just call me brother Jiang. If you have any questions you can come find me at Tong Luo Alley, third house."
Lin Yuan readily accepted: "I dare not bother brother Jiang."
"Where are you currently staying?" Jiang Gui received ten silver taels and 100 copper coins worth of bribe so his mood was currently great. His monthly salary was only one guan but his interests included alcohol and meat which were rather expensive to indulge in daily. A pound of pig meat cost 20 coins, not to mention alcohol. These ten taels were enough for him to indulge for two to three months.
Lin Yuan: "I'm currently staying at the Lai Ke Inn in the northern part of the city."
Jiang Gui said thoughtfully: "How about this, I have a neighbor who moved to Jiangnan just last year leaving only an old servant to watch the house. I'll speak to his relative and you can rent it for a fee per month?"
Lin Yuan hesitated: "I just bought land, not much is left…"
"You call me brother, how could I cheat you?" Jiang Gui flapped his hand, "Monthly rent two guan, if it's fine then go ahead. Besides there's only three months till early spring."
Two guan was indeed not a lot. Lin Yuan, during the past few days, had inspected the price of living in Wu City. The price of two guan might be high for other places but Tong Luo Alley was a busy street with a lot of businesses. Living there would be very convenient in terms of buying necessities.
"Then many thanks to brother Jiang. When do you think I should move over?"
Jiang Gui: "Today is fine. I have the lease contract so I can take you there in a little while."
After finalizing the agreement, Lin Yuan did not give a tip and Jiang Gui did not ask. He could give it later after seeing the house anyway. As for Jiang Gui, he might be money hungry but he also knew to not cross boundaries so that relations could be maintained.
Servant boy quickly packed their belongings after finding out that Lin Yuan found a temporary dwelling, saying excitedly: "I still need to shop for young master's necessities. Calligraphy and scholarship equipment! I wonder if they provide plates and spittoons? If you ask me, young master should also buy a servant girl since some chores require delicate work."
"Don't I already have one?" Lin Yuan spoke up, "The mother and son from before."
He had the mother and son temporarily stay at the abandoned temple. The ragged blanket was also given to them for use. Once he found a private dwelling he'll then call them over.
The boy could do what he could and the mother could clean the house as well as cook.
Although Lin Yuan was not like the original owner who was waited on by servants since birth, but he grew up in the city and only used gas stoves. The stoves of ancient times he had no idea how to use and servant boy didn't know how to cook.
Lin Yuan was willing to buy them, feed them and clothe them, but he could not have his good deed result in them only taking and not giving. That was not called doing a good deed, that was called inviting your ancestor into your home.
Only when people had work to do, and through hard work earn the means to support living, could people develop a sense of belonging.
"Young master is indeed clever." Servant boy slapped his forehead, "Why didn't I think of it?"
Lin Yuan laughed: "Then you would be the young master."
Although Lin Yuan was outwardly smiling, he was actually a little uncertain. He only had 200 taels, the past few days the cost totaled nearly two taels. And this was under the circumstance of having a strict budget.
Buying land costed 100 taels, bribery costed eleven taels, leaving only 87 taels left. Renting for three months would also deduct his savings to 81 taels.
To build a larger house would cost at least 50 taels.
Tenant farmers could farm the land but it was up to him to provide seeds and tools…..
He must find a source of income, otherwise even if he prepared seeds and tools what would the tenant farmers eat? Farming did not mean instant harvest. You could not expect everyone to live off on nothing?
In these days, business brought in money the fastest but if labeled as part of the merchant class, that would only bring trouble. It was less an issue of not being able to take the civil examinations and more about the heavy taxes. In addition, the merchant class could not travel freely, must carry travel documents, register with the government and a bunch of other annoying matters.
During the Yuan dynasty, being a landowner was the happiest career, second to none.
Zhu Yuanzhang's wife, Ma Bigfeet was born in a landowning family. It was thanks to her landowning father that Ming's founding emperor could raise an army. Otherwise where would the money even come from?
The common people go to work at 7am, a time originally used to describe officials attending morning court sessions with the emperor. It later spread to other types of professions.
Lin Yuan and servant boy finished packing, returned the room key and waited at the front of the government office.
"This house is quite clean. The old servant cleans daily but since you are here to see the place I had him leave for his relatives' place." Jiang Gui pushed the door open, "The entrance to the street has a well, you can get water from there."
Lin Yuan inspected the place with satisfaction. The place wasn't big with just a living room, bedroom, storage room, cellar and an area carted off with a stove for cooking.
The living room was partitioned in two, one side for receiving guests and dining, the other side for sleeping with a bed and other furniture.
The second bedroom was smaller with a bed but not much else.
Lin Yuan paid upfront for three months.
Jiang Gui looked with satisfaction at the money, thinking of the recommendation fee he would get for introducing the place to a customer.
"From now on we are neighbors, find me anytime." Jiang Gui pocketed the money, beaming with sincerity.
Lin Yuan quickly replied: "Brother Jiang, I actually have an issue I need to discuss with you! Come, let's sit and talk. Er Liang, go pour two cups of water."
Servant boy was called Er Liang: "Be right back."
Jiang Gui sat down, puzzled: "What is it?"
Lin Yuan's manner was very polite: "Brother Jiang must know, I don't have much left in my wallet. And in early spring I must build a house, too many things need to be bought but I have no source of income."
Jiang Gui heard this and sighed: "You ask the wrong person. If I had any ideas would I still be taking side jobs?"
"Isn't there a saying the strong dragon cannot overcome the regional snake?" Lin Yuan laid on the flattery, "Although civilians believe that upper officials are in charge but I am clear that the true managers are minor officials like brother Jiang. Is it not true the upper officials don't know the hardships of the people and must rely on you to deal with the common people?"
Jiang Gui felt the truth in this reasoning: "Cannot describe it like that, especially in public. We still work under the big officials."
Lin Yuan: "Here it's only us two, what can not be said? Little brother is speaking from the heart, nothing perfunctory about it."
Jiang Gui: "I won't hide it from you, I have been a minor official for many years. Compared with me, even those hoity toity upper officials have seen less types of people than me. There are some paying work I know of, if you dare."
Lin Yuan climbed the ladder offered: "Brother Jiang please give me directions."
Jiang Gui suddenly said seriously: "Can't be regarded as directions. Do you know of the city's gambling parlor? Know anything of usury?"
Of course Lin Yuan knew. High interest loans.
"Brother Jiang." Lin Yuan pretended to hesitate, "The current times are not prosperous, giving out loans, can they even be collected?"
Jiang Gui blinked his eyes at Lin Yuan: "If you trust me then I'll lend you a hand. In the southern part of the city there's a gang leader specializing in helping people collect debts. His subordinates are all capable, most are fierce fighters who have seen blood."
This Jiang Gui fellow, was practically a player of both the legal world and the underworld, if he was living in the modern times he would be one of the big fishes!
He even knew to bring their relationahip closer, helping him with some small issue while receiving benefits at the same time. If this person was still alive when war broke out, it was quite possible he could make something of himself.
Lin Yuan: "Brother Jiang, let me consider. If you pressure too much, I'm afraid that those gamblers would get violent. Look at me, I only have a servant boy as back up. I am timid and afraid of dying!"
Jiang Gui laughed out loud: "Little brother Lin, only the daring are full to the point of bursting while the timid starves! Consider some more, if you want to participate look for me. I need to get back now, my woman has cooked dinner and is waiting for me."
Lin Yuan saw Jiang Gui out the door, making plans to kep in contact.
After Jiang Gui left, servant boy Er Liang appeared hauling a pail of water.
Lin Yuan only just realized that there was no water in the house, or a pot to boil water in…..
It was winter, what work would bring in money? Being a loan shark was out of the question, it went against the virtues he developed living in the modern times. Though he knew there were huge profits in it but Lin Yuan reluctantly gave up the choice.
Lin Yuan suddenly asked: "Er Liang, if you had some money in your pocket, what would you spend it on?"
Er Liang was currently wiping the desk. He felt the old servant did not do a thorough enough job of cleaning. In response to Lin Yuan's question he answered thoughtlessly: "Buy meat to eat, fat meat."
Lin Yuan's eyes lit up!
Alright!
He had found his goal.
Ancient people lacked oil. At this point, there were no place specializing in raising pigs nor was there pig feed so pig oil was used up fast. Although vegetable oil began being used during Song dynasty it had always been sesame oil that was par excellence.
At that time, the method for producing oil did not work as well with soybeans as with sesame. Only until a new method was introduced was soybeans preferred over sesame.
Currently, animal oil was too expensive and the price for sesame oil was also on the rise.
Lin Yuan: "Is soybean expensive?"
Er Liang had been in the marketplace: "Five coins per pound, cheap."
Alrighty, soybeans it was.
Lin Yuan thought confidentally. Watch me earn heaps and piles. As for being registered as a merchant class, wasn't there Jiang Gui the regional snake?
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 002 Good People have Good Fortune
While the servant boy left for the bank to exchange money, Lin Yuan stayed at the abandoned temple to pack up their belongings. Actually, there wasn't much to pack but he had nothing better to do.
His body was currently weak as when he first arrived in this body was when the fever was at its highest. The original owner could not presevere till the end, passing away. So when he occupied the body he had no choice but to continue to fight against the fever in the original owner's place. Although he endured in the end, the surroundings and his situation was simply too harsh and hardly good for expediting his recovery.
Lin Yuan actually felt quite glad this was the Yuan dynasty where cotton garments were already available otherwise he and his servant wouldn't have presevered until finding this abandoned temple and instead freeze to death on the way.
"Young master!" Servant boy had run back to their temporary shelter. He even redeemed their cotton coats at the pawn shop.
After putting back on his cotton coat Lin Yuan finally dared to leave the ragged cotton blanket. They had been sleeping on the floor the past week and the blanket was already extremely dirty. It was only him and the servant boy, not even beggars were willing to stay in the abandoned temple, broken down as it was, it did not protect against the bitter cold winds. Thankfully, they could now leave the place and stay at an inn instead. Once he fully recovered, Lin Yuan planned to buy the most suitable property.
200 taels was no small amount, the average three member family's yearly budget was only two taels and that was already considered well off.
To tell the truth, Lin Yuan felt lucky not to have arrived at the beginning of Yuan dynasty. That period was hell. Yuan dynasty officials at the time were completely illiterate, having just conquered center China on horseback. They had no knowledge of governance, ten year old children were able to receive governmental posts. As a result, minor officials were left to their own devices and corruption became rampant.
Although the current time period was also difficult, but in comparison to the earlier years of Yuan, so much better off.
"I already asked around, there is an inn located in the northern part of the city, said to be the cleanest." The servant boy supported Lin Yuan as they walked, "the top rooms are 200 coins."
Lin Yuan shook his head: "Not the top rooms, how much are the lower rooms?"
Servant boy: "80 coins."
Lin Yuan: "Then one lower room, we can share."
In any case, the past week was much of the same, sharing a living space despite the crampness.
The small city they were currently in was called Wu City, rather close to Jiangnan. Lin Yuan made plans to buy his property in the area after fully recovering his health. Jiangnan was off limits though, with it being the location of where Chen Youliang, Zhang Shicheng and Fang Guozhen were gathering their power. Jiangnan was the epicenter of many battles and for a small fish like him it's better to stay away.
The inn's lower rooms weren't very big but at least quite clean. The waiter even brought in a pail of water for them to clean up with. Lin Yuan ordered meal for two and tipped the waiter in return for his help buying two new change of clothes for them.
"Leave it to me." The waiter left smiling, the errand left some space for him to make a small profit, not a lot but it was still something.
Their meal arrived in a timely fashion, a plate of greens and a plate of meat, both used pig oil to cook. Tasty enough but they must eat quickly, otherwise once it cooled the food would become oily lumps.
Though only two plates, the amount was more than sufficient. With a side of rice Lin Yuan only stopped when completely stuffed.
Servant boy went to buy some medicinal herbs for the inn to cook. Though illness comes upon you fast and furious as a landslide and leaves as slow as spinning silk, but with the proper necessities of warmth and food Lin Yuan recovered quite quickly, taking only three days at most.
Wu City could not be considered large, its population only around 10 or 20 thousand. Street vendors were not a lot either, understandable with the weather cold as it was. Although he glimpsed manual labor workers and beggars on the street, shivering in the cold winds.
Whether they could make it past the winter was unknown.
"Customer, have a bowl of jellied tofu! Hot and steamy! Warm your stomach!"
"Customer, our flat cakes are known to be the tastiest in Wu City, have a try."
The vendors with pasted on smiles, their cheeks chilled red but still continued hawking their wares.
Lin Yuan walked with servant boy, looking rather out of place amidst the poor civilians around them. After all, the original owner was born into a landowner family and since birth never experienced poverty or harshness. And it was only during the earlier years when learning to read and write had he experienced any toil. His normal everyday life was staying indoors unsubjected to the sun rays or harsh wind, thus growing up into the appearance of a wealthy young master.
As for servant boy, despite his servant origins, in actuality he began to serve at Lin Yuan's side since the age of seven. Daily chores only included taking care of the young master's needs. He never lacked for food and warm clothing and even recognized some words. Compared to some children of commoner families his situation was much better.
Their appearance on the street was practically as obvious as carrying a sign labeled with the words "wealthy people."
"Young master!"
Lin Yuan only just passed a block when his leg was gripped by a woman in rags. There was much to be said for her appearance, extremely dirty and smelly, hair covered in oil and dirt, and if looked closely the presence of lice could be seen. One hand gripping Lin Yuan's leg, the other pulled a child forward.
"Young master!" The woman cried, "Please buy him, buy him, for free!"
"He is very capable! Will do all the work for you! He is strong!"
Saying so, she began to kowtow, so thorough and not the least bit of pretense that Lin Yuan could hear the dull thuds of her forehead hitting the ground, hard enough that blood seeped out. All the while crying: "Young master, buy him, buy him!"
The child, seeing his mother kneeling, followed as well, including kowtowing.
Eight year old children were already aware of the world. His family had been tenant farmers, last year his dad made a mistake so the landowner took back the land alloted to his family. His dad had also been beaten to death. His mother escaped with him and his two older brothers. Unfortunately, they died on the way, one fron hunger, the other beaten to death for stealing from other villagers.
He and his mother roamed as vagrants, finally arriving to this small city. They no longer had the strength to continue, becoming this city's beggars instead. But his mother's health deteriorated over time and the food he managed to beg for was only able to sustain their life, not enough to abstain from hunger pains.
Originally, there had been an owner of a food store who would give them something to eat, but the store was now closed and their last hope was gone.
Last night his mother told him: "Be good, mama is going to sell you to a good family, you'll be able to eat your fill."
He asked: "Mama also, we can eat our fill together."
His mother only smiled.
She was already this old and had given birth to three children. She was all rough hands and feet with no beauty to speak of. Wealthy families might buy home an eight year old child, but it was unlikely they would buy home an old female beggar not long for the world. She thought back to the time when she still had a home. Her husband was an honest man always ready to use his strength to finish work. Her oldest son resembled her husband, clumsy mouthed but the most obedient child. Her middle son was a little cleverer, always saying that when he grew older he would go do business in the city and take the whole family to live there and have a better life.
A family, gone in an instant.
If not for her youngest son, she didn't believe she could have endured this long. During the most bitter period, she even thought of committing suicide with her son. Take a piece rock, first smash her son to death, and then end her own life by colliding with a hard surface.
But looking at the eyes of her young son, she could not bear it, the only choice was to wipe away the tears and continue on.
"Stop! No more!" Lin Yuan tried to block a few times, without success.
Only then did the woman and child stopped. With a forehead dripping with blood, the woman's eyes were full of despair: "Young master, he truly has strength, can do work, he doesn't need money, I sell him to you, sign a slavery contract, you have him do whatever you want, young master, please buy him young master!"
She was not pleading with Lin Yuan to buy her son, she was pleading with him to give her son an opportunity to survive.
"Stand up first." Lin Yuan put a hand to his temple, saying with a building headache, "stand and talk."
The woman's knees had frozen stiff, still she struggled to stand. The boy also stood at her side, not daring to look up at Lin Yuan.
Lin Yuan asked: "What can you do?"
The woman's eyes lit up, she immediately replied: "Gou zi can herd cows! Can farm the land! Can do heavy manual labor!"
Lin Yuan asked again: "Is he literate?"
The woman's shoulders slumped: "Not, not literate….."
Lin Yuan honestly wanted to be a good person, but in his previous life he never had the chance. After college graduation, he entered a company of medium size that was full of fighting and scheming behind smiles. His earlier days were hard, as being a newbie and the bottom of the ladder he had to do a lot of work for his senior coworkers on top of his own responsibilities.
Do the work well, his coworker and superior get praised and recieve bonus.
Do the work bad, only he was criticized and had his wage lowered.
He thought of changing jobs, but he could not find any better position. His college specialization was originally unpopular, his only choice was to stay.
So he found an opportunity, when helping his senior gather data he specially inserted mistaken numbers and only listed his senior's name. Later when discovered by the higher ups, senior wanted to shift the blame to him but because the company had always been familiar with the senior bullying him at work and his own resigned facade, no one believed the truth and the senior was fired.
As for the superior, he first got him drunk and then used his cell phone to text the boss of a competing company of the business secrets of the project he was working on, leading to his downfall as well.
As for himself, he was promoted from just a regular worker to the head of a department.
In the workplace, Lin Yuan was like a fish in the water, winning over the support of subordinates, currying favor with the boss, and defeating his rivals. All of this could not be considered the actions of a good man. Even Lin Yuan thought that if he was a good man he would not be willing to be friends with someone like himself.
"Do you know how to farm?" Lin Yuan asked the woman.
The woman looked bewildered, but her son replied immediately: "Young master, my mama knows, she can farm! Please buy my mama as well!"
"Only meals! No money! Young master! We'll work for you as hard as cows and horses!"
"Alright." Lin Yuan signaled servant boy to take out ten coins, "Go buy something to eat. Three days later at noon wait for me here."
Both woman and child knelt down again.
"Thank you young master, thank you young master."
Servant boy was already used to his young master's kindness so the only thing he was curious about was: "Young master, why give them ten coins, what if they don't come? Wouldn't we then lose out."
Lin Yuan: "If they don't come, then just think of the money as given to charity."
After all, the first step after owning property was to hire more workers. He and servant boy were only two people which was hardly enough. Once ancient people signed slave contracts they would belong to the master, unable to leave so there was no need to worry about any lack of obedience.
In addition, he hoped to accumulate good fortune for the original owner through virtuous deeds so that he could be reborn in the peace of modern times and become a good person.
This was just for his own peace of mind and conscience.
TN: Comments are appreciated! 😉 It's a little slow in terms of plot building but I promise it gets exciting further along as Lin Yuan fully steps onto the path of establishing an empire!
Back To The Beginning Of Ming To Do Charity CH 001 To Survive
"Young master." The round-nose boy servant held up a chipped bowl, tears and snot covering his face, shirt ridden with dirt and fingers red with the cold. He spoke in hiccuping sobs, "couldn't, couldn't get any, hic, no one would give me, hic…"
Lin Yuan could see the little guy was about to cry himself sick, quickly saying: "Come sit, quickly."
Saying so, Lin Yuan lifted up an edge of the ragged blanket wrapped around him to admit the boy into its folds. The abandoned temple did not protect against the wind and cold, master and servant could only rely on the single ragged blanket to keep warm.
It had been a week since he first arrived. The entire week's duration he hardly moved, not for a lack of trying.
The original owner of his new body was the son of a northern landowner who owned quite a lot of land and businesses. As a result, he was unable to leave easily and instead had his only son travel to the south in his place to start a business, buy a farmstead and some land. In the future, if the northern political situation worsened, the entire family would still have a place to retreat to and backup funds to start over.
However, the old landowner could not have expected to miscalculate so badly. His only son and heir was a naive idiot.
Truly a naive idiot, leaving with only a servant boy and a carriage driver. And even saying to his dad, taking more people would only create a larger target. Not only that, he convinced his dad that the north was not peaceful currently and thus required more people to stay and protect his family and their assets.
Original owner had read and studied quite a lot, a pile of books by sages. His dad was completely convinced when he heard that these were justifications spoken by sages. What was left to do but listen?
As a result, the original owner stepped onto a road of misfortune.
The boy servant was only twelve, master and servant also lived in a sheltered environment since young. Every step on the road to the south was accompanied by the emptying of their wallets.
Original owner could not refuse beggars on the side of the road but his actions only turned them into targets.
The carriage driver had a strong physique and was willing to stay behind and hinder the hoodlums, in the end alive or dead no one knew.
When Lin Yuan arrived in this body and time, original owner was already robbed of all his wealth. Because of guilt and regret, in addition to the cold weather and lack of proper shelter, he came down with a fever.
Cold and fever during ancient times were common causes of death, not to mention in combination with lack of healer service and medicine. Therefore, original owner easily passed away.
Lin Yuan couldn't help but sigh, the original owner was also just a boy of only fourteen. The life expectancy during ancient times was short, the common boy of twelve was already considered a fully grown adult and ready for marriage. A fourteen year old child with a kind heart was a good thing originally, only pity was that the turbelent era did not allow for kindness and goodness.
The servant boy used the back of his hand to wipe away tears and snot unsuccessfully, his small face looking dirtier than before the cleaning attempt. He sobbed: "Couldn't get any medicine."
The child was originally a stubborn one, in addition to the fact that he grew up in the Lin family and educated with loyalty pledged to the master, he was completely brainwashed to be a loyal servant.
"Then there's no need." Lin Yuan ruffled the boy's hair, trying to make the best of the situation: "It's fine, look at me, I'm almost recovered anyway."
It was a silver lining that the group of bandits were only desperate peasants who only took wealth and not lives. Or else, it was very likely they wouldn't be alive now.
During the last few days, Lin Yuan searched through his belongings, he didn't believe the Lin family only gave silver ingots and banknotes. Back in the modern time of his previous life, he had a habit of hiding money in the inside layer of his shirts when traveling. Therefore, was it not possible that making backup plans would be the wise choice of action especially in this period of time fraught with danger and unrest?
However, he had searched everything multiple times and came up with nothing.
The servant boy's sobs had stopped, his emotions calming enough to realize he was siting in his master's embrace. Since misfortune hit them, master and servant escaped in a hurry, only snatching a blanket. He had originally planned to not touch the blanket but since his young master awoke they had been sharing it together.
This thought caused him to break out into sobs again. His young master was such a good person, why must he face such misfortune!
"It's my fault!" The servant boy started to blame himself, regretfully saying, "Old master told me to be careful but I'm such a fool, even implicating young master! Wu~, it's all my fault! I don't have any brains! A useless failure!"
Following the rant, the servant boy was about to give himself a slap.
Lin Yuan quickly grabbed his hand, patting his back in comfort: "It's alright, we're safe aren't we?"
The servant boy spoke through stuffy nasals: "It's all my fault! Everything's my fault!"
"Let's look again." Lin Yuan once again prepared to search his clothes, undressing down to his pants he searched through the linings while shivering in the cold.
The servant boy helped in the searching. Even though it was something they did everyday but they always worry they weren't careful enough in the previous searches.
Money for meals came from pawning Lin Yuan's coat, the only valuable item left.
His shoes were made of cloth but the soles were very thick and warm. It had took lady Lin quite a lot of time and spools of thread to make.
The original owner's birth mother was a servant girl, not even a concubine. In this day and age, giving birth was a life threatening business, and in addition to his mother being a frail fifteen year old girl, it was nearly a given that she passed away during childbirth.
As a result, the original owner was given to the lady master who did not have children of her own to raise. She came from a literary family and had nothing in common with the landowning class. Therefore, there was no love lost between the old master Lin and lady Lin. However, she did treat the original owner well, teaching him to read and write from a young age.
And because original owner could write and do maths, was an educated person, his father assumed that he could carry a greater responsibility.
When Lin Yuan found this in his memory, he couldn't help but feel speechless at old father Lin's reasoning.
It was at that moment, a lightbulb switched on. Taking off his shoes, thankfully the winter cold kept it from being smelly, he took the soles out.
"Young master..…" Servant boy piped up uneasily, "Why are..…"
He wanted to ask why his young master looked like on the verge of tears.
But before he could finish, he saw Lin Yuan taking out a silver banknote.
It was a silver banknote worth 200 taels.
Exchanged to copper coins worth 200,000 guan. This was no small amount. Original owner's father had given 500 taels in total and that was the limit, more and the Lin family businesses would not have enough funds to run on.
He reckoned lady Lin must have taken out all her savings, afraid that the original owner might happen upon unexpected situations.
The heart of a caring mother!
As an orphan in his own time, Lin Yuan could only sigh wistfully.
Looked like old father Lin's task won't be fulfilled in the near future. First things first was to find a proper shelter and fully recover his health.
As for doing business, Lin Yuan didn't dare to even think about it. Since he found out the current era was the Yuan dynasty, the emperor being Yuan Shun, he gave up on the whole idea. He at least knew of the story of Chen Wansan, a prominent business man nearly richer than a country who even supported the right person, Zhu Yuanzhang, the founding emperor of Ming.
But the result? When Ming dynasty was established not long afterwards, his wealth was confiscated and he himself exiled. His wealth alone greatly richened the new dynasty.
Later in the Qing dynasty, did emperor Qianlong not know He Shen accumulated great wealth through corruption? He knew, so all of his wealth eventually ended up in the emperor's pockets.
Therefore, Lin Yuan prepared to honestly follow old father Lin's advice to buy some land——in a remote place away from the battlefield. Have a farmstead built so that once the Lin family came to the south they would have a place to stay. And of course stock up on food supplies.
What was the most valuable commodity during turbelent times? Gold, silver, jewels? Wrong. It was food.
Once war broke out, civilians would be unable to farm and produce crops. Less and less food to the point people were peeling tree bark and eating it to stave hunger. Foodstuff was the source of life, cheap during prosperous times and expensive during turbulent times.
"Young master." The servant boy chuckled, rather foolishly, "Let's go exchange money."
Lin Yuan currently was too weak to get up and could only hand the banknote to the servant boy, reminding him: "Only exchange 50 taels, two guans of paper money, one paper money per guan."
"Tomorrow go, go early." Lin Yuan looked at the darkening skies, "It's not safe now."
Servant boy nodded: "I listen to the young master!"
In the servant boy's eyes, his young master was able to read and write, was smarter than him and understood everything.
Before drifting away into sleep, Lin Yuan happily thought, once he had land and property he'll be able to display his talents. Wasn't there a saying, turbulent times create heroes? He'll follow in the footsteps of his time travelling seniors and invent cannons, tanks, airplanes, etc in addition to gathering some followers, maybe even…maybe even…heihei!
Lin Yuan at this point had yet to realize, he was a humanities major, his life till now, the closest he got to inventing technology was fixing his computer. And even that he had done so unsuccessfully. He ended up buying a new computer instead, almost spending all of his scholarship money on it.
But as a person, we must have dreams and ambitions.
The next day at the crack of dawn, the servant boy poked a small head out of the warm blankets, unwilling to leave.
But the servant boy quickly pulled himself together as his young master cannot yet leave bedrest.
Before leaving Lin Yuan reminded him, "If you are stopped by hoodlums, give them the paper money, you hear?"
Servant boy didn't understand: "No way! That's young master's money!"
Lin Yuan explained: "If you don't hand it over they will just take it by force. Can you win against them in a fight? Compared to the two guans, the 48 taels are worth more."
Servant boy looked down at his toes: "It's my fault I'm so useless, if brother Chen was here, those people definitely won't be able to win against brother Chen..…"
The mention of brother Chen, the carriage driver willing to leave for the south with the original owner, caused Lin Yuan to feel downhearted.
Brother Chen was the son of the original owner's nanny and grew up together from a young age. He had a strong physique and loyal to a fault. Their relationship was close enough to even sleep together and compare each other's 'assets'.
Brother Chen was older than original owner by five years, had no given name, only a pet name Niu Dan. He stayed behind to block the bandits and give them a chance to run.
Dead or alive unknown.
Lin Yuan sighed. People from the ancient times were simple and honest. Lin Yuan put himself in brother Chen's shoes and honestly thought he could not do the same of sacrificing himself for another.
Yuan dynasty supported trade and commerce, agriculture not as much. However, merchants were taxed the highest and farmers were taxed the least in comparison to other dynasties.
But this did not mean that regional governments and officials accept low taxes. An official's salary could not support a luxurious life so their only other source of income came from oppressing the civilians under their regional government.
There were more and more exhorbitant taxes, oppression from the landlord class was also on the rise. As a result, the people had no means to make a living and support their livelihood, their only option was to become refugees and criminals.
Those bandits that robbed them, perhaps had been honest farmers in the past and a full belly was enough to satisfy them and feel content about.
In order to survive, they indirectly caused the death of a good person like the original owner.
When your state of survival was in question, virtue and justice could be abandoned at any time.
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# Praise for _Hapgood_
" _Hapgood_ is an onion-like construction: the author peels back a layer of threats, uncertainties, possible betrayals only to reveal another... [Stoppard is] a rare bird."
— _Time_
"[Stoppard] has been called cerebral, but his mind is a cogitating heart; it lusts for ideas... Written during the endgame of the cold war, the play is a theatrical cyclotron into which Stoppard tosses his colliding human atoms... On the surface the play is a le Carré-like thriller... [Stoppard is] a marvelous entertainer... [A] metaphysical fun house."
_—Newsweek_
"Few playwrights entertain as many ideas and make so many ideas entertaining as Tom Stoppard... [ _Hapgood_ ] is hugely entertaining and often quite moving."
— _Variety_
"Vastly entertaining."
_—Jewish Chronicle_
"Stoppard's most cunning play yet."
— _Guardian_
"Best to submit to the unique Stoppardian experience, be carried long by this clever and theatrically playful spymaster—and savor the wit and wordplay... and the fact that, in the end, everything makes perfect emotional sense."
— _Daily Mail_
"A plot of fiendish ingenuity."
— _Independent_
"Consciously nostalgic for an era in British intelligence in which spymasters had bakelite telephones on their desk, spoke to each other by radio and in which the Cold War offered up a relatively simple paradigm of them and us... a frequently gripping piece about the multifaceted interplay between perception and deception that also slips in a sly tug on the emotions just when you least expect it."
— _Telegraph_ (UK)
"The play is itself a double agent... completely joyous... unparalleled verbal dexterity... a rollicking spy story to boot."
— _TimeOut_ (UK)
# Also by Tom Stoppard
PLAYS
The Hard Problem
Enter a Free Man
The Real Inspector Hound
After Magritte
Jumpers
Travesties
Dirty Linen and New-Found-Land
Every Good Boy Deserves Favour
Night and Day
Dogg's Hamlet and Cahoot's Macbeth
Undiscovered Country
(adapted from Arthur Schnitzler's _Das weite Land_ )
On the Razzle
(adapted from Johann Nestroy's _Einen Jux will er sich machen_ )
Arcadia
The Real Thing
Rough Crossing
(adapted from Ferenc Molnár's _Play at the Castle_ )
Dalliance
(adapted from Arthur Schnitzler's _Liebelei_ )
Indian Ink
Rosencrantz & Guildenstern Are Dead
The Invention of Love
The Coast of Utopia: A Trilogy
Voyage: The Coast of Utopia Part I
Shipwreck: The Coast of Utopia Part II
Salvage: The Coast of Utopia Part III
Rock 'n' Roll
TELEVISION SCRIPTS
A Separate Peace
Teeth
Another Moon Called Earth
Neutral Ground
Professional Foul
Squaring the Circle
Parade's End
FICTION
Lord Malquist & Mr. Moon
## TOM STOPPARD
# HAPGOOD
Copyright © 1988, 1994, 2015 by Tom Stoppard
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CAUTION: Professionals and amateurs are hereby warned that _Hapgood_ is subject to a royalty. It is fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, Canada, United Kingdom, and all British Commonwealth countries, and all countries covered by the International Copyright Union, the Pan-American Copyright Convention, and the Universal Copyright Convention. All rights, including professional, amateur, motion picture, recitation, public reading, radio broadcasting, television, video or sound taping, all other forms of mechanical or electronic reproduction, such as information storage and retrieval systems and photocopying, and rights of translation into foreign languages, are strictly reserved.
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First published in 1988 by Faber and Faber Limited
_Printed in the United States of America_
First Grove Atlantic paperback edition: May 2018
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available for this title.
ISBN 978-0-8021-2834-8
eISBN 978-0-8021-4621-2
Grove Press
an imprint of Grove Atlantic
154 West 14th Street
New York, NY 10011
Distributed by Publishers Group West
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18 19 20 21 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
For Oliver with love and thanks
# PRODUCTION CREDITS
_Hapgood_ was presented by Michael Codron at the Aldwych Theatre, London, on 8 March 1988.
The cast was as follows:
Hapgood| Felicity Kendal
---|---
Blair| Nigel Hawthorne
Kerner| Roger Rees
Ridley| Iain Glen
Wates| Al Matthews
Merryweather| Adam Norton
Maggs| Roger Gartland
Joe| Christopher Price _or_
Andrew Read
Russian| Patrick Gordon
Directed by Peter Wood|
Designed by Carl Toms|
Lighting by David Hersey|
_Hapgood_ opened in New York on 11 November 1994 at the Mitzi E. Newhouse Theater.
The cast was as follows:
Hapgood| Stockard Channing
---|---
Blair| Josef Sommer
Kerner| David Strathairn
Ridley| David Lansbury
Wates| Clifton Davis
Merryweather| Brían F. O'Byrne
Maggs| Michael Winther
Joe| Yaniv Segal
Russian| Boris McGiver
Directed by Jack O'Brien|
Set design by Bob Crowley|
Costume design by Ann Roth|
Lighting by Beverly Emmons|
Sound by Scott Lehrer|
A revival of _Hapgood_ opened in London on 4 December 2015 at the Hampstead Theatre.
The cast was as follows:
Hapgood| Lisa Dillon
---|---
Blair| Tim McMullan
Kerner| Alec Newman
Ridley| Gerald Kyd
Wates| Gary Beadle
Merryweather| Edward Hancock
Maggs| Nick Blakeley
Joe| Adam Cansfield / Sasha Gray
Russian| Joe Evans
Directed by Howard Davies|
Designed by Ashley Martin Davis|
Lighting by James Farncombe|
Sound by Mike Walker|
Composed by Dominic Muldowney|
Casting by Juliet Horsely|
# CHARACTERS
Hapgood| aged thirty-eight
---|---
Blair| probably twenty years older, but in good shape
Kerner| forty-ish
Ridley| mid-thirties
Wates| either side of forty-five
Maggs| twenties
Merryweather| twenty-two
Joe| eleven
Russian| any age, thirty to fifty
# **Table of Contents**
Cover
Praise for Hapgood
Also by Tom Stoppard
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Production Credits
Characters
ACT ONE
Scene I The Pool, Wednesday morning
Scene 2 The Zoo, Wednesday noon
Scene 3 The Rugby Pitch, Wednesday afternoon
Scene 4 The Office, Thursday morning
Scene 5 The Shooting Range, Thursday afternoon
ACT TWO
Scene I The Office, Thursday evening
Scene 2 The Studio, Friday morning
Scene 3 The Zoo, Friday noon
Scene 4 The Office, Friday afternoon
Scene 5 The Hotel, Friday evening
Scene 6 The Pool, Friday night
Scene 7 The Rugby Pitch, Saturday afternoon
Back Cover
# ACT ONE
# SCENE I
_We are looking at part of the men's changing room of an old-fashioned municipal swimming-baths. It is ten o'clock in the morning. The cubicles are numbered, and they have doors which conceal occupancy although they don't meet the ground. There is a wash-basin or two, a place to shave facing front. Four of the cubicles have to 'work'. There are four ways of coming and going: 'Lobby', 'Pool', 'Showers', and, for the sake of argument, 'Upstage'._
_The lobby doors have MEN in reverse on the glass. Signs saying POOLS, SHOWERS, GENTS, and EXIT may be used._
_One of the showers is evidently in use—we can hear it. When we encounter this scene,_ WATES _is shaving. He is a black man, an American, who is normally impressively tailored and suave but at present is dressed in cast-offs and looks as if he spent last night on a park bench. His tackle is basic—shaving brush, shaving stick, old-fashioned safety razor._
_Before anything else happens we have a short radio play. What we can hear is two people (a man and a woman,_ HAPGOOD _) talking to each other on shortwave radio. The voices have a slight distort._
**RADIO** OK, we have a blue Peugeot... stopping.
Single male.
It's not Georgi.
Anybody know him? No briefcase, repeat negative on briefcase.
Are you getting this, Mother?—we have the Peugeot but it's not Georgi.
He's crossing the road. Fancy tracksuit, running shoes. No sign of the follower. Are you getting this?—target is approaching, negative on Georgi, negative on briefcase, negative on follower, give me a colour.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Green. You should be seeing Kerner.
**RADIO** Negative. They changed the plot. Confirm Green.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Green. Tell me when Kerner shows.
**WATES** ( _Live_ ) If he shows.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Tell me when Kerner shows, he'll be walking.
**WATES** ( _Live, no emotion_ ) Kerner is thirty thousand feet up on Aeroflot, I feel sick.
**RADIO** Who is that?
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Wates—just shave.
**WATES** ( _Live_ ) Yes, ma'am.
**RADIO** Target inside. Negative on Kerner. Target in lobby. Ridley has seen him. Still negative on Kerner. Do I hear yellow? Mother, give me a colour, we're still—OK, we have a walker.
OK, we have Kerner... three hundred yards... affirmative on briefcase.
Target's got his key.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Say when.
**RADIO** Four—three—two— ( _The lobby door opens._ ) You're looking at him.
_A man enters from the lobby. He wears a colourful tracksuit and running shoes. He carries a towel rolled up into a sausage, we assume the swimming trunks and cap are inside. He carries a key on a loop of string which might make it convenient to wear as a pendant. He is otherwise empty-handed. We call this man_ RUSSIAN ONE, _because he is Russian and because there are going to be two of them._
_Russian One enters Cubicle One. (This numbering has nothing to do with the actual numbers on the cubicles, it is only for our convenience.) Russian One enters his cubicle and closes the door behind him._
RIDLEY _enters from the lobby. He is carrying a briefcase (but the briefcase may be inside a sports holdall). Ridley now goes on a perambulation. The essence of the situation is that Ridley moves around and through, in view and out of view, demonstrating that the place as a whole is variously circumnavigable in a way which will later recall, if not replicate, the problem of the bridges of Konigsberg (and which will give Russian One time to undress). Back to the plot. Russian One, dressed to swim, leaves his cubicle, locks it, swings his towel up and over the lintel and leaves it hanging there, and goes off to the pool. When he has gone Ridley posts his briefcase under the door of Cubicle One, and pulls the towel off the door. (As a matter of interest, the Ridley who posts the briefcase is not the same Ridley who entered with it.) Ridley enters Cubicle Two and closes the door behind him. The towel appears, flung over the lintel, hanging down. Wates continues to shave. The shower continues to run._ KERNER _enters from the lobby. He carries a briefcase. He has a towel and a key. He looks around and posts his briefcase under the door with the towel showing (Cubicle Two). Kerner pulls the towel off the door and tosses it over the door into the cubicle. Kerner enters another cubicle (Cubicle Three) and closes the door behind him. A moment later his towel appears over the lintel. Ridley leaves Cubicle Two, bringing Kerner's briefcase with him, and also the towel. He chucks the towel over the door of Cubicle One. With the briefcase he disappears in the direction of the showers. The shower cubicle may be in full view, in which case we see Ridley delivering his briefcase to the occupant._
_Russian One leaves the pool, wet of course, and re-enters his cubicle._
_Ridley comes back into view, from the showers, without the briefcase. He goes to the pool._
RUSSIAN TWO _enters from the lobby. He is the twin of Russian One, and dressed like Russian One. He carries a similar rolled-up towel. However, he also carries a briefcase. He glances round briefly, and notes the towel on Kerner's door (Cubicle Three). He posts his briefcase under Kerner's door. He enters a cubicle, Cubicle Four._
MERRYWEATHER, _a boyish twenty-two-year-old in sports jacket and flannels, enters from the lobby. His manner is not as well calculated as Ridley's had been. He is at first relieved and then immediately disconcerted by the absence of Russians._
_Russian One, now dressed, leaves his cubicle, carrying his rolled-up towel but leaving the briefcase (which Ridley posted) behind. Russian One leaves to the lobby._
_Merryweather, whose idea of making himself inconspicuous has been, perhaps, to examine himself in Wates's mirror, follows Russian One out to the lobby._
_Kerner, dressed, leaves Cubicle Three, with the briefcase which had been posted there, and leaves to the lobby._
_Russian Two reappears, from Cubicle Four, and enters Cubicle One to collect the briefcase which had been posted there by Ridley. As he leaves the cubicle, Ridley re-enters from the pool._
_Russian Two leaves to the lobby. Ridley follows him out. Wates has finished shaving. He is packing up his shaving tackle. The shower stops running. There is a pause, and then the occupant of the shower, Hapgood, approaches, somewhat encumbered by a briefcase (Kerner's original), a leather rectangular clutch handbag with a shoulder strap, and an umbrella which she is at the moment taking down and shaking out. From her appearance, the umbrella has been an entire success. She comes down into the light and leans the umbrella carefully against the cubicles, and stands pensively for a moment. She is apparently too preoccupied to acknowledge Wates, who is himself preoccupied with something which makes him shake with silent laughter. He is putting a heavy steel wrist-watch on his right wrist._ ( _Note: All the foregoing action may be done to music and lightly choreographed_.)
**WATES** Young guy in a sports coat, college haircut, nasty wart on the back of his right hand, no, left, it was in the mirror.
**HAPGOOD** Merryweather.
**WATES** Merryweather, right. Followed the man in, followed the wrong man out, meanwhile Merryweather's man turns around and leaves with the goods. Sort of dummy.
**HAPGOOD** Yes, he is rather.
_The lobby doors open. Ridley enters in a somewhat excited, even delighted, state._
**RIDLEY** ( _Greeting her_ ) Mother.
**HAPGOOD** This is Ridley.
**RIDLEY** You didn't tell me it was twins.
**HAPGOOD** This is Wates.
_Hapgood puts the briefcase on the ground, then lays it flat. She undoes the catches and raises the lid. During this Wates and Ridley shake hands._
**WATES** Ben Wates.
**RIDLEY** ( _Friendly_ ) Ridley.
_Hapgood has stood up, taking from the case a flat white cardboard box, a few inches square, the sort of thing that might contain a computer disc, which is what in fact it does contain. However, she is not the slightest interested in the box. She stands staring down at the open briefcase._
**HAPGOOD** ( _Bad news_ ) Wates.
_Now Wates looks at her and at the briefcase._
**WATES** Oh, Lord.
**HAPGOOD** Where's yours, Ridley?
**RIDLEY** In the Peugeot.
_Merryweather returns, looking sheepish. Hapgood tosses the disc-box back into the briefcase._
**MERRYWEATHER** Sorry, Mother—I—
**HAPGOOD** Where did he go, Merryweather?
**MERRYWEATHER** Actually, I lost him—a taxi came round the corner—
**HAPGOOD** He's in the taxi?
_Merryweather nods._
**RIDLEY** ( _To Hapgood_ ) Chamberlain's cab, I love it. Listen, how the hell—
**HAPGOOD** ( _Politely_ ) Be quiet, Ridley.
_She is opening her handbag and taking out a small radio transmitter/receiver._
_These gadgets are going to get quite a lot of use and evidently the state of the art has arrived at a radio which is no larger and somewhat slimmer than twenty cigarettes. The radio speaks quietly._
( _To Merryweather_ ) Have a look round the pool.
**MERRYWEATHER** Right. What for exactly?
**HAPGOOD** Anything there is, I'll want to see it. ( _To radio_ ) Cotton.
**RADIO** Mother.
_Wates and Merryweather dovetail with Hapgood and her radio._
**WATES** ( _Shaking hands_ ) Ben Wates.
**MERRYWEATHER** How do you do, sir? Merryweather.
_Merryweather goes out to the pool. Ridley is probably contemplating the briefcase._
_Wates moves quietly up towards the cubicles and calmly investigates them, one after another without fuss. During this:_
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) Where is he?
**RADIO** In the Peugeot.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Patiently_ ) Thank you, Cotton, and where is the Peugeot?
**RADIO** Camden High Street.
**HAPGOOD** Pick him up and I want everything, I want him in a plastic bag.
**RADIO** Yes, ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** Contents of briefcase. I'm here to be told.
**RADIO** You know it's twins?
**HAPGOOD** Yes, I know it's twins. ( _To Ridley_ ) You take Kerner—go through him, do it properly. ( _To radio_ ) Chamberlain.
**RIDLEY** Kerner's clean.
**RADIO** P.O.B.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) I know.
**RIDLEY** I did the switch.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To Ridley, more sharply_ ) Move.
_Ridley exits to the lobby._
( _To radio_ ) Where are you?
**RADIO** Chalk Farm, turning west on Adelaide.
**HAPGOOD** Bring him in.
**RADIO** Say again?
**HAPGOOD** Just do it.
**RADIO** Okay, guv.
**HAPGOOD** Taxi needs back-up.
**RADIO** ( _New voice_ ) Roger.
**HAPGOOD** I'm here to be told.
_She turns the gadget off, hesitates, and turns it on again._
( _To radio_ ) Paul... ( _Her tone for Paul is different—she is not giving orders. No answer_.) Paul...
_Still no answer. She turns the radio off. Wates is coming back to her._
What are you thinking?
**WATES** You wouldn't like it.
_Hapgood closes the briefcase._
**HAPGOOD** What happened to the bleep?
**WATES** ( _Shrugs_ ) It's dead.
**HAPGOOD** I'll need when.
**WATES** You'll get it. Why did he take the film?
**HAPGOOD** Who?
**WATES** Yeah, that's the other thing.
_Hapgood goes to collect her umbrella._
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) I'm leaving.
**RADIO** Car out front.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) Thank you. ( _She puts the radio back into her bag._ ) Wates...
**WATES** Yes, ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** Thank you for your co-operation.
**WATES** You bet.
_He holds the briefcase out for her and she takes it._
**HAPGOOD** Well, we'll talk. You're invited.
**WATES** Appreciate it.
_Hapgood starts off to the lobby door. Merryweather comes back in from the pool._
**MERRYWEATHER** Nothing, Mother—the whole place is clean.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Continuing out_ ) Drain the pool.
_The doors swing shut behind her._
**MERRYWEATHER** ( _Thoughtfully, not entirely happy_ ) Drain the pool.
_He goes back to the pool. Wates is alone. He is evidently a man with a burden. He is getting ready to leave, perhaps he has a coat to put on. From the pocket he takes a similar radio and walks towards the doors, raising the radio to his mouth; at which point everything changes for him. He stops to listen, his head turned back towards the upstage, by which time, gracefully and without making a big thing of it, he has tossed his radio from right hand to left, and produced from somewhere about his person a short-barrelled revolver. He stands listening, holding the gun down by his side. He has to be patient but after a while a figure comes out of the dark upstage between the cubicles. This turns out to be a man wearing a hat and a good tweed overcoat, his hands in the pockets, a slightly surprising colourful silk scarf tucked inside the coat. He walks down in his own time, a careful stroll. Wates does not move until the downstage light falls across_ BLAIR _'s face. Blair comes to a halt. Wates puts his gun away, gets the radio back into his right hand, and resumes._
**WATES** ( _To radio_ ) Wates—I need the sweeps. ( _He nods at Blair._ ) Paul.
**BLAIR** ( _Greets him back_ ) Ben.
**RADIO** Sweeps coming up.
**WATES** ( _To radio_ ) Thank you. ( _He puts the radio in his pocket and, in leaving, speaks to Blair without reproof, just information._ ) She blew it.
_He goes out through the lobby doors. Blair takes a radio from his pocket._
_The scene begins to change._
**BLAIR** ( _To radio_ ) Ridley.
**RIDLEY** ( _On radio_ ) Ridley.
**BLAIR** ( _To radio_ ) I want Kerner in Regent's Park, twelve o'clock sharp.
_He puts the radio away and looks at his wrist-watch. The next time he moves, it is twelve o'clock and he is at the Zoo._
# SCENE 2
_Kerner has been brought by Ridley to the Zoo. Blair, having checked the time on his watch, nods at Ridley to dismiss him._
_Ridley moves out._
_Perhaps we are looking at Blair and Kerner through the bars of a cage. There could be a bench, there could be paper cups of coffee_... _The bars make hard-edged shadows. We need one particular and distinct demarcation of light and shadow on the floor, perhaps thrown by the edge of a wall._
_Kerner speaks with a Russian accent, which is not too heavy; in fact, attractive._
**BLAIR** You're blown, Joseph.
**KERNER** I love it. You blew it and I'm blown: well, I'll be blowed. Nobody teaches that, you know. They teach you so you can almost read _David Copperfield_ and then you find out David talks like a language student, he must have been put in as a sleeper.
**BLAIR** Well... you're blowed, Joseph. Your career is over.
**KERNER** Except as a scientist, you mean.
**BLAIR** Yes, that's what I mean.
**KERNER** My career as your man at the Pool.
**BLAIR** Or theirs. Just an observation. The meet at the pool came unstuck this morning. We have to consider you blown as our joe. The Russians must consider you blown as their sleeper. Either way your career is over. _Which_ way, is perhaps an academic question.
**KERNER** And yet, here you are.
**BLAIR** One likes to know what's what.
**KERNER** Oh, you think there's a what's-what? Your joe. Their sleeper. Paul, what's-what is for zoologists: 'Oh yes—definitely a giraffe.' But a double agent is not what's-what like a giraffe, a double agent is more like a trick of the light.
**BLAIR** Joseph—
**KERNER** Look. ( _He points_.) Look at the edge of the shadow. It is straight like the edge of the wall that makes it. This means light is particles: little bullets. Bullets go straight. They cannot bend round the wall and hit you. If light was _waves_ it would bend round the wall a little, like water bends round a stone in the river.
**BLAIR** ( _Irritated_ ) Yes. Absolutely.
**KERNER** So that's what. When you shine light through a gap in the wall, it's particles. Unfortunately, when you shine the light through _two_ little gaps, side by side, you don't get particle pattern like for bullets, you get wave pattern like for water. The two beams of light mix together and—
**BLAIR** Joseph. I want to know if you're ours or theirs, that's all.
**KERNER** I'm telling you but you're not listening. Now we come to the exciting part. We will watch the bullets to see how they make waves. This is not difficult, the apparatus is simple. So we look carefully and we see the bullets, one at a time. Some go through one gap and some go through the other gap. No problem. Now we come to my favourite bit. The wave pattern has disappeared. It has become particle pattern again.
**BLAIR** ( _Obliging_ ) All right—why?
**KERNER** Because we looked. Every time we don't look, we get wave pattern. Every time we look to see how we get wave pattern we get particle pattern. The act of observing determines what's what.
**BLAIR** How?
**KERNER** Nobody knows. Somehow light is continuous and also discontinuous. The experimenter makes the choice. You get what you interrogate for. And you want to know if I'm a wave or a particle. Every month at the pool, I and my friend Georgi exchange material. When the experiment is over, you have a result. I am your joe. But they also have a result: because you have put in my briefcase enough information to keep me credible as a Russian sleeper activated by my KGB control; which is what Georgi thinks he is. So naturally he gives me enough information to keep me credible as a British joe. Frankly, I can't remember which side I'm supposed to be working for, and it is not in fact necessary for me to know.
_Pause._
**BLAIR** It wasn't Georgi today.
**KERNER** No?
**BLAIR** No, it was different today.
**KERNER** Today you decided to look. Why was that?
**BLAIR** Some of your research has turned up in Moscow. Real secrets, not briefcase stuff.
**KERNER** Tsk, tsk, tsk.
**BLAIR** That's what the Americans said, roughly.
**KERNER** The one shaving.
**BLAIR** Mm. Ben Wates, CIA. You'd appreciate him, he makes waves with a Smith and Wesson.
**KERNER** I'm sorry, Paul.
**BLAIR** ( _Shrugs_ ) Cousin-trouble is nothing new. This thing with you is trouble, though. Oh yes. If the Evil Empire has a tap into _you,_ that's quite another ballroom as Wates put it—
**KERNER** Ballgame. I think.
**BLAIR** I assure you it wasn't. Ballpark. Anyway, Wates flies in and says, 'I have come from Washington to help you. How about Kerner for a start? Do we know anything about Joseph Kerner?' Well, we do as a matter of fact. He's Russian from Kaliningrad. The Russians put him in as a sleeper years ago but we turned him round and now he's really working for us, they only _think_ he's working for them.
**KERNER** What did he say?
**BLAIR** He said: you guys.
**KERNER** Poor Paul. What happened at the Pool?
**BLAIR** Wates wanted us to abort the meet and put you through the mangle. But Mrs Hapgood insisted you were straight. And she wanted to keep the channel open. She made Wates an offer. She duplicated the contents of your briefcase. So now we had everything twice, in two briefcases. Ridley showed up before you at the Pool—
**KERNER** What is a mangle?
**BLAIR** I'm trying to tell you what happened at the Pool.
**KERNER** You already did. Your Mr Ridley delivered to my Russian control and I delivered where Ridley put his towel. Quite nice. If I'm putting something extra in my briefcase, you get it all back.
**BLAIR** That sort of thing.
**KERNER** And was there something extra in my briefcase?
**BLAIR** No. There was something missing. The computer disc was there but the films were gone.
**KERNER** A puzzle.
**BLAIR** Now we come to the exciting part. Wates had booby-trapped your briefcase. He sprayed the inside with an aerosol can, like radioactive deodorant—did you ever hear of such a thing?
**KERNER** An isotope solution. If I open the briefcase I give a Geiger reading.
**BLAIR** Yes.
**KERNER** So, did I give a Geiger reading?
**BLAIR** No.
**KERNER** ( _Pleased_ ) Oh, good.
**BLAIR** We also had a bleep in your briefcase.
**KERNER** A bleep?
**BLAIR** A radio transmitter.
**KERNER** Oh—a _bug._
_Blair gives him a look._
Sorry. A bleep in my briefcase. Go on.
**BLAIR** Wates tracked the signal all the way to the meet. There the signal died. And the transmitter went missing from the briefcase, which nobody opened. The job was done by Mr Nobody.
**KERNER** Well I'm blown. Blow me for a monkey's uncle. Can I say that?
**BLAIR** I would avoid it. Any thoughts, Joseph?
**KERNER** Mr Nobody put something extra in my briefcase. Then he found out my delivery was going to be intercepted. So he had to take it out again.
**BLAIR** But why remove our rolls of film? He'd only have to take out what he put in, and we'd be none the wiser.
**KERNER** Obviously because he put _in_ a roll of film and they all look the same; he had to take them all.
**BLAIR** ( _Pause_ ) Obviously. By the way do you know anything about twins?
**KERNER** Twins?
**BLAIR** That was the other thing. It wasn't Georgi today, it was twins.
_Kerner laughs._
Yes, that's my favourite bit too. Give it some thought. Will you?
**KERNER** Oh, yes. But excuse me, now it is time for the feeding of the seals.
_Kerner strolls away, jerking his head at the unseen Ridley to follow him. Ridley re-enters and follows Kerner out at a comfortable distance._
_Blair stands looking out front. The next time he moves he is on the touch-line of a rugger pitch._
# SCENE 3
_Blair is standing in an open exterior against a grey sky on a cold October afternoon. He is watching thirty eleven-year-old boys playing rugby. This, alas, is not as rich in sound effects as one might think: There is the referee's whistle, there are occasional piping exhortations to 'Heel', 'Drive', 'Shove', and so on, and the occasional sound of the ball being kicked, but much of all this is happening at a distance, and so the general effect is sporadic anyway. Nevertheless it would be nice to work out where Blair is before the next thing happens—which is that Hapgood comes hurtling crabwise and in full cry along the touch-line. She is shod and dressed for the conditions and is carrying a boy's two-piece tracksuit, the top half of which is perhaps tied round her neck. Her momentum takes her a good way along the front of the stage, passing in front of Blair._
**HAPGOOD** Come on, big shove now, St Christopher's! Heel!— _break!_... _well tackled,_ darling!—I mean, Hapgood—oh, sugar...
_The match recedes but she always gives it as much attention as she can spare or as she is allowed._
Look at their little knees. Don't you love little boys?
**BLAIR** It's never been encouraged in the Service. Which one is he?
**HAPGOOD** The handsome one.
**BLAIR** Oh, yes.
**HAPGOOD** Don't wave.
**BLAIR** I wasn't going to.
**HAPGOOD** You are nice wearing the scarf, you don't have to.
**BLAIR** I like the scarf. I wanted to see you—
**HAPGOOD** —wanted to see _you_ —
**BLAIR** —before you see Wates. Washington wants—
**HAPGOOD** Kick!—kick for touch!—oh, sugar!—Tackle!—tackle low...
_Referee's whistle. Bad news for Hapgood._
Oh... Bad luck, St Christopher's! Little darlings, they look so cold. Sixteen love.
**BLAIR** Nil. Washington wants us to take Kerner off everything.
**HAPGOOD** What have the Americans got against Kerner?
**BLAIR** Well, this is just an educated guess but I suppose if they're going to spend a hundred million dollars over here on Kerner's SDI research they'd rather he didn't continue swapping briefcases with the high dive champion of the Russian Embassy.
**HAPGOOD** Paul, Kerner is my star.
**BLAIR** Means nothing.
**HAPGOOD** Do you want me to tell you or not? I had six months' work in Kerner's delivery, long-term reflectors on countdown.
**BLAIR** Do talk English.
**HAPGOOD** Disinformation that had to be launched, I couldn't _afford_ to abort the meet just because Washington got into a flap about Kerner.
**BLAIR** You can't blame Washington. Kerner's pure gold, the man with the anti-particle trap, and if he's leaking his own stuff to Moscow we're making it awfully easy for him.
**HAPGOOD** Kerner's all right—I run him and he's just doing what I tell him.
**BLAIR** Wates made the same point. Don't take it personally.
**HAPGOOD** Why would I? It isn't personal.
_The referee's whistle—the conversion of the try._
Eighteen. Come on, St Christopher's! Lets get one back! This is personal. Everything else is technical. You're personal sometimes; but not this minute which is all right, so what can I tell you?—it isn't Kerner.
**BLAIR** So what happened at the pool? It's a technical question, it almost looks as if you could solve it with pencil and paper: cubicles A, B, C, D, briefcases P, Q, R, find X when the angles are Kerner and the Russian twins, which is a question in itself—are these the famous KGB twins? Now that's what I call a double agent. Who's in charge and is he sane?
**HAPGOOD** I hate it, Paul.
**BLAIR** Yes, why aren't we pleased?
**HAPGOOD** It reeks. The KGB twins are like an old joke that keeps coming back, we've been hearing it for years and I never believed it. And suddenly here they are, identical and large as life. I hate it. ( _Pause._ ) But it's about the twins. The answer. I nearly got it, then I lost it.
**BLAIR** Do you want to keep them for a while?
**HAPGOOD** No—chuck 'em out. They're stooges, Paul. The meet this morning went exactly as the Russians planned it, including the arrests. The twins were expendable, they were meant to be seen, they were a success—'Now he's here, now he's there, oh my God, there's two of them!' Wates nearly cut himself shaving he was so fascinated. He's doing a diagram, on pink paper, showing who was where when, all the coming and going.
**BLAIR** He showed me. Guess who was holding the briefcase when the transmitter went off the air.
**HAPGOOD** Who was?
**BLAIR** You were.
_Referee's whistle—a try is scored._
Our side isn't doing too well. Well, if it's you I don't care which side traps its particles. Anti-particles. Do you know what they are? They were never mentioned by Democritus who was the pro-particle chap when I was at school.
**HAPGOOD** When a particle meets an anti-particle they annihilate each other, they turn into energy—bang, you understand. You can produce anti-particles in a collider and bottle them in a magnetic field but then you're stuck—the bottle is as big as a barn, and when you open the door you've got a billionth of a second so you have to be quick. If you could slow them down enough to get hold of you'd be in business, and Kerner thinks he can. Do you want me to tell you how?
**BLAIR** You know, I don't really...
**HAPGOOD** ( _Shouts_ ) Break! Blind!
**BLAIR**... I gave a chap a job with us once because he said he'd read physics and I thought he meant the book by Aristotle.
**HAPGOOD** Was that last try converted?
**BLAIR** No.
**HAPGOOD** You weren't looking.
**BLAIR** They re-started with a drop-kick.
**HAPGOOD** Joe's worried about something too, we've both got the same look.
**BLAIR** I've lost him again—you can't tell one from the other when they're all in the same get-up.
**HAPGOOD** Once when he was really little, he got unhappy about something, he was crying, he couldn't tell me what it was, he didn't _know_ what it was, and he said, 'The thing is, Mummy, I've been unhappy for _years._ ' He was only as big as a gumboot. ( _Pause. She freezes, thinking_.) Oh... ssh—sugar!—Paul, you just said it.
**BLAIR** What did I?
**HAPGOOD** You can't tell one from the other when they're all in the same get-up. That was what it was. Listen. Ridley's by the pool, Ridley's Russian is getting dressed. Merryweather's Russian arrives. Merryweather follows his Russian in and he follows the other Russian out, and why not?—they're identical and he only saw them one at a time, it could happen to anybody, especially to Merryweather, he probably still doesn't know there were two of them. Now Ridley comes from the pool and the same thing happens to him. He followed one Russian in and he follows the other one out, and why not?—they're identical and he only saw them one at a time. Then he comes back inside and he says, 'You didn't tell me it was twins.'
_Referee's whistle, a longer one indicating the end of the game._
It's true. I didn't.
_Distantly the two rugby teams call for three cheers for each other, first for St Christopher's, secondly for St Codron's._
**BLAIR** So how did he know?
**HAPGOOD** He was expecting twins. I think it's Ridley, Paul. I've left my own back door open. ( _Clapping_ ) Well played, St Christopher's... bad luck—
**BLAIR** Oh, f-f-fiddle!
JOE _enters._
**HAPGOOD** Hello, darling.
**JOE** Hello, Mum.
_He is very muddy and glad to see her. His boots are a size too large._
**HAPGOOD** Bad luck—well played anyway. Put this on.
**JOE** Thanks.
_He takes the tracksuit and puts it on. Hapgood helps him a little._
**BLAIR** Hello, Joe. I'm afraid they were rather good, weren't they?
**JOE** Yess'a.
**BLAIR** How are you otherwise?
**JOE** All rights'a, thank-yous'a. We always get beaten. I wish you wouldn't watch, Mum.
**HAPGOOD** Well, I like watching, I don't mind if you get beaten.
**JOE** But nobody watches except you.
**HAPGOOD** There's lots of people watching—look over there.
**JOE** That's the _firsts_ —that's what I _mean,_ nobody watches Junior Colts B—!
**HAPGOOD** I do.
**JOE** I _know,_ Mum—
**HAPGOOD** Well, I won't, then.
**JOE** I like you _coming_ —
**HAPGOOD** I didn't shout this time—
**JOE** You did a bit, Mum.
**HAPGOOD** Hardly at all, whose boots are those?
**JOE** Mine. I bought them from Sandilands.
**HAPGOOD** Who's Sandilands?
**JOE** He's had his kidney out so he does art.
**HAPGOOD** Oh. How much?
**JOE** A pound.
**HAPGOOD** A pound? What was wrong with yours?
**JOE** I lost one.
**HAPGOOD** You lost a rugby boot?
**JOE** Yes. Well, not exactly, I mean I haven't _got_ any rugger boots.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Irked_ ) Of course you have, what were you playing in before?
**JOE** My running shoes—it doesn't matter, nobody minds—
**HAPGOOD** You mean you _never_ had any rugby boots?
**JOE** Only this term, Mother—
**HAPGOOD** Why didn't you say?
**JOE** It's _all right,_ it's silly to buy new boots for Colts B.
**HAPGOOD** And now you've lost a running shoe?
**JOE** It's not lost, it's on the roof. I borrowed the key for Mr Clark's garage where there's the ladder, I was going to get it down in break with the ladder but then I lost it.
**HAPGOOD** The ladder?
**JOE** No, _the key,_ Mum—I put it somewhere and Mr Clark will have an epi if I don't find it.
**HAPGOOD** Is that what you're worried about, Mr Clark's garage key?
**BLAIR** I'll send one of the burglars.
**JOE** It's all right, don't do anything, Mum—
**HAPGOOD** I won't. When was all this?
**JOE** Today after breakfast—oh: thank you for the parcel. Your card came too. When were you in Austria?
**HAPGOOD** What was in the parcel?
**JOE** The chocolate animals.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, yes.
**JOE** I gave one to Roger.
**HAPGOOD** How is Roger?
**JOE** I think he's pregnant.
**HAPGOOD** Oh dear.
**JOE** Well, he's awfully fat and he only eats chocolate.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, well...
**JOE** I've got to go—
**HAPGOOD** Yes, don't miss tea—have you told Mr Clark you've lost his garage key?
**JOE** No, I mean he doesn't know I borrowed it.
**HAPGOOD** Don't tell him yet—do the grid for me. From getting up, to when you couldn't find it. You remember how we do that?
**JOE** It's all right, Mother—
**HAPGOOD** I know it's all right. Just do the grid—five minutes for every square, don't leave any out because the key is in one of them, and phone me in first break if you haven't found it.
**JOE** Yes, all right, thanks, Mum—thanks for coming—
**BLAIR** Goodbye, Joe.
**JOE** Goodbyes'a.
**HAPGOOD** Bye, darling—I'll let you know when I can come again—
_They exchange a kiss and he runs off._
**BLAIR** ( _Suddenly hearty_ ) I say—what a jolly nice young chap! Excellent knees.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Tightly_ ) Right, fine, thanks, point taken—I sent him a postcard; sorry. Oh, sugar, Paul!
**BLAIR** I merely said—
**HAPGOOD** No, you're right, I break the rules, but I keep _missing_ things, last time I missed him in _Robin Hood_ even if he _was_ only a tree, and if I can't send him a rotten postcard you can take Vienna and stick it up your—
**BLAIR** Right, fair enough—
**HAPGOOD** —jumper! Oh, fiddle!—I already run the only intelligence network in the Western world which exhibits seasonal fluctuations, and it's only a matter of time before somebody works out it's the school holidays. And now there's Ridley. Really I should pack it in.
**BLAIR** Oh, yes, Ridley. You could be right about him. It makes one wonder about that Bulgarian we lost in Paris...
**HAPGOOD** Ganchev, I thought so too. And Athens.
**BLAIR** Yes, Athens. Wates will like that one.
**HAPGOOD** It's a mess.
**BLAIR** Yes. Frankly I'd rather it were Kerner. That's just a better mousetrap. The real secrets are about intentions and deployment, and Ridley could make it shit city around here, I like the way they talk, the Americans, don't you?—no, of course you don't. What do you say when you burn your hand on a saucepan? 'Oh, sugar'?
**HAPGOOD** I don't cook.
**BLAIR** I didn't know you knew. Well, what are we going to do about Ridley? We could reel him in for a hostile interview but I'd rather catch him at it.
**HAPGOOD** Yes, that's right. We missed our chance today, we'll have to make him do it all again.
**BLAIR** ( _Surprised_ ) He won't come back to the well, it's been poisoned.
**HAPGOOD** I know. It's difficult. I'll think about it. Do you want some tea? They lay it on for parents and he's entitled to two.
**BLAIR** ( _Shakes his head_ ) I think I'd better get the search going in back numbers. And someone should tell Downing Street we're standing by Kerner.
**HAPGOOD** I've done that.
**BLAIR** Well... ( _He nods goodbye at her._ ) Don't pack it in yet, I need you.
**HAPGOOD** I was calling you at the pool this morning.
**BLAIR** I was there.
**HAPGOOD** I needed you.
**BLAIR** No, no, that was only personal. But you're going to need me now.
**HAPGOOD** I'll see you tomorrow. I'll be twenty minutes late in, there's something I have to do.
_Blair watches her go. The next time he moves he's in Hapgood's office giving his hat to_ MAGGS _and taking off his overcoat._
# SCENE 4
_Hapgood's office, ten a.m._
_There is a door from Maggs's office. A window would be nice but is not necessary. There is a desk with the usual stuff including at least two telephones one of which is red. Push-button dialling. You can dial without picking up the receiver, and you can talk to Maggs without picking up anything. There is a photograph frame on the desk, not too large. There is a safe. There is a decent old polished table big enough for six people to meet though we never need it for more than four. It might be nice to make the conference table and the desk all one thing so long as Hapgood doesn't look like Mussolini at work. An armchair would be useful but not if it has to be carried on. Anyway, there should be room to walk around. Maggs is Hapgood's secretary. He is young, calm, professional._
**MAGGS** Mrs Hapgood will be late. I've told Mr Wates.
**BLAIR** Is he here? I didn't see him.
**MAGGS** He's washing his hands and can he have a word.
**BLAIR** Well, I'm here.
**MAGGS** He said to say he's washing his hands and can he have a word.
**BLAIR** Don't be silly.
**MAGGS** That's what he said. Can I get you some tea?
**BLAIR** No, I don't think so, thank you, I had some. Was that Merryweather out there?
**MAGGS** Yes, sir.
**BLAIR** Well, somebody should go and tell Mr Wates to stop washing his hands.
**MAGGS** I'll ask Mr Merryweather.
_Maggs takes Blair's hat and coat and scarf out. Under the coat Blair looks a bit rumpled, yesterday's shirt, that sort of feeling. He has a_ Daily Telegraph. _He makes himself comfortable and opens it up._
_The red telephone rings. It has its own sound. Blair takes no notice._
_Maggs hurries in._
**BLAIR** It's the red line, I thought I wouldn't get in the way.
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone_ ) Mrs Hapgood's office... oh, hello, I'm sorry she isn't in... Yes, I'm fine, thanks, how are things your end?
_Wates enters, looking terrific: suit, white shirt, tie, polished shoes. The clothes are loose enough for a gun and the radio to be in there somewhere but not baggy._
_Blair gets up to greet him._
**BLAIR** Ben! Good morning!
**WATES** Paul.
**BLAIR** Come in—sit down—
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone_ ) Uh, hold on a moment—
**BLAIR** Mrs Hapgood won't be long.
**MAGGS** ( _To Blair_ ) Excuse me—should I...?
**BLAIR** No, no—it's perfectly all right. ( _To Wates_ ) Downing Street.
**WATES** Uh-huh.
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone, baffled_ ) You lost Mr Clark's garage key?
**BLAIR** ( _Hastily_ ) The _Telegraph_ has got a lot better, I notice... doesn't come off on your hands the way it used to. Maggs said you were washing your hands, but he didn't say of what.
**WATES** You guys.
**BLAIR** ( _Cheerfully_ ) Yes, it's wit city around here.
**WATES** No, you're funny like funny money, it doesn't mean everything it says.
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone_ ) He threw your boot on the roof.
**WATES** I'm not listening.
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone_ ) Five minutes for every square. Uh-huh. One square finding Whitaker for Matron. In the toilet, all right—two squares just dossing about, all right—
**BLAIR** Perhaps...
**MAGGS** ( _Into phone_ ) I'll call you straight back from my office. ( _He puts down the red phone and leaves, closing the door._ )
**BLAIR** You wanted a word, I think...
**WATES** Well...
**BLAIR**... in the washroom.
_Wates gets up, or perhaps he hasn't sat down, his manner is restless. He picks up the photo on Hapgood's desk._
**WATES** ( _Quietly_ ) Mother.
**BLAIR** Mm?
**WATES** Ridley and the other one, Merryweather, they call her Mother.
**BLAIR** Yes.
**WATES** There's a son.
**BLAIR** There is a son but she was called Mother when she joined the Defence Liaison Committee—the tea would arrive and the Minister would say, 'Who's going to be mother?'
**WATES** She was the only woman.
**BLAIR** Yes. She's still the only woman.
**WATES** Is there a Mr Hapgood?
**BLAIR** No.
**WATES** Dead?
**BLAIR** Is this idle curiosity?
**WATES** You tell me.
**BLAIR** Hapgood is her own name. Mrs is a courtesy title. It saves a lot of explanation. Usually.
**WATES** Do you mind if I ask you something, Paul?
**BLAIR** I'm beginning to.
_Wates puts the frame carefully back on the desk. Suddenly impatient._
**WATES** Look, it's simple: do you know who the kid's father is or not?
_Blair stares back at him, quite blank, and Wates lets it go. Wates has a complaint now._
She calls me Wates.
**BLAIR** It's a sort of compliment.
**WATES** It doesn't sound friendly.
**BLAIR** Mister wouldn't be friendly.
**WATES** You call me Ben.
**BLAIR** That's another sort of compliment.
**WATES** She doesn't call me Ben.
**BLAIR** That would be friendly but not necessarily a compliment.
**WATES** She calls you Paul.
**BLAIR** Yes, but we're friends.
**WATES** Can you explain this in some way I'd understand it?
_Blair considers the question._
**BLAIR** No, I don't think so.
**WATES** You guys.
**BLAIR** What did you want to talk about?
**WATES** Ridley.
**BLAIR** All right.
**WATES** You don't look surprised.
**BLAIR** It's deceptive.
**WATES** I was thinking about Ridley. Kerner delivers but Ridley intercepts. Ridley intercepts and delivers to Hapgood. Ridley and Hapgood. Hapgood and Ridley. I know the tune. You didn't tell me it was him in Athens.
**BLAIR** Oh, yes, Athens.
**WATES** Talk to me about Athens, Paul, since we're friends.
**BLAIR** Well, we targeted a radio operator in the Russian Embassy in Athens who was cheating on his wife with a local girl we put in his way, a straightforward honeytrap. Mrs Hapgood came out from London to put the squeeze on him. Ridley was at that time number three in the Athens station, he took the photographs. But it went wrong and as you know we had to pull Ridley out of Athens in a hurry.
**WATES** He killed an American agent.
**BLAIR** That isn't how I'd put it.
**WATES** How would you put it?
**BLAIR** He killed a Greek national who turned out to be on the Company payroll. Anyway, it was a sideshow. The KGB goons busted our Russian in the girl's flat. Simply bad luck. The girl got roughed up in the process and her pimp took it into his head that Ridley set her up. He tried to shoot Ridley on the stairs of his apartment and Ridley shot him first.
**WATES** So Ridley moves on to Paris. ( _Pause._ ) Now I'm thinking about Ganchev, you remember Ganchev?
**BLAIR** Ganchev. I can't quite place him.
**WATES** Bulgarian. He was one of your joes, shot dead in Paris. He was your Bulgarian—he got blown—the Bulgarians took him out—boom!—and you can't quite place him.
**BLAIR** Oh, yes, Ganchev.
**WATES** Right, Miron Ganchev. He was Ridley's joe, wasn't he?.
**BLAIR** Yes, that's right.
**WATES** He was making a meet with Ridley and he was killed in a safe house in the rue Velásquez except it wasn't a safe house any more.
**BLAIR** Yes.
**WATES** It was Ridley's meet. Two doorkeys, whoever gets there first waits for whoever gets there second. Ridley was second.
**BLAIR** I think I can see what you're getting at but unfortunately Ganchev was shot at a range of about nine inches and Ridley was in a taxi in a traffic jam on the wrong side of the river. We went into it.
**WATES** No, you don't see. Who says he was in a taxi?
_Pause._
**BLAIR** ( _Quietly_ ) Ben, I really wouldn't want you to make an ass of yourself.
**WATES** Who says he was in a taxi?
**BLAIR** Fuck off.
**WATES** It was Hapgood. She was in the taxi too. And you went into it. Did you get the taxi driver? No. You had Ridley's boss.
**BLAIR** ( _Flares up_ ) What is this—couldn't you sleep? This is stood on _nothing_ : if Ridley did it, Hapgood must have alibi'd him; if Hapgood alibi'd him Ridley must have done it. You've got nothing, Ben, except insomnia.
**WATES** That's what it was. Nine p.m. Washington time I'm in Grosvenor Square, going through the whole thing again, I'm thinking about the radio signal in Kerner's briefcase. It gets to the meet, no question. Kerner delivers, Ridley collects, Ridley delivers to Hapgood. The signal goes dead.
**BLAIR** It's still insomnia.
**WATES** ( _Imperturbably_ ) It's still insomnia and I'm still thinking about Kerner's bleep. It went off the air but what does that mean? Maybe it went off the air, maybe we lost the frequency, maybe it hopped frequencies, maybe there was an override, you know what I mean? I didn't believe any of it, I just wanted to get rid of these things so I could forget the bleep and think about something else. So my guy's radio-finder is sitting on the desk and I put on the phones and I tune it in... and, Paul, it was alive. It was transmitting like a bullfrog.
**BLAIR** Two o'clock in the morning?
**WATES** ( _Nods_ ) I start waking people up. I have a vector on it, I need co-ordinates. By four o'clock I know which street, I know the building, I know which corner of the building, I know how high up the building within eight feet, I mean, shit, I know which _room._ It was coming from this office. The bleep has come back home. It's here.
**BLAIR** Why didn't you wake me?
**WATES** Where were you sleeping?
_Pause_
**BLAIR** Where is she now?
**WATES** You're asking me?
**BLAIR** ( _Snaps_ ) Yes, I'm asking you.
**WATES** Excuse me.
_He takes the radio out of his coat._
( _To radio_ ) Wates—who's in the Toyota?
**RADIO** Collins, sir.
**WATES** Where're you at?
**RADIO** Outside. Target is home.
_Wates puts the radio back in his pocket._
**WATES** She just walked in.
**BLAIR** Good.
**WATES** We should hold back a little, feel this thing out.
**BLAIR** Don't worry. Incidentally, where did she go this morning?
**WATES** Shopping.
**BLAIR** Shopping.
**WATES** As I say, it makes sense to hold back, Paul, give her a little room, you understand me?
**BLAIR** Of course.
_The door opens and Hapgood enters briskly. She has her shopping with her. There is a Lillywhites' carrier bag and a little Fortnum's bag._
**HAPGOOD** Good morning!—Paul—Wates—
**BLAIR** Good morning!—Guess what—Kerner's bleep came alive in the night, it seems to be coming from your office.
**WATES** Aw, shit.
**HAPGOOD** Gosh, Wates.
**WATES** Yes ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** Sit down.
**WATES** I've been sitting, I like standing, ma'am.
_Maggs enters. He comes from the outer office with stuff for Hapgood's attention; a wooden tray (shallow box) overflowing with open letters, memos, etc., and a separate lot of sensitive material which might even be in a little attaché case or a closable file. The tray is put on the desk; it's the other lot of stuff which Hapgood looks through first._
**MAGGS** Good morning. Do you want to see the decrypts?
_Hapgood is behind her desk. Blair has sat down again where he was sitting, and Wates probably stays standing. Maggs stands._
**HAPGOOD** (To _Maggs_ ) Thank you. Anything else?
**MAGGS** Joe telephoned. I wrote down the grid.
**HAPGOOD** Thank you—don't go. ( _To Wates_ ) What time, Wates?
**WATES** One fifty—two o'clock...
**HAPGOOD** Uh-huh.
_She has scooped the decrypts, etc., out of their case. Maggs gets the case. Hapgood starts going through the pile of stuff. There's not very much of it. But unless otherwise stated she is reading the material continuously, making notes on pages which one by one go back to Maggs and back into the case. She reads while she listens and she also reads while she talks to Wates._
**HAPGOOD** ( _To Wates_ ) It was alive when you checked, so you don't know when it came on air.
**WATES** That's right.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To Maggs_ ) This one to Special Branch in the pouch. This one to the Russian Desk by hand. ( _To Wates_ ) And you got a triangulation and the beams crossed in this office.
**WATES** Yes, ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** Is it still giving out?
**WATES** As far as l know.
**HAPGOOD** And you would know, wouldn't you?
_It is clear now that he is not popular with her this morning._
( _Icy_ ) Why didn't you call me?
_He doesn't reply so she gives him a glance._
Yes, I see.
_She bangs a few buttons on her telephone console and then lifts the handset._
( _Into phone_ ) Get me the form on a white Toyota—
**WATES** ( _Pleading guilty_ ) Yeah, all right.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) Cancel.
_She puts the phone down._
( _To Wates_ ) I'll get back to that. So did you bring a radio-finder with you? ( _To Maggs_ ) This one upstairs, this one reconfirm.
**WATES** No, ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** You thought you'd give me first crack. That's all right.
**WATES** Ma'am, this is a 500 millisecond-repeat transponder-transmitter locked on seventeen megahertz with a lithium battery and a gate interrupter... it...
_He falters because she appears to be absorbed in her next paper._
**HAPGOOD** Interrupter.
**WATES** It gives it a signature, it has to be the same bleep.
_She scribbles on the last decrypt, hands it to Maggs, and takes the top sheet off the other pile._
**HAPGOOD** So it went dead at ten-oh-seven yesterday morning and it was alive again at two a.m. Can they come and go like that?
**WATES** Not that I ever heard. My guy couldn't figure it either. They're either fixed or broke, they don't fix themselves.
**HAPGOOD** Uh-huh. Did he mention a hamster?
**WATES** A what?
**HAPGOOD** ( _To Maggs_ ) Roger.
**MAGGS** No.
**HAPGOOD** You sure?—empty square before assembly—
**MAGGS** No Roger-the-hamster.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, the chump. ( _Relieved_ ) That's all, Maggs. Tea.
_Maggs goes back to his office. Wates has had enough of this._
**WATES** Excuse me—we don't need to know about this stuff. When I put on the phones I felt foolish like putting on a stethoscope for a corpse that's been ten hours dead in the water—but, ma'am, we've got a situation now and I'm glad Paul is here because I'm asking him to ask you if you would open up that safe you have there and then I won't have to worry about it any more.
_Hapgood has stopped listening. She sits thinking._
Paul?
_He gets no help._
**HAPGOOD** Wates, I could kiss you. ( _She goes to the door._ ) Merryweather. ( _She heads back to her desk._ )
**MERRYWEATHER** ( _Entering_ ) Thanks, Mother, I don't need long, it was just that I had a thought about our Russian friend—
**HAPGOOD** ( _Sitting down_ ) In a minute. You drained the pool.
**MERRYWEATHER** Yes, that's right.
**HAPGOOD** How long did that take?
**MERRYWEATHER** Ages—most of the day—right down to the filter—
**HAPGOOD** And?
**MERRYWEATHER** I put it in Maggs's box last night.
_He means an envelope on Maggs's pile. Hapgood tears the envelope across._
Looked interesting to me. Any good?
_The envelape contains a 'poker chip' transmitter. She tosses it to Wates who catches it._
**HAPGOOD** Ten hours dead in the water. It only drowns the signal, when Merryweather fished it out it was back on the air.
_Maggs comes in with Hapgood's tea. It's like having tea at the Ritz without the sandwiches—nice china, tea pot, hot water jug, etc._
_Blair, who has been sitting too still for too long, now stretches all the tension out of his body, sprawling in his chair, languid again._
**BLAIR** I think I might change my mind about that tea, Maggs... how about you, Ben?
**WATES** Yes. Thank vou.
**HAPGOOD** Just the cups, Maggs. Mr Wates takes it with lemon.
**MAGGS** We haven't got a lemon.
**HAPGOOD** Tsk, tsk, you must always keep a lemon.
**MAGGS** ( _Leaving_ ) The reply from Ottawa came in.
**HAPGOOD** Oh yes?
**MAGGS** Exchange bishops, and queen to king one.
**HAPGOOD** Exchange bishops, my eye—he'll be lucky.
_Maggs leaves. Hapgood broods for a moment. From his pocket, Wates produces his pink-paper 'diagram'. He looks at it and passes it to Blair. Meanwhile_ —
**MERRYWEATHER** Mother...
**HAPGOOD** Oh, I'm sorry, Merryweather—
**MERRYWEATHER** It's just that I had a thought which may or may not be something.
**HAPGOOD** Of course—tell us your thought.
**MERRYWEATHER** Well, I was thinking about it and something wasn't quite right. The Russian delivered to the changing room and he came straight out again...
**HAPGOOD** Yes?
**MERRYWEATHER** He didn't have time for a swim or anything.
**HAPGOOD** Uh-huh.
**MERRYWEATHER** Well, this is the thing—I was thinking about it and I'm pretty sure his towel was dry when I followed him in but it was wet when I followed him out... I was wondering if anybody had noticed that. ( _Pause._ ) Well, it was just a thought I thought I'd leave with you.
**HAPGOOD** It's a good thought, Merryweather, worth thinking about. Thank you.
**MERRYWEATHER** Fine. Any way I can help.
**HAPGOOD** Actually, there's a job you can do for me.
**MERRYWEATHER** Good—of course—
**HAPGOOD** It's down the A30 past Staines.
**MERRYWEATHER** Right. A meet?
**HAPGOOD** A sort of meet. Just past Virginia Water you take a right, the A329 to Bracknell, a couple of miles along there's a prep school, St Christopher's.
_From the Lillywhites' bag she produces a pair of brand new rugby boots and gives them to Merryweather._
Get there at exactly one fifty. You'll find a lot of small boys charging around outside. Stop the first boy you see and say, 'Do you know Hapgood?'
**MERRYWEATHER** 'Do you know Hapgood?'
**HAPGOOD** The boy will say, 'Yes, sir.' There's an outside chance he'll say, 'I am Hapgood, sir,' but probably not. Give him this, and say, 'I have a message from Mother.'
**MERRYWEATHER** 'Do you know Hapgood? I have a message from Mother.' Is this the message?
**HAPGOOD** No, the message is, 'The garage key is on Roger's hutch.'
**MERRYWEATHER** 'The garage key is on Roger's hutch.'
_Maggs comes in with the cups. He goes to add them to the tray._
**HAPGOOD** St Christopher's—the Bracknell road—one fifty.
**MERRYWEATHER** Right. 'The garage key is on Roger's hutch.'
**HAPGOOD** Thank you very much, Merryweather.
_She has helped him out of the door. Maggs is following Merryweather out._
( _To Maggs_ ) Pawn to rook four, and tell him to put his queen back.
**MAGGS** ( _Continuing out_ ) Pawn to rook four.
_Maggs closes the door behind him. Pause._
**WATES** It's Ridley.
**BLAIR** Mm.
**WATES** I'm sorry.
_He is commiserating, not apologizing._
You'll have to turn over everything he ever touched.
**HAPGOOD** We're already doing that.
**WATES** ( _Surprised, wrong-footed_ ) Since when?
**HAPGOOD** Since yesterday. Paul's been here all night.
_She flicks her thumb along Blair's jaw bone, a technical gesture._
You look awful.
_That's Wates wrong-footed twice._
( _To Wates_ ) Do you remember Ganchev, our Bulgarian?—Paul and I think that's one which needs looking at, did he tell you?
_That's three times. He is suddenly really angry._
**WATES** You guys!
**HAPGOOD** Wates—
**WATES** My friends call me Ben!
**HAPGOOD** I don't care what your friends call you, I want to tell you something—I will not be tagged by your people in my own _town_! I took them all round Lillywhites and I can number them off, don't think I can't, I've been followed by marching bands that did it better, and if they're not pulled by the time I go to lunch you're off the food-chain. Is that entirely clear?
**WATES** It's clear.
**HAPGOOD** Good. Did they tell you I popped into Fortnum's? ( _From the little Fortnum's bag she takes a lemon, which is all the bag contains, and adds it to the tea-tray_.) Where are we, Paul?
_Blair passes her Wates's pink diagram._
**BLAIR** Where we are is that when the bleep died it was no longer in the briefcase, it was in the water, and Ridley was by the pool. We're no further than that. But it's really quite attractive: every month, Ridley helps to pack Kerner's briefcase. That's his job. Kerner's job is handing the briefcase over to the Russians.
**WATES** It's made in heaven.
**BLAIR** Yes. The opposition don't care which way Kerner is bent, either way he's a channel for Ridley. Yesterday it nearly came apart but only because of the leak in Moscow. Ridley had to remove the evidence.
**WATES** Why did he remove your films?
**BLAIR** ( _Smoothly_ ) Obviously because he put _in_ a roll of film and they all look the same.
**WATES** And the bleep?
**BLAIR** Oh, you know, pass-the-parcel... did you ever play that? The object is not to be the one holding the parcel when the music stops. Ridley drowned the signal when... someone else was holding the...
**WATES** ( _Deflecting_ ) Yes, all right. ( _Pause._ ) And he did all that without opening the briefcase?
**BLAIR** Ah, yes. That's the bit we're still working on.
**WATES** I'd say you have a problem.
**BLAIR** We have a hypothesis.
**WATES** A _hypothesis?_
**BLAIR** Mmm. Actually, it's Mr Kerner's hypothesis.
_Blair and Hapgood are complicitly wary of Wates, not secretive but slightly embarrassed, expecting his derision._
**WATES** And is this _hypothesis_ a hypothesis you can share?
**HAPGOOD** It's twins.
**WATES** It's twins?
**HAPGOOD** Two Ridleys.
_Long pause. Blair and Hapgood watch him nervously.)_
**WATES** ( _Evenly_ ) Yeah... that would do it.
_Hapgood and Blair relax._
**HAPGOOD** Thank you, Ben. Well, should I be mother?
# SCENE 5
_An indoor shooting range. But we don't really know that yet. We see Ridley, downstage in the only lit area, ready to shoot, holding his gun towards the dark upstage. Ridley shoots six times. His shots are aimed at six illuminated targets which make their sudden and successive appearances. Some of the targets are 'blue' and some (most) are 'green'. (Or, cut-out figures, of villains and civilians, with some changes to the dialogue.)_
_No targets are showing when we see Ridley. He starts shooting when the first target appears._
_Ridley's six targets come up as four greens, then a blue, then a green. He hits the first two, misses the third and fourth, hits the fifth, which is the blue, and the sixth. Ridley's conversation is with an amplified_ VOICE. _Ridley doesn't have to raise his voice to reply, but his voice echoes._
**VOICE** Stop shooting. Two misses, three greens, and you killed a blue. Reload.
**RIDLEY** Reloading.
**VOICE** On your go, and remember blue is our side.
**RIDLEY** Yes, sir.
_Hapgood enters quietly, walking behind Ridley's back._
**VOICE** Mr Ridley, on your go.
**RIDLEY** Go.
_The first target is blue. Ridley lets it live. The next five are all green, rapid. Ridley hits four, misses the fifth, and hardly has time to curse before the target is knocked out by a sixth shot, from Hapgood's gun._
**VOICE** Wait a minute—wait a minute—
_Hapgood comes into Ridley's light, putting a small automatic into her handbag._
**HAPGOOD** Hey, Ridley.
**RIDLEY** Mother.
**VOICE** Is that you, Mrs Hapgood?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Cheerful_ ) Hello, Mac. How've you been?
**VOICE** Ma'am, you're breaking the rules.
**HAPGOOD** I know, I'm hopeless. Will you give us the shop for a while?
**VOICE** Do you want the mike?
**HAPGOOD** No, no need.
**VOICE** I'll be in the back.
**HAPGOOD** Thank you.
_We lose the echo._
( _To Ridley_ ) I have to talk to you.
**RIDLEY** Funny place to choose.
**HAPGOOD** I'm not sure that I want to be seen with you, Ridley.
_Ridley considers this. He considers her. He has his gun in his hand. He puts the gun away behind him, into his waistband under his jacket next to his spine. He takes out a packet of cigarettes, puts one in his mouth, puts the packet away, and feels for the lighter._
Don't light it.
_Ridley takes the cigarette out of his mouth and holds it unlit._
**RIDLEY** What's the problem?
**HAPGOOD** The problem is, someone's playing dirty and we're favourite.
**RIDLEY** ( _Quite pleased_ ) You and me? What have we done?
**HAPGOOD** The story is we're bent. We've been using Kerner to pass real secrets. Yesterday it went wrong for us and we had to steal them back during the meet. You passed the briefcase to me and I emptied it.
**RIDLEY** If this is Wates why doesn't he go for the obvious? The stuff was never in there.
**HAPGOOD** Wates tracked it to the pool, he had a finder on the bleep. It stayed alive till the briefcase got to me.
_Ridley laughs._
**RIDLEY** I think I see. You cracked the transponder in your teeth.
**HAPGOOD** I was in the shower. It doesn't work in water.
_Ridley likes that even better._
**RIDLEY** And what about the Geiger? Weren't you clean?
**HAPGOOD** No. When I opened the briefcase to see if we had a result... How do you like it so far?
**RIDLEY** ( _Delighted_ ) It's beautiful. I'm beginning to think you did it. I don't see that you'd need me.
**HAPGOOD** Well, there are a couple of other things. Wates has been digging up the back garden and he thinks he's found some bones he can make bodies out of.
**RIDLEY** Like what?
**HAPGOOD** Like Athens.
**RIDLEY** Ah, Athens. We _met_ in Athens. Oh, Mother... Athens was the best time of my life.
**HAPGOOD** Was it? We had an operation that blew up in our faces.
**RIDLEY** What's that to Wates?
**HAPGOOD** Well, that girl in Athens, the night she was busted, she said you were there, outside.
**RIDLEY** That was rubbish. I was with you.
**HAPGOOD** I know.
**RIDLEY** In a parked car in Piraeus waiting for our Russian who never turned up, we were pretending to be lovers.
**HAPGOOD** Don't leer, it suits you.
**RIDLEY** What else?
**HAPGOOD** Ganchev.
**RIDLEY** Good heavens. What a team.
**HAPGOOD** I tell you, Ridley, I'm sick of being your alibi. I can't blame Wates for wondering about us.
**RIDLEY** Did Wates talk to you?
**HAPGOOD** No.
**RIDLEY** He talked to Paul Blair? Blair wouldn't be impressed. It's all circular. It can't be me without you, it can't be you without me, so it's both of us. Whatever happened to neither? Did Blair listen?
**HAPGOOD** He listened but he thinks he knows better.
**RIDLEY** Trust, you see.
**HAPGOOD** No, he thinks it's Kerner.
**RIDLEY** Yes, that makes sense.
**HAPGOOD** Why?
**RIDLEY** Every double is a risk—Blair would have to consider it.
**HAPGOOD** Well, I hope he's wrong.
**RIDLEY** That's a funny thing to say, Mother.
**HAPGOOD** ( _With passion_ ) _Kerner is my joe!_ I turned him. If he's bent, something must have turned him back again—recently, a few months...
**RIDLEY** What would that be?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Shrugs_ ) _Toska po rodine._
**RIDLEY** What's that?
**HAPGOOD** Homesickness, but squared. You have to be Russian.
**RIDLEY** That could be. Did he leave a family?
**HAPGOOD** Why?
**RIDLEY** When I processed him after the meet I found a photograph, fingernail size, cut out with scissors, like from a team photo. It was hidden in the lining of his wallet, an amateur job... picture of a boy in a football shirt.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Looks at him steadily_ ) What did you do with it?
**RIDLEY** I put it back, Mother. Do I have to keep calling you Mother? You can call me Ernest. ( _Pause._ ) Call me Ridley.
**HAPGOOD** You're all right, Ridley. The firm will miss you.
**RIDLEY** Say again?
**HAPGOOD** You're suspended. So am I. Wates took his story upstairs. Paul Blair is running my operations. Do you think I got you here for fun?
**RIDLEY** God almighty. What do we do now?
**HAPGOOD** You do what Blair tells you. In my office, seven o'clock, and you're there to listen, don't talk out of turn. By the way, we're not telling the Americans.
**RIDLEY** Trust me. ( _Then a flat challenge_.) Why don't you, as a matter of fact?
**HAPGOOD** You're not safe, Ridley. You're cocky and I like prudence, you're street smart and this is a boardgame. In Paris you bounced around like Tigger, you thought it was cowboys and Indians. In Athens you killed a man and it was the best time of your life, you thought it was sexy. You're not my type. You're my alibi and I'm yours. Trust doesn't come into it.
**RIDLEY** Well, go and fuck yourself, Hapgood ( _He now takes his lighter out and lights his cigarette with deliberate, insolent defiance._ ), since we're on suspension. You come on like you're running your joes from the senior common room and butter wouldn't melt in your pants but you operate like a circular saw, and you pulled me to watch your back because when this is a street business I'm your bloody type all right, and in Athens if you could have got your bodice up past your brain you would have screwed me and liked it.
_He starts to leave._
**HAPGOOD** Ridley.
_He stops._
Safety.
**RIDLEY** I didn't reload.
**HAPGOOD** You saved on the blue.
**RIDLEY** That's true. ( _He takes his gun from the holster, checks it, and puts it back._ ) This is all right.
**HAPGOOD** What is?
**RIDLEY** I like it when it's you and me.
_Ridley leaves._
_Kerner enters, coming towards her out of the dark and into the light. She sees him and is not surprised. She takes her radio out of her bag._
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) Is he clear?
**RADIO** Green.
**HAPGOOD** I'm here to be told.
_She puts the radio back into her bag._
( _To Kerner_ ) Do you mean there's another one like him?
**KERNER** It's a hypothesis.
**HAPGOOD** So where's the other one?
**KERNER** Maybe that was the other one.
**HAPGOOD** Joseph!
_Their manner is as of intimate friends._
Did you look at Wates's diagram?
**KERNER** ( _Nods_ ) Positional geometry. Leibnitz. I'll tell you about him.
**HAPGOOD** No, don't.
**KERNER** You're right, it's marginal. I'll tell you about Leonhard Euler. Were you ever in Kaliningrad?
**HAPGOOD** No, I'm afraid not.
**KERNER** I was born in Kaliningrad. So was Immanuel Kant, as a matter of fact. There is quite a nice statue of him. Of course, it was not Kaliningrad then, it was Konigsberg, seat of the Archdukes of Prussia. President Truman gave Konigsberg to Stalin. My parents were not consulted and I missed being German by a few months. Well, in Immanuel Kant's Konigsberg there were seven bridges. The river Pregel, now Pregolya, divides around an island and then divides again, imagine nutcrackers with one bridge across each of the handles and one across the hinge and four bridges on to the island which would be the walnut if you were cracking walnuts. An ancient amusement of the people of Konigsberg was to try to cross all seven bridges without crossing any of them twice. It looked possible but nobody had solved it. Now, when Kant was ten years old... what do you think?
**HAPGOOD** Did he really? What a charming story.
**KERNER** The little Kant had no idea either. No, when Kant was ten years old, the Swiss mathematician Leonhard Euler took up the problem of the seven bridges and he presented his solution in the form of a general principle. Of course, Euler didn't waste his time walking around Konigsberg, he only needed the geometry.
_He now produces Wates's diagram on pink paper._
When I looked at Wates's diagram I saw that Euler had already done the proof. It was the bridges of Konigsberg, only simpler.
**HAPGOOD** What did Euler prove?
**KERNER** It can't be done, you need two walkers.
_Pause._
**HAPGOOD** Good old Euler.
**KERNER** You like it?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Nods_ ) It makes sense of those twin Russians trailing their coats around the pool. Last year the Swedes got themselves a KGB defector and the famous twins turned up in his debriefing with a solid London connection. If two Ridleys are for real they must have felt the draught. Those two jokers at the meet were brought in as decoys. Reflectors. I never believed in the twins till then. I know about reflectors.
**KERNER** Has this place been dusted?
**HAPGOOD** Dusted?
**KERNER** We can talk?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Amused_ ) Oh, yes. We can talk. ( _She regards him steadily_.) _Now_ he's careful.
**KERNER** The photograph? I'm ashamed.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Sudden force_ ) No, I am. Oh, fiddle!
**KERNER** I mean, 'an amateur job'.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, Joseph.
**KERNER** Yes, I'm one of your Joes. How is the little one?
**HAPGOOD** He's all right. He's fine. Stop sending him chocolates, they're bad for his teeth and not good for his hamster. Dusted is fingerprints, you know. Microphones is swept. Where do you pick up these things?
**KERNER** Spy stories. I like them. Well, they're different, you know. Not from each other naturally. I read in hope but they all surprise in the same way. Ridley is not very nice: he'll turn out to be all right. Blair will be the traitor: the one you liked. This is how the author says, 'You see! Life is not like books, alas!' They're all like that. I don't mind. I love the language.
**HAPGOOD** ( _The language lover_ ) I'm awfully glad.
**KERNER** Safe house, sleeper, cover, joe... I love it. When I have learned the language I will write my own book. The traitor will be the one you don't like very much, it will be a scandal. Also I will reveal him at the beginning. I don't understand this mania for surprises. If the author knows, it's rude not to tell. In science this is understood: what is interesting is to know what is happening. When I write an experiment I do not wish you to be _surprised,_ it is not a _joke._ This is why a science paper is a beautiful thing: first, here is what we will find; now here is how we find it; here is the first puzzle, here is the answer, now we can move on. This is polite. We don't save up all the puzzles to make a triumph for the author.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Insisting_ ) _Joseph_ —twins. Who's in charge and is he sane?
**KERNER** His name was Konstantin Belov, and, yes, he was sane, though in my opinion absurd.
**HAPGOOD** More.
**KERNER** He is not in charge now. The twins are his legacy.
**HAPGOOD** You knew him?
**KERNER** Sure. His training was particle physics, before he got into State Security. One day Konstantin Belov jumped out of his bathtub and shouted 'Eureka!' Maybe he was asleep in the bath. The particle world is the dreamworld of the intelligence officer. An electron can be here or there at the same moment. You can choose. It can go from here to there without going in between; it can pass through two doors at the same time, or from one door to another by a path which is there for all to see until someone looks, and then the act of looking has made it take a different path. Its movements cannot be anticipated because it has no reasons. It defeats surveillance because when you know what it's doing you can't be certain where it is, and when you know where it is you can't be certain what it's doing: Heisenberg's uncertainty principle; and this is not because you're not looking carefully enough, it is because there is _no such thing_ as an electron with a definite position and a definite momentum; you fix one, you lose the other, and it's all done without tricks, it's the real world, it is awake.
**HAPGOOD** Joseph, please explain to me about the twins.
**KERNER** I just did but you missed it.
_Pause._
**HAPGOOD** It's crazy.
**KERNER** ( _Unmoved_ ) Oh, yes... but compared to the electron it is banal... Yelizaveta, when things get very small they get truly crazy, and you don't know how small things can be, you think you know but you don't know. I could put an atom into your hand for every second since the world began and you would have to squint to see the dot of atoms in your palm. So now make a fist, and if your fist is as big as the nucleus of one atom then the atom is as big as St Paul's, and if it happens to be a hydrogen atom then it has a single electron flitting about like a moth in the empty cathedral, now by the dome, now by the altar... Every atom is a cathedral. I cannot stand the pictures of atoms they put in schoolbooks, like a little solar system: Bohr's atom. Forget it. You can't make a picture of what Bohr proposed, an electron does not go round like a planet, it is like a moth which was there a moment ago, it gains or loses a quantum of energy and it jumps, and at the moment of quantum jump it is like _two_ moths, one to be here and one to stop being there; an electron is like twins, each one unique, a unique twin.
**HAPGOOD** Its own alibi.
**KERNER** It upset Einstein very much, you know, all that damned uncertainty, it spoiled his idea of God, which I tell you frankly is the only idea of Einstein's I never understood. He couldn't believe in a God who threw dice. He should have come to me, I would have told him, 'Listen, Albert, He threw _you_ —look around, He never stops.' What is a hamster, by the way? No, tell me in a minute, I want to tell you something first. There is a straight ladder from the atom to the grain of sand, and the only real mystery in physics is the missing rung. Below it, particle physics; above it, classical physics; but in between, metaphysics. All the mystery in life turns out to be this same mystery, the join between things which are distinct and yet continuous, body and mind, free will and causality, living cells and life itself; the moment before the foetus. Who needed God when everything worked like billiard balls? What were you going to say?
**HAPGOOD** It's like a fat rabbit with no ears.
**KERNER** Oh yes. You mean a _khomyak._
**HAPGOOD** Yes, a _khomyak_ called Roger. ( _Pause._ ) Joseph, after this thing with Ridley you're blown, you know, your career will be over.
**KERNER** Except as a scientist, you mean.
**HAPGOOD** Yes, that's what I mean, I won't need you any more, I mean I'll need you again—oh, sugar!—you _know_ what I mean—do you want to marry me? I think I'd like to be married. Well, don't look like that.
**KERNER** What is this?—because of a photograph in my wallet? It is not even necessary, I never look at it.
**HAPGOOD** Won't you want to meet him now?
**KERNER** Oh, yes. 'This is Joe.' 'Hello, young man.'
**HAPGOOD** ( _Defiantly_ ) Well, I'm going to tell him, whether you marry me or not.
**KERNER** I'm not charmed by this. If I loved you it was so long ago I had to tell you in Russian and you kept the tape running. It was not a safe house for love. The spy was falling in love with the case-officer, you could hear it on the playback. One day you switched off the hidden microphone and got pregnant.
**HAPGOOD** That's uncalled for. I loved you.
**KERNER** You interrogated me. Weeks, months, every day. I was your thought, your objective... If love was like that it would not even be healthy.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Stubbornly_ ) I loved you, Joseph.
**KERNER** You fell into your own honeypot—
**HAPGOOD** ( _Flares_ ) That's a damned lie! You unspeakable _cad_!
**KERNER** —and _now_ you think you'd like to be married, and tell Joe he has a father after all, not dead after all, only a secret, we are all in the secret service!—no, I don't think so. And suppose I decided to return.
_That brings her up short._
**HAPGOOD** Where? Why would you do that?
**KERNER** _Toska po rodine._
**HAPGOOD** You mustn't say that to me, Joseph. Please don't say it.
**KERNER** You would not tell.
**HAPGOOD** I might. Take it back.
_Kerner comforts her._
**KERNER** _Milaya moya, rodnaya moya_... it's all right. I am your Joe.
_She suffers his embrace, then softens into it._
Cad is good. I like cad.
**HAPGOOD** Honeypot...
**KERNER** Is that wrong?
**HAPGOOD** Honeytrap. And anyway that's something else. You and your books.
**KERNER** I thought you would marry Paul.
_Wrong. Hapgood stiffens, separates herself._
**HAPGOOD** I'll see you tonight. And let Paul do the talking. Keep your end of it as simple as you can.
**KERNER** Worry about yourself. I will be magnificent.
# ACT TWO
# SCENE 1
_Hapgood's office, evening. Blair sits in Hapgood's place. Hapgood sits to one side. Ridley sits to the other side. They are waiting. When Ridley gets bored with this he opens his mouth to say something._
**BLAIR** ( _Mildly_ ) Shut up, Ridley.
_The door opens and Maggs comes in with a potted plant, with card attached, and delivers it to Hapgood. She opens the little envelope and looks at the florist's card, replaces the card, and puts the envelope back where it started on the potted plant. Meanwhile Maggs receives a nod from Blair and leaves the room, returning immediately to let Kerner into the room. Maggs retires again closing the door._
( _Greeting Kerner_ ) Joseph!
**KERNER** Hello, Paul.
**BLAIR** Sit here, won't you?
**KERNER** ( _Turns to Hapgood_ ) So. Something special.
_Hapgood ignores his glance. After a slight pause, Kerner takes the chair down-table opposite Blair._
**BLAIR** This is a friendly interview. That's a technical term. It means it is not a hostile interview, which is also a technical term. I'll define them if you wish. ( _Pause._ ) Well, I won't protract this.
_From a dossier he produces about half a dozen five-by-eight black-and-white photographs; pages from a typewritten document._
Have a look at these, would you?
_He pushes them down the table to Kerner who spreads them face up in front of him._
I'm afraid they're not very good—photographs of photographs—but you can probably see what they are.
**KERNER** Of course.
**BLAIR** One of your regular reports on the anti-matter programme you're running with the Centre for Nuclear Research in Geneva, April/May; copies to the main contractors, the Livermore Research Laboratory in California, through the SDI office in the Pentagon, travelling by embassy courier from Grosvenor Square; and copies to the Defence Liaison Committee, also by hand; both lots under the control of this office, where indeed the copies are made; a very limited circulation, fifteen copies in all, nine American and six British. In fact, however, these photographs are of a British copy. The white patches are the erasure of the circulation number printed on to each page _ab origine._ Washington adds an American circulation prefix, missing from these pages but not erased. All clear so far?
**KERNER** Where did the photos come from?
**BLAIR** Moscow. They were received in Washington two days ago from an American agent in place, not an _American,_ of course; 'in place' means—
**KERNER** Please, I am not illiterate.
**BLAIR** The six British copies have a read-and-return distribution of eleven. That includes the Minister, the Liaison Committee, and the Prime Minister's box. It doesn't include your lab, or this office where our copy is kept on file with the turnkeys.
**KERNER** May I ask a question?
**BLAIR** Yes, do.
**KERNER** Why are you sitting in Mrs Hapgood's chair?
**BLAIR** That is a very fair question. The answer is that Mrs Hapgood isn't here. Mr Ridley isn't here either. They are on paid leave, which is why they can't be with us this evening, and which is why this is a friendly interview.
**KERNER** ( _Laughs_ ) Oh, Paul, have you broken the rules at last?—turned by a pair of pretty eyelashes?
**HAPGOOD** Behave yourself, damn you!
**BLAIR** ( _Intervenes calmingly_ ) Please... As you know, there is a regular traffic of monitored information going to the Soviets from this office, organized and prepared by Mrs Hapgood and Mr Ridley, and delivered to you for delivery to your Russian control. In other words a channel already exists. As a precautionary measure, Mrs Hapgood and Mr Ridley have been relieved of their duties. In the same spirit of caution rather than insinuation, your research programme will have to be interrupted for a while, in the national interest. Notice of your own suspension will reach you by messenger at eight o'clock in the morning.
**KERNER** Paul, listen—you don't know how many people get their hands on this... my lab—the Whitehall secretariat, the turnkeys, the Minister's wife, his mistress—who knows?—also it could be an American Embassy copy before it receives the Washington prefix. There's probably fifty, sixty people, the channel means nothing.
**BLAIR** The pages were photographed on some kind of table-top, I expect a little hurriedly as is often the way in these affairs. The last page—photograph number six—is not well framed. You can see how it happens: the pages were pinned together at top left and turned over one by one, and the five turned pages have twisted the sixth page a little askew. The frame has caught the edge of a further document lying underneath.
_He reaches into his dossier again and produces another photograph which he slides down the table._
This is the enlargement. It is in fact a set of angular distributions of neutron production on a uranium target in a cyclotron, whatever that may be and I don't want you to tell me. The important point is that taking the two documents together, we are talking about something which has a circulation of three, which is why I thought I'd bring you together for a chat, just between ourselves for a moment.
_He includes Hapgood and Ridley who stay expressionless._
I'm sorry it's awkward for you and Mrs Hapgood but these things have to be faced.
**KERNER** ( _Indicating Ridley_ ) What about him? Isn't it awkward for him?
**BLAIR** Yes, but not in isolation. For reasons I can go into if you wish. Ridley—Mr Ridley—and Mrs Hapgood are tied together on this one, for better or worse. ( _Pause._ ) Well, I'll explain, then.
**KERNER** No, it is not necessary.
_He pushes the photographs back towards Blair._
Not hurried, only careless.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Just conversation_ ) Joseph, don't do this. I don't need it. Tell the truth.
**KERNER** The truth is what Paul knows it is.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To Blair_ ) He's lying to you because he thinks it's me.
_Blair waits. Hapgood starts to lose control of her tone._
Oh, wake up, Paul! Why would he? ( _To Kerner_ ) Why would you? Why would you give away your work?
**KERNER** Because it's mine to give. Whose did you think it was? Yours? Who are you? You and Blair? Dog-catchers. And now you think I am your dog—be careful the dog didn't catch you.
**HAPGOOD** Don't give me that! ( _To Blair_ ) He's straight, you know damn well he's straight—he's my joe!
**KERNER** ( _Laughs, not kindly_ ) Pride. And your certainty is also amusing—you think you have seen to the bottom of things, but there is no bottom. I cannot see it, and you think you are cleverer than me?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Heatedly_ ) He's a physics freak and a maverick, the Russians picked him for this because he had a good defector profile and he didn't fool us, he fooled them, he despises the Soviets, he'd never play ball and he has no reason to. _He has no reason_ —give me his reason.
**KERNER** They found out about Joe.
_Pause. Hapgood poleaxed, as it were. Blair stays level._
Sorry.
**BLAIR** How?
**KERNER** I don't know.
**BLAIR** When?
**KERNER** More than a year. They came to me and said, 'Well, so you have a child with your British case-officer. OK—congratulations, we were stupid, but now it is time to mend the damage. For the sake of the boy.'
**BLAIR** What did they mean by that?
**KERNER** What do _you_ think, Paul? I didn't ask. ( _To Hapgood_ ) I had to, Lilya.
**HAPGOOD** Joseph. All you had to do was tell me.
**KERNER** That is naive. ( _To Blair_ ) Not just the normal reports. You should know this.
**BLAIR** What else?
**KERNER** My programme.
**BLAIR** This trap business?
**KERNER** They had the trap, they had the laser optics for handling the particles. They couldn't put it together—nobody could put it together because when you cool it to near-absolute zero—
**BLAIR** Joseph—get to it.
**KERNER** Everything was halted, it was like needing two trains to arrive together on the same line without destroying each other.
**BLAIR** So it couldn't be done?
**KERNER** Oh, yes. Like many things which are very difficult it turned out to be not so difficult if you have the right thought. These things are not, after all, trains, they travel at nearly the speed of light, and they are very small, so they can do things which are truly crazy. I was fortunate to have the right thought, and now it was possible to make an experiment with my thought. I worked out the programme for this.
**BLAIR** Did they know that?
**KERNER** No, we are speaking at last summer. June. But last month was the Geneva test and my programme was good. It could not be contained, of course; a good result is the gossip of the scientific world, and it was the end of the dance for me and my Soviet control. They said I had lied, broken the bargain, they said it was an ultimatum now, or they would take my son, and they absolutely would have taken him.
**BLAIR** So you gave it to them.
**KERNER** Of course.
**HAPGOOD** Paul—
**BLAIR** I know. Let me. ( _To Kerner_ ) But the only meet you've had since your Geneva test was yesterday.
**KERNER** I mean yesterday. At the pool.
**BLAIR** At the pool? How did you deliver?
**KERNER** On disc.
**BLAIR** But that was a chickenfeed disc—we cleared the printout.
**KERNER** No, it was on the boot-tracks.
**BLAIR** Explain that.
**KERNER** The normal readout was the chickenfeed. There was a key-code for the hidden files.
_Hapgood stands up._
**BLAIR** ( _To Hapgood_ ) Stay calm. ( _He presses the intercom_.) Maggs—come in.
**KERNER** What is the matter?
_Maggs enters from his office._
**BLAIR** ( _Calmly_ ) Oh, Maggs... get Mrs Hapgood's son to the phone, would you?—headmaster, matron, anybody, but fast.
_Hapgood unfreezes._
**HAPGOOD** I'll call the payphone, his dorm hasn't gone up.
**KERNER** It's all right—they don't want him now—
**BLAIR** Go, Maggs!
**MAGGS** But Joe isn't there, sir... Merryweather came back. Joe wasn't in school—he had permission... well, Mrs Hapgood sent for him to be picked up, the driver had a letter—
**BLAIR** Merryweather?
**MAGGS** He came back at about half past three. ( _To Hapgood_ ) I'm sorry... I didn't know you'd be out—it's in your box—
**HAPGOOD** _Oh, Christ,_ Maggs.
**BLAIR** ( _To Maggs_ ) Go and check.
_Maggs goes out. Hapgood has found Merryweather's message in her in-tray. It is in a sealed envelape which she apens.)_
**KERNER** But I gave them everything—
**BLAIR** I'm afraid not—
**KERNER** Yes I did—I delivered—
**BLAIR** Stop talking, Joseph—we intercepted your delivery, they never got your disc.
**KERNER** You blowed it! You bloody fool!
_Ridley seems to be out of it. He approaches the desk and picks up the photoframe and looks at it for a moment._
**RIDLEY** ( _To himself_ ) God almighty.
_Blair goes to the door and opens it._
**BLAIR** ( _Shouts_ ) Maggs!
**HAPGOOD** ( _Calmly enough_ ) He isn't there, Paul.
_She has been looking at the contents of Merryweather's message._
**KERNER** ( _To Hapgood_ ) They won't hurt him, they'll want to trade.
**BLAIR** I know that but we can't trade. ( _To Hapgood_ ) He's not harmed, he's in a safe house with babysitters—you _know_ that. They'll find a way to talk to you but it won't even come to that—it's a local initiative and a stupid one, it's going to be stopped from the Moscow end, I promise you, the diplomatic route and no nonsense—
**KERNER** ( _Loud_ ) Don't do that—they can't admit to a thing like this.
**BLAIR** You're out of it now—
**KERNER** You will put them in a corner—
**BLAIR** Then they can crawl out of it—
**HAPGOOD** For God's sake shut up!
_It has become a row._
**RIDLEY** Why don't we just give it to them? What does it matter? Wait for the call and make the trade. If it comes tonight make it tonight, a kid like that, he should be in bed anyway, we can all get some sleep.
Look, what are we talking about? Are we talking about a list of agents in place? Are we talking about blowing the work names? The cover jobs in the Moscow Embassy? Any of those and all right, the boy maybe has to take his chances. But what has Kerner got? ( _Derisively_ ) The solution to the anti-particle trap! Since when was the anti-particle trap a problem?
_For a moment Blair wavers. Then_ —
**BLAIR** Shut up, Ridley. ( _To Hapgood_ ) I'll take that disc.
**RIDLEY** Don't give it to him.
**BLAIR** Ridley, you're out of line.
**RIDLEY** ( _Loses his temper_ ) Don't tell me I'm out of line, I know about this and you don't know fuck, all you know is to talk Greek. Kerner is supposed to be the one with the brains and he doesn't have enough to know he's pimping fantasies for people with none. There's nothing on that disc except physics and it will stay physics till little Hapgood is a merchant banker. _There is no gadget here. It has no use._ It's the instructions for one go on a billion-dollar train set, and that's all it is. Strategic Defense, my arse.
( _To Kerner_ ) Listen, you tell them the first time I say something which isn't true and I'll stop. Livermore thinks it can make an X-ray laser to knock out a ballistic missile and Kerner's bit of this is a new kind of percussion cap for the bullet: when the bullet is a laser you need a percussion cap like an H-bomb, one bomb per bullet, naturally it destroys the gun as well as the target but what the hell, all right, you trigger the bomb and the X-rays will lase for you, and if you can do it by putting matter together with anti-matter you get a nice clean bang, no fallout, and Kerner gets the Peace Prize. Leave aside that all the particle accelerators on earth produce no more anti-matter in a year than will make a bang like twenty pounds of dynamite. Leave aside that to make the system work up there in the sky you need about fifty million lines of information code and at NASA they can't handle half a million without launch delays and the Russians probably wouldn't wait. Leave everything aside and there's still the problem that Kerner's bullet can't shoot inside the earth's atmosphere. The gun in the sky is no good for anything except ICBMs coming up through the ceiling, and you've got five minutes because after that your target has turned into eighteen warheads hidden in a hundred decoys and a million bits of tinfoil—and _that's_ only until the Russians work out the fast-bum booster which will give you a fighting window of sixty seconds. I mean, this is the military application of Kerner's physics if you're looking ten years ahead, minimum. It's a joke. I'd trade it for my cat if I had a cat.
( _To Blair_ ) And you'll blanket this operation and play ransom games with the little bugger—for what? Do you think you won't screw it up?
**BLAIR** ( _To Hapgood as though it's just the two of them_ ) There isn't a _choice._ I'm running this and I'm not giving you a choice. You have to trust me.
_Pause. Hapgood opens a drawer in her desk, takes out the electronic 'key', opens the safe, removes a disc-box, closes the safe, gives the box to Blair._
( _Going, to Kerner_ ) You're with me.
**KERNER** Lilya...
**HAPGOOD** Do everything Paul says.
_Kerner follows Blair out, leaving the door open. Hapgood sits quietly, looking at nothing. Ridley doesn't quite know what to do with himself._
**RIDLEY** Sorry.
_He gets up and moves towards the door._
**HAPGOOD** Ridley, close the door.
_Ridley closes the door._
I gave him the dummy.
**RIDLEY** What?
**HAPGOOD** I gave him the dummy disc from your briefcase.
**RIDLEY** Christ almighty.
**HAPGOOD** If you don't like it you'd better say.
**RIDLEY** Like it or not we can't do it, we'll never be clear.
**HAPGOOD** We're already in front. They made contact—Blair missed it.
**RIDLEY** How?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Taking the card from the potted plant_ ) Interflora.
'Mum—I'll phone tomorrow, two o'clock.' I thought—it's not Mother's Day.
**RIDLEY** Listen—tell Blair. It's no good without him—he'll have the watchers outside your flat before you get home, you'll be babysat like the Queen of England, nothing will reach you, there'll be a tap on your phone and on every line into this building.
**HAPGOOD** Except this one ( _the red one_ ). It's the one Joe will tell them, he knows the trip-code. I've always broken the rules.
**RIDLEY** And what then? You won't be able to go to the bathroom, let alone a meet.
**HAPGOOD** I know all of that.
**RIDLEY** That's if Blair isn't sitting here when the call comes in, he'll go where you go.
**HAPGOOD** I won't be here. You'll be here.
**RIDLEY** Jesus, I can't answer it. It has to be you.
**HAPGOOD** It will be me.
**RIDLEY** You can't be in two places at once.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Suddenly out of patience_ ) I'm not busking, Ridley, I know how to do this, so is it you and me or not?
_Pause. Ridley nods._
I'll need two or three hours. Have you got a radio?
**RIDLEY** Not with me.
_Hapgood takes her radio out of her bag and gives it to him._
**HAPGOOD** I'll reach you on it: don't try to talk to me on anything else. Don't go home, go to a hotel.
**RIDLEY** Mother, I know what to do. ( _He goes to leave._ ) Will you be all right?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Nods_ ) Stay close.
**RIDLEY** It's all right, I'm with you.
_But she spoils it for him._
**HAPGOOD** That thing's got a two-mile range, stay close.
_Ridley nods and goes, closing the door._
_Hapgood waits. She opens a desk drawer and takes out another radio. She lays the radio on the desk and waits again. The radio must have a blink-light; perhaps we can see it. Hapgood picks it up._
( _To radio_ ) Is he clear?
**RADIO** Green.
**HAPGOOD** ( _To radio_ ) I'm here to be told.
_She puts the radio back on the desk. She starts dialling on the red telephone._
_Maggs enters, wearing a topcoat._
**MAGGS** Good night, Mrs Hapgood.
**HAPGOOD** Good night, Maggs. Thank you.
**MAGGS** I won't ask.
**HAPGOOD** That's right, Maggs. By the way, I won't be in tomorrow.
**MAGGS** I'll hold the fort.
_Maggs leaves closing the door._
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone, brightly_ ) Hello! Who's that?... Sandilands! Can you tell Hapgood it's his mother? Wait a minute, aren't you the one who sells boots?... no, no, it's all right—perfectly all right, in fact quite reasonable, I thought, you can't get much for a pound nowadays... _Two pounds?_... But surely...? Oh, a pound _each_ —well, fair enough, yes, I can see that... Yes, darling, I'll hold on for him—
_In the middle of all that Blair has quietly entered the room and is collecting the contents of his dossier, sorting things out, putting them away._
( _Mutters_ ) Merchant banker...?
**BLAIR** You know, you're going to get into such trouble one day... I _mean, that's the Downing Street one-to-one red line_ —what are they supposed to think when they pick it up and it's _busy?_
**HAPGOOD** Oh God, so it is. ( _Huffily_ ) It's a perfectly natural mistake, Joe uses it far more than they do.
**BLAIR** That's my point. ( _Grumbling_ ) You use the security link with Ottawa to play chess, you arrive in Vienna after dog-legging through Amsterdam on a false passport and then proceed to send postcards home as if you're on bloody holiday, you use an intelligence officer on government time to dispatch football boots around the country... For someone who's so safe you're incredibly, I don't know, there's a little anarchist inside you, I wish you wouldn't...
**HAPGOOD** Don't be cross, I'm tired. ( _Into phone_ ) Oh—thank you, Sandilands—I'll hang on, Paul...
**BLAIR** Mm?
**HAPGOOD** I know this isn't necessary and don't start getting cross again, I—
**BLAIR** ( _Somehow irritated, apparently_ ) It's all right, it's done—
**HAPGOOD** You don't know what I—
**BLAIR** Yes, yes, watchers at the school till this thing is over, and Cotton has joined the ground-staff, marking out the rugger pitches, do him good, he was looking a bit pasty.
**HAPGOOD** I absolutely refuse to live without you, do you understand that?
**BLAIR** Of course.
You know, it's going to be tricky doing the swap without a boy to swap.
**HAPGOOD** Well, we'll just have to do the best we can, won't we?
**BLAIR** Of course.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) Oh, hello, Joe! Are you all right, darling?
_Kerner enters with a bottle of vodka and three cups._
**KERNER** Magnificent.
**BLAIR** Thank you.
**KERNER** No, me. You were terrible. I never believed a word of it.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) No, it was just to tell you not to phone tomorrow in case you were going to. I'm away.
**BLAIR** ( _To Kerner_ ) Not even the photographs?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) Oh, good.
**KERNER** The photographs I liked.
**BLAIR** Yes?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) _In_ the hutch? Well, I was nearly right.
_Meanwhile Kerner has poured three tots of vodka into the cups._
Thank you, Joseph.
_Kerner and Blair toast each other and knock back the vodka._
( _Into phone_ ) Well, you're daft—do they fit?...
**BLAIR** ( _To Kerner_ ) Come on, then.
_Blair puts his cup down and leaves the room. Kerner closes the door after him and remains in the room._
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) That's all right... when is Saturday? The day after tomorrow... well, probably, I might. Home or away?
_Kerner gently takes the phone from her and listens to the phone for a few moments and then gives it back to her, and leaves the room._
( _Into phone_ ) Yes, I'm here. Yes, all right. Well, let me know on Saturday morning.
Yes, Joe, I'm here to be told.
_She puts the phone down._
# SCENE 2
_Now we are in a new place. The first and obvious thing about it is that it is a photographer's studio. The second thing is that it is also where somebody lives; the room is skimpily furnished as a living room. There is a front door and also another closeable door leading to the other rooms in what is evidently the photographer's flat. There is a telephone._
_It is mid-morning. The room is empty. The doorbell rings. Hapgood comes flying out from the other door. We haven't seen her like this. She is as different from her other self as the flat is different from her office: the office being rather cleaner, tidier, and better organized. Hapgood opens the front door, and it's Ridley. Ridley has been shopping: glossy Bond Street carrier bags. He stares at her._
**RIDLEY** Mrs Newton?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Casually_ ) Oh, shit.
**RIDLEY** I'm Ernest.
**HAPGOOD** Well, you're not what I want, so keep your clothes on. Stupid bugger! Not you, darling, come in anyway. ( _She is already heading for the telephone_.)
What did they do? Pick you from the catalogue? I'll try and sort it out—charge them for half a day if it looks like their fault—it won't be the first time—( _Now into the phone_ ) It's Celia, I want Fred.
Would you mind not wandering around.
_Her last remark needs explaining. Ridley has dropped his parcels and is now, frankly, casing the joint. He is not taking a lot of notice of her. He moves around coolly as if he owns the place, and in due course he leaves the room, disappearing through the 'kitchen door'._
( _Into phone_ ) Hello, darling, you're losing your grip—I said a Roman soldier, not an Italian waiter, and also he looks queer to me... Don't tell me what I mean, you're gay, he's queer, he's got a queer look about him, he won't sell bamboo shoots to a fucking panda, never mind boxer shorts... Well, I'll look at his body and let you know—Fred?—Have you gone?—No, the phone clicked—
_She looks around and finds that the room is empty._
Hey—? What's his name? ( _She calls out_ ) Victor!
_Ridley wanders back into the room._
**RIDLEY** ( _Casual_ ) Hang up.
**HAPGOOD** What do you think you're doing? ( _Into phone_ ) Is he a regular? Well, I don't fancy him—
_That's as far as the phone call gets because Ridley, still maintaining a sort of thoughtful cruise, disconnects the call._
Now listen—
_He looks at her. She goes from fear to relief._
You're Betty's friend. God, I am sorry, darling, I'm Celia, don't be offended, being rude about the models is the house style, it saves a lot of nonsense about being paid for the reshoot. And anyway you do look like an Italian waiter. What does Betty want?—I don't owe her any favours, she never does me any, I mean there must be lots of photographic work going in the spy racket. She says I won't keep my mouth shut—can you believe it? Can you smell burning? Oh, sod!
_She leaves the room in a hurry. Ridley has been looking at her like somebody looking at a picture in a gallery. He reaches into his jacket and produces his radio._
**RIDLEY** ( _On radio_ ) Mother.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Ridley.
**RIDLEY** You're out of your fucking mind.
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) What's the matter?
**RIDLEY** She may be your twin but there the resemblance ends. She's a pot-head, it reeks, she's growing the stuff in the window-box, she won't stop talking, she picks her nose, she looks like shit, I mean it doesn't _begin_...
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) Where is she?
**RIDLEY** In the kitchen burning things...
**HAPGOOD** ( _On radio_ ) I'm signing off.
**RIDLEY** No, listen—
_But evidently she has cut him off. He puts his radio away and goes to pick up his shopping. He puts it on the sofa, perhaps, and anyway starts unloading the carrier bags. They are full of clothes in tissue paper. There's also a shoe box and other stuff. It all adds up to one outfit, suitable for the office._
_While he is doing this Hapgood bangs her way back into the room (she probably wouldn't have bothered to close the door so a door on a spring might be useful)._
_She is nibbling the unburned portion of a croissant, which rapidly gets as far as the wastepaper basket._
**HAPGOOD** And you made me warm my croissant to a frazzle. What have you got there?
**RIDLEY** Clothes, shoes, make-up... Is there a bathroom?
**HAPGOOD** No, we pee in the sink. Can you try to show a little charm?
**RIDLEY** Your sister said do what he tells you.
**HAPGOOD** So what?
**RIDLEY** Run a bath.
**HAPGOOD** Why?
**RIDLEY** You look as if you need one.
**HAPGOOD** Now just a minute—
**RIDLEY** And wash your hair.
**HAPGOOD** _Just a minute._ I'm not going to a party, I've got a busy morning.
**RIDLEY** Victor isn't coming. It's ten twenty and we're leaving here at one fifteen, just under three hours. I'll explain as you go.
**HAPGOOD** Will you indeed.
_She picks up the phone again and starts dialling._
**RIDLEY** Who are you calling?
**HAPGOOD** I want to talk to Betty.
_Without hurrying much, because she is still dialling, Ridley yanks the phone cord which comes away from the wall bringing fragments of plastic and bits of skirting-board with it._
**RIDLEY** You don't talk to Betty, you don't talk to anybody, in fact you don't talk so much in general, and you don't swear at all, get used to it, please.
**HAPGOOD** You bloody gangster, that telephone is my livelihood!
**RIDLEY** Is that right? You'll have to fall back on photography.
_She swings at him. He catches her wrist. With his other hand he takes a wad of banknotes out of one pocket._
That's two thousand pounds.
_He lets go of her wrist and takes a similar wad out of another pocket._
So's this. That's now, this is later.
**HAPGOOD** What is it for?
**RIDLEY** It's for looking nice and not talking dirty, and answering a telephone. After that, we'll see.
**HAPGOOD** Why?
**RIDLEY** I'll tell you when it's time.
**HAPGOOD** Then why would I do it?
**RIDLEY** For the money, your sister said. I want to know about you and your sister, sibling bribery is a new one on me.
**HAPGOOD** Well, you can go and—
**RIDLEY** Every time you swear I'm taking £50 out of this bundle. You'll get what's left.
**HAPGOOD** —fuck yourself.
_Ridley separates a £50 note from the bundle of money (which is perhaps secured by a rubber band), and puts the remainder back into his pocket._
That's theft.
**RIDLEY** No, it's arson.
_Because his hand has come out of his pocket with his cigarette lighter with which he sets fire to the note._
**HAPGOOD** You're all nutters. I knew it then. Is Betty in trouble?
**RIDLEY** When?
**HAPGOOD** If she's in trouble, I don't mind helping.
**RIDLEY** You knew it when?
**HAPGOOD** Whenever—all those years ago when we did the interviews.
**RIDLEY** Tell me about that.
**HAPGOOD** I failed the attitude test. Betty was exactly their cup of tea so they kept her anyway.
**RIDLEY** Anyway?
**HAPGOOD** They were seeing twins—it was a phase. Nutters is not the word. ( _Ridley laughs_.) Ask Betty, they had a reason, she'll know what it was. Well, that cheered you up.
**RIDLEY** Yes. Will you have a bath and talk nice and do what I tell you?
**HAPGOOD** Is it her money?
**RIDLEY** Not exactly.
**HAPGOOD** I wouldn't take it if it was hers.
**RIDLEY** Fine. It's ten twenty-five.
**HAPGOOD** What did you say your name was?
**RIDLEY** Ernest. Do you want me to scrub your back?
**HAPGOOD** No, thank you.
**RIDLEY** Take the clothes. They're for you to put on.
_She gathers them up to take them out._
**HAPGOOD** They're not really me.
**RIDLEY** That's right.
_Hapgood leaves the room. Ridley stays where he is. The next time he moves, he's somebody else.)_
INTER-SCENE
_So we lose the last set without losing Ridley. When the set has gone, Ridley is in some other place... which may be a railway station, or alternatively a place where boats come in, or an airport; whatever the design will take, really. The main thing is that he is a man arriving somewhere. He carries a suitcase. He is a different Ridley._
_It's like a quantum jump._
_And now we lose him. Perhaps he walks out. Perhaps the scene change has been continuous and he is now erased by its completion._
# SCENE 3
_Blair and Kerner are at the Zoo. Blair has the 'pink diagram'._
**BLAIR** I must confess I always thought that one Ridley was enough and occasionally surplus to an ideal arrangement of the universe. Now we've got one in Kensington and one who could be anywhere. I imagine he doesn't hang around, he'd come in and out as required. Could be on a British passport, more likely not. This is, of course, assuming that he exists. Does this ( _the diagram_ ) prove twins?
**KERNER** No. An invisible man is also a correct solution.
**BLAIR** You chaps.
**KERNER** Mathematics does not take pictures of the world, it's only a way of making sense. Twins, waves, black holes—we make bets on what makes best sense. In Athens, in Paris, and at the pool, two Ridleys satisfy the conditions. He was his own alibi. So we're betting on twins. But we need to be lucky also, and today is Friday; is it the thirteenth?
**BLAIR** You chaps don't believe in that.
**KERNER** Oh, we chaps! Niels Bohr lived in a house with a horseshoe on the wall. When people cried, for God's sake Niels, surely _you_ don't believe a horseshoe brings you luck!, he said, no, of course not, but I'm told it works even if you don't believe it.
_Blair continues to look grave._
What is the matter, Paul?
**BLAIR** Those photographs. Think of Ridley sitting there. He's been sending film to Moscow and now here are these prints, spread out on the table, courtesy of the Washington pouch. Awkward moment for him. And yet, suddenly he's in the clear. Kerner owns up. Well, we can't have Ridley sitting there wondering why you're owning up to his pictures. Ridley knew this wasn't his batch, because he photographed his pages flat, separately; they weren't pinned together by the corners and turned over. And those figures peeping out underneath, the whatsit production in the cyclone-whatever, they were nothing to do with him.
**KERNER** I assumed naturally they were not Ridley's pictures.
**BLAIR** Did you? I wish you'd said so. I wish you'd said, 'Paul where did you get that photo?'... because you see, those cycleclip numbers were pulled together from different sets, the way somebody might do it at the Moscow end, and it really upsets me, Joseph, that you weren't... I don't know... surprised.
**KERNER** Cyclotron, Paul. It's a sensible word. Cycleclip is bizarre by comparison.
_Pause._
Poor Paul. Everybody is a suspect. ( _Reminded_ ) Explain something to me. I forgot to ask Elizabeth. Prime suspect: it's in nearly all the books. I don't understand. A prime is a number which won't divide nicely, and all the suspects are prime. It's the last thing to expect with a suspect. You must look for _squares._ The product of twin roots. Four, nine, sixteen... what is the square root of sixteen?
**BLAIR** Is this a trick question?
**KERNER** For you, probably.
**BLAIR** Four, then.
**KERNER** Correct. But also minus four. Two correct answers. Positive and negative. ( _Pause._ ) I'm not going to help you, you know. Yes–no, either–or... You have been too long in the spy business, you think everybody has no secret or one big secret, they are what they seem or they are the opposite. You look at me and think: _Which is he?_ Plus or minus? If only you could figure it out like looking into me to find my root. And then you still wouldn't know. We're all doubles. Even you. Your cover is Bachelor of Arts first class, with an amusing incomprehension of the sciences, but you insist on laboratory standards for reality, while I insist on its artfulness. So it is with us all, we're not so one-or-the-other. The one who puts on the clothes in the morning is the working majority, but at night—perhaps in the moment before unconsciousness—we meet our sleeper—the priest is visited by the doubter, the Marxist sees the civilizing force of the bourgeoise, the captain of industry admits the justice of common ownership.
**BLAIR** And you—what do you admit?
**KERNER** My estrangement.
**BLAIR** I'm sorry.
**KERNER** I'm thinking of going home, perhaps you know.
**BLAIR** No, I didn't.
**KERNER** Ah, well.
**BLAIR** It may be tricky for you.
**KERNER** Do you mean leaving or arriving?
**BLAIR** That's roughly what I'm asking _you_?
**KERNER** Of course. Dog or dog-catcher. I forget. It's true that when the KGB came to me in Kaliningrad I had already thought of coming West, but to be honest the system I hated was the vacuum tube logic system. We were using computers which you had in museums. I wasn't seeking asylum, I was seeking an IBM 195.
**BLAIR** No. They put you up to it and Elizabeth turned you. You were her joe.
**KERNER** Yes, I was. There is something terrible about love. It uses up all one's moral judgement. Afterwards it is like returning to a system of values, or at least to the attempt.
**BLAIR** ( _Angrily_ ) Yes, values. It's not all bloody computers, is it?
**KERNER** No. The West is morally superior, in my opinion. It is unjust and corrupt like the East, of course, but here it means the system has failed; at home it means the system is working. But the system can change.
**BLAIR** No, it can't. Come on, Joseph, you _know them_ —Budapest in '56—Prague in '68—Poland in '81—we've been there!—and it's not going to be different in East Berlin in '89. They can't afford to lose.
**KERNER** ( _Shrugs_ ) It's not my job to change it. My friend Georgi has offered to arrange things if I want to go.
**BLAIR** Why are you telling me?
**KERNER** I declined his offer.
**BLAIR** I'm glad, Joseph.
**KERNER** I prefer British Airways.
_Pause._
**BLAIR** You should have accepted.
**KERNER** ( _Angrily_ ) Oh, yes!—You don't want to look, and then you'll get spy pattern.
**BLAIR** I like to know what's what.
**KERNER** Of course! Yes–no, either–or.
**BLAIR** That's right. You're this or you're that, and you know which. Prophecy is a pastime I can't afford, I've got one of my people working the inside lane on false papers and if she's been set up I'll feed you to the crocodiles.
**KERNER** One of your _people?_ Oh, Paul. _You_ would betray her before I would. My mamushka.
**BLAIR** Good. Good, Joseph.
_He seems pleased by the way that went._
Now. Is the sister thing going to work?
**KERNER** Oh, yes. I was afraid of it, but with Mr Ridley it will be all right.
_He starts to leave, pause._
I never saw Elizabeth sleeping. Interrogation hours, you know. She said, 'I want to _sleep_ with you.' But she never did. And when I learned to read English books I realized that she never said it, either.
_Kerner walks away._
# SCENE 4
_Hapgood's office. It's empty._
_The door is opened with a key from the outside. Ridley enters the office._
**RIDLEY** ( _Addressing Hapgood outside_ ) Move.
_Hapgood enters behind him. She is wearing the clothes which he brought to the flat._
_Ridley closes the door. Hapgood looks around. Ridley has a bag, perhaps a sports holdall._
Sit there.
_Ridley does everything smoothly and quickly. He riffles through a stack of printed documents (technical magazines perhaps) on the desk and extracts a sealed envelope, which he tears open. It contains a small key and a scribble._
**HAPGOOD** What if somebody comes in?
**RIDLEY** It's your office, for God's sake.
_He gives her the key._
Middle drawer.
_Hapgood uses the key to open the middle drawer of the desk._
Remote key.
**HAPGOOD** This?
_She shows him the electronic key for the safe. Ridley takes it. He consults the scribble, programmes the key, opens the safe. From the safe he takes a disc-box—a new one, i.e. a sealed once-only box of the same type. He closes the safe. He puts the disc-box into his bag, together with the torn envelope and the scribble. During this:_
Are you going to tell me what I'm doing here?
**RIDLEY** Sure. Any phone that rings, don't pick it up. I'll pick it up.
_He picks up the red telephone, looks at its underneath, puts it down again; from the bag he takes a simple 'eavesdrop' connection, a single earpiece ready to be wired up into a telephone receiver; and a screwdriver._
_At that moment, the door opens and Maggs walks in, with a file, much as yesterday._
**MAGGS** Good afternoon Mrs Hapgood, you came in after all. Do you want to see the decrypts?
_Hapgood looks at Ridley._
**RIDLEY** Hello, Maggs... aren't you supposed to be having lunch?
**MAGGS** Yes, sir.
**RIDLEY** Well, piss off then. Go to the pub.
**MAGGS** I was in the pub. ( _To Hapgood_ ) I got the desk to bleep me if you came in—just the top one, really, it's green-routed and Sydney's been on twice this morning.
**HAPGOOD** Has he?
**MAGGS** Sydney—they only want a yes or no.
**RIDLEY** Let them wait.
**HAPGOOD** No, I can do that.
**RIDLEY** Are you sure, Mother?
**HAPGOOD** What's the matter with you today, Ridley?
_Hapgood takes the 'top one' from Maggs and peruses it with interest._
Mm...
**RIDLEY** Perhaps you'd like me to...
**HAPGOOD** Fascinating.
**MAGGS** Just a yes or no.
**HAPGOOD** Yes! Definitely yes!
_She passes the paper smartly back to Maggs._
Thank you, Maggs. I'll do the rest later.
**MAGGS** McPherson came in if you want it.
**HAPGOOD** Really?
**RIDLEY** It's five minutes to two, Mother.
**HAPGOOD** I want to know about McPherson.
**MAGGS** Bishop to queen two.
_Pause._
**HAPGOOD** Right.
**RIDLEY** _Mother._
_The red phone rings. Maggs lifts it up._
**MAGGS** ( _To phone_ ) Mrs Hapgood's office... just a moment.
_He gives the phone to Hapgood and leaves._
**RIDLEY** Shit!
**HAPGOOD** What do I do?
**RIDLEY** Talk!
_Ridley has two desperate concerns: to wire up his 'eavesdrop' and to prompt Hapgood. But it's hopeless, a mess._
**HAPGOOD** ( _To phone_ ) Hello... yes, it's her, it's me...
**RIDLEY** _'I want to talk to Joe'_... _'I want to talk to Joe!_ '
**HAPGOOD** ( _Covering the phone_ ) _I can't hear!_ ( _Into phone_ )
Yes... Eleven thirty... ( _To Ridley_ ) Someone wants a meeting.
**RIDLEY** Where? Keep them talking, ask for Joe...
**HAPGOOD** Yes... Where?... Right...
_Ridley is nowhere near ready when she puts the phone down._
**RIDLEY** I'll kill you for this!—Eleven thirty where? _Where?_
_Hapgood is still contemplating the phone warily._
**HAPGOOD** Ten Downing Street.
**RIDLEY** _What?_ Oh, Jesus!
**HAPGOOD** Was that it?
**RIDLEY** No. I thought they were early.
**HAPGOOD** Who's Joe?
_Ridley ignores her, he works on the red phone._
Listen, I can't do this if you don't tell me what I'm doing.
**RIDLEY** I'll tell you when it's time to tell you. God almighty... I ought to slap you bow-legged.
**HAPGOOD** You don't mean Betty's Joe, do you? Ernie?
**RIDLEY** Ridley.
**HAPGOOD** Ridley. What's the silly cow been up to?
**RIDLEY** Don't you like her?
**HAPGOOD** Of course I like her, she's my sister.
_Ridley completes his work, and pauses to consider her. He's unsettled, somehow thrown by seeing her in this office, in these clothes_... _She is so obviously Hapgood._
**RIDLEY** Mrs Newton. What happened to _him?_ You're divorced?
**HAPGOOD** I'll say. Bastard owes me thousands. Actually it was Mr Newton who did for Betty and me. She said he'd go bad, warned me off, sister to sister. So I crossed her off my list and married him. Then he went bad. So of course I never forgave her.
Do you mean she plays chess without a board?
**RIDLEY** Looks like it.
**HAPGOOD** That sounds like her.
**RIDLEY** She's something.
**HAPGOOD** Showing off, I meant.
**RIDLEY** Why aren't you close?
**HAPGOOD** Well, she was always the scholarship girl and I was the delinquent. Having the kid was good for her, she always thought the delinquents had the bastards and the scholarship girls had the wedding. It shook up her view of the world, slightly. Do you mind if I light up?
**RIDLEY** She doesn't smoke.
**HAPGOOD** It's all right, it's not a real cigarette.
_She puts a home-made cigarette in her mouth; Ridley snatches it away and keeps it._
**RIDLEY** For God's sake, don't you know where you are?
**HAPGOOD** So what do we do now?
**RIDLEY** ( _Looking at his watch_ ) We wait.
_He leans over to reach the buttons on Hapgood's desk._
When I do this ( _He snaps his fingers._ ), you say, 'No calls, Maggs, no interruptions.'
_He snaps his fingers._
**HAPGOOD** No calls, Maggs, no interruptions.
**MAGGS'S VOICE** Yes, ma'am.
_Satisfied for the moment, but nervy, Ridley paces._
**HAPGOOD** He probably thinks...
**RIDLEY** Yeh, nice thought.
**HAPGOOD** Speak for yourself.
**RIDLEY** I was.
**HAPGOOD** Don't fancy your fuckin' chances.
_Pacing, Ridley, as though absentmindedly, takes the bundle of money out of his pocket, detaches a £50 note, and sets fire to it with his lighter. He carries on pacing, she carries on looking at him._
Sit down, for God's sake.
_Ridley sits at the table._
Ten of hearts.
**RIDLEY** What about it?
**HAPGOOD** Ten of hearts—now you.
_Ridley sighs._
**RIDLEY** King of hearts.
**HAPGOOD** Two of clubs.
**RIDLEY** Well, what are we playing?
**HAPGOOD** Go on.
**RIDLEY** Ace of spades.
**HAPGOOD** Seven of diamonds.
**RIDLEY** Haven't you got any spades?
**HAPGOOD** Play your cards.
**RIDLEY** Six of hearts.
**HAPGOOD** Two of hearts.
**RIDLEY** This is stupid. Nine of clubs.
**HAPGOOD** Jack of clubs.
**RIDLEY** Jack of spades.
**HAPGOOD** Snap!! Bad luck...
_Ridley jumps irritatedly to his feet, and then the red phone rings._
**RIDLEY** _Leave it!_
Listen—Betty's Joe has been kidnapped—this is the people who took him.
_He takes her left hand, calmly, lays it palm-down on the desk, and using his own hand as a blade he chops her hand across the knuckles, with coolly judged force, enough to make her cry out with pain._
You want to talk to Joe—where's Joe, where's Joe?
_He lifts the red phone now and puts it into her right hand, meanwhile putting the extra earpiece in his ear. Hapgood is whimpering and disoriented._
**HAPGOOD** ( _Into phone_ ) Hello, where's Joe, I want to talk to Joe—I—Yes—yes—yes—Yes. I heard—can I talk to—
_Ridley relaxes. He takes the phone from her gently and replaces it. The phone call has taken perhaps fifteen seconds. Hapgood springs away from the desk, from him, crying, comforting her injured hand._
**RIDLEY** You were very good!
**HAPGOOD** You bloody maniac!
_Ridley is disconnecting his eavesdrop, replacing everything into his bag._
Where's Betty?—is it true about Joe?
**RIDLEY** Yes, it's true. But we'll get him back. Eight hours to kill.
_Ridley retrieves her cigarette from his pocket, lights it, and puts it in her mouth. Hapgood draws on the cigarette, still shocked, trembling, settling down._
You were fine. We can go now. Me first. Count twelve and I'll see you outside.
_Ridley picks up his bag. Carefully he takes away her cigarette, takes a drag himself, and keeps the cigarette. He opens the door._
Welcome to the firm.
_Ridley leaves. Left alone, Hapgood relaxes, although her hand is still painful. Maggs enters, anxious._
**MAGGS** Is everything all right, Mrs Hapgood?
**HAPGOOD** Yes, Maggs—everything's fine. ( _She heads through the open door._ ) Queen to king one.
**MAGGS** ( _Following her out_ ) Queen to king one.
# SCENE 5
_A cheap hotel room. It is evening; dark. Perhaps a neon sign outside. Hapgood, fully dressed, has gone to sleep on the bed. Ridley stands watching her. Perhaps he is changing into the clothes which he will wear in the next scene._
_Ridley takes out his radio._
**RIDLEY** ( _To radio_ ) Mother.
_No answer._
( _To radio_ ) Mother.
_No answer._
( _Louder to radio_ ) Mother—where the hell are you!
_Hapgood, on the bed has stirred awake._
**HAPGOOD** How much longer?
**RIDLEY** A couple of hours.
_He puts his radio away and takes his gun out of his holster and checks it._
**HAPGOOD** Ernest... I hardly dare ask you this, but is your mother in the secret service too?
_Ridley ignores that. He puts his gun back into the holster._
What's that for, Ernie?
**RIDLEY** It's for killing people. It's a gun.
**HAPGOOD** Do you kill people, Ernie?
**RIDLEY** You'll be the second.
**HAPGOOD** I don't like this.
**RIDLEY** Me neither. Somebody's lying to somebody. They're lying to her or she's lying to me.
**HAPGOOD** Would she lie to you, Ernie?
**RIDLEY** Telling lies is Betty's habit, sweetheart—lies, fraud, entrapment, blackmail, sometimes people die, so Betty can know something which the opposition thinks she doesn't know, most of which doesn't matter a fuck, and that's just the half they didn't _plant_ on her—so she's lucky if she comes out better than even, that's the edge she's in it for, and if she's thinking now it wasn't worth one sleepless night for her little prep-school boy, good for her, she had it coming.
**HAPGOOD** Maybe she did.
**RIDLEY** She should have given him a daddy instead of getting her buzz out of running joes to please an old bastard who... ( _A thought strikes him, strikes him as funny._ ) who's been running _her_ for years!
**HAPGOOD** What do you mean, Ernest?
**RIDLEY** Your sister carries a torch. When it came to a choice she traded in a daddy for a joe who would have been blown overnight if he was known to be the father.
**HAPGOOD** _Talk English!_
**RIDLEY** I'll get her kid back for her but it's only personal. If she's set me up I'll kill her.
**HAPGOOD** You're potty about her, Ernest. I'm disappointed in you. You don't know if you're carrying a torch for her or a gun, no wonder you're confused. You're out on a limb for a boy she put there, while she was making the world safe for him to talk properly in and play the game. What a pal, I should have a friend like you.
**RIDLEY** It's not her fault. Do you think you cracked it taking snaps of fancy junk? She's all right. Anyway, I like kids, and you never know, now and again someone is telling the truth.
**HAPGOOD** You're all right, Ernest. You're just not her type.
**RIDLEY** Yeh, she says I'm not safe. Too damned right I'm not. If I was safe I wouldn't be in a whore's hotel with somebody's auntie waiting for a meet that smells like a dead cat.
**HAPGOOD** Where would you be?
**RIDLEY** Anywhere I like, with a solid gold box for a ticket.
**HAPGOOD** You can walk away, Ernie, it's only skirt.
**RIDLEY** Shut up.
**HAPGOOD** ( _Cranking up_ ) You'd better be sure, she plays without a board. You haven't got a prayer.
**RIDLEY** _Shut up!_
**HAPGOOD** If you think she's lying, walk away. If you think bringing back her son will make you her _type,_ walk away. You won't get in the money, women like her don't pay out—take my advice and open the box.
**RIDLEY** ( _Grabbing her_ ) _Who the hell are you?_
**HAPGOOD** I'm your dreamgirl, Ernie—Hapgood without the brains or the taste.
_She is without resistance, and he takes, without the niceties; his kiss looks as if it might draw blood._
# SCENE 6
_The Pool. Night. Empty. A towel hangs over the door of Cubicle One (any cubicle)._
_It is dark. Ridley (Two) enters from the lobby carrying a large torch. He looks around with the help of the torch. He moves upstage. We see only the torch now. The torch-beam comes back towards us. Ridley (One) walks into the beam. He has come from the showers (depending on the layout_ ). _He carries the sports bag. He approaches the torch. The two men embrace briefly. Our Ridley remains: The one with the torch retires._ ( _The torch, of course, changed hands upstage—here and subsequently we only clearly see, and only hear, the actor who plays Ridley.)_
_Ridley now opens his holdall, takes out a disc-box, and posts it under the door with the towel on it. He removes the towel and enters Cubicle Two. He hangs the towel over that door._
_Hapgood enters from the lobby. She pauses. Timid._
**HAPGOOD** Ernest...?
_Ridley, with the torch, reveals himself._
**RIDLEY** It's OK. Call the boy.
_Hapgood hesitates._
Call the boy.
**HAPGOOD** Joe...
**JOE** ( _Out of sight_ ) Mummy...?
_He appears from upstage in the cubicle area. Hapgood moves to where she can see him._
**HAPGOOD** Hello, darling. It's all right.
**RIDLEY** Stay there, Joe.
_Joe halts._
Do it.
_Hapgood opens her bag, takes the disc-box from it, and posts it under the door of Cubicle Two (where the towel hangs). She pulls the towel down and tosses it over the door into the cubicle. She comes back to Joe and takes his hand._
**HAPGOOD** Off we go.
_Hapgood takes Joe out through the lobby doors, followed by Ridley._
_When they have gone Ridley (Two) comes out of Cubicle Two, holding the towel and the disc which Hapgood had posted. He takes the towel to Cubicle One, where it had originally hung, and tosses it over the door. The door of the cubicle opens. Wates is inside. Wates has a gun._
**WATES** ( _Just conversation_ ) Hey, Ridley. Here's what you do. You walk, you don't talk.
_Wates walks Ridley upstage into the dark cubicle area._
_Pause. Blair comes from upstage and approaches Cubicle One. He takes from the cubicle the disc which had been posted there. Blair moves out towards the lobby but before he gets there Ridley comes in. Ridley is amused._
**BLAIR** ( _Greeting_ ) Ridley.
_Ridley laughs._
**RIDLEY** It never smelled Russian, not for a minute. It smelled of private profit. No wonder the kidnap was so clean. Uncle Paul. What a breeze.
**BLAIR** Except... surely...
**RIDLEY** Except the boy will tell. I'm thinking.
**BLAIR** I should.
**RIDLEY** There was no kidnap.
**BLAIR** Better.
**RIDLEY** There was never any kidnap. You and Hapgood.
**BLAIR** Much better.
**RIDLEY** You and Hapgood. Make it look right, make a mug of me and the sister, and afterwards both of you back in place like china dogs on the mantelpiece.
**BLAIR** Now you've lost me. Something about a sister.
**RIDLEY** The sister is perfect. I know about this. She's here and she's not here.
**BLAIR** I keep thinking you said sister.
_Hapgood has now come in quietly from the lobby._
Surely you know Mrs Hapgood?
**RIDLEY** I know her sister better. ( _To Hapgood_ ) Don't I?
_She gives nothing away._
Give me a minute, I'm slow.
_A radio talks, softly, briefly. It is in Hapgood's hand. She raises it to her mouth._
**HAPGOOD** Mother.
_The radio mutters and stops. She puts the radio in her bag._
**RIDLEY** Listen, be yourself. These people are not for you, in the end they get it all wrong, the garbage cans are gaping for them. Him most. He's had enough out of you and you're getting nothing back, he's dry and you're the juice. We can walk out of here, Auntie.
**HAPGOOD** You should have opened the box.
**RIDLEY** I could have walked away with it any time and let the boy take his chances. This way you got both, my treat.
**HAPGOOD** There was nothing in there except a bleep.
_Pause._
**RIDLEY** Well, now I don't know which one you are. One of them fucks and one of them—
**HAPGOOD** Don't, Ridley—
_Ridley is going to kill her, as promised. Everything goes into slow motion, beginning with and including the sound of Hapgood's gun, lasting probably five seconds. Ridley has got as far as taking his gun out when Hapgood shoots him._
_Meanwhile, Wates is leaning into view, upstage, slightly late, gun in hand. Strobe lighting._
_Blair doesn't move._
_Meanwhile the cubicles are disappearing, and we are to find ourselves outside rather than inside the lobby doors. If the doors themselves remain the sign MEN is no longer reversed._
_Ridley (i.e. his body) is erased along with the cubicles and becomes a body on a stretcher, the face covered by a blanket. The gunshot and the strobe extend through this scene change. At the end of the change we are left with Hapgood, Blair, and Wates, the stretcher with stretcher bearers, and the Ridley Twin, handcuffed, under arrest being led away. Ridley, passing the stretcher, manages to look at the face under the blanket. He cries out indistinctly and is led away (by Merryweather)._
_There is the flashing blue light of an ambulance off-stage. All this happens swiftly, continuously from the gunshot._
**BLAIR** ( _To Wates angrily_ ) Where were _you?_
**WATES** I was second, he was third.
( _To Hapgood_ ) Oh, you _mother._
**BLAIR** ( _To Wates_ ) I want that ambulance out of here.
**WATES** No rush.
**HAPGOOD** Ben—? It was the shoulder.
**WATES** No, ma'am.
**HAPGOOD** It was the shoulder.
**WATES** I'm sorry. It's not like targets.
_Pause. Hapgood moves a few paces towards where the stretcher left and then comes back to Wates._
**HAPGOOD** Ben, thank you for your co-operation.
_They shake hands._
**WATES** You bet.
_Wates leaves._
**BLAIR** Come on, Elizabeth, Joe's waiting.
**HAPGOOD** We said we'd do it without Joe.
**BLAIR** It had to look right.
**HAPGOOD** You lied to me.
**BLAIR** Without the boy it wouldn't have looked right.
**HAPGOOD** I was willing to risk it.
**BLAIR** I wasn't.
**HAPGOOD** I'll never forgive you for that, never ever.
**BLAIR** I know that. I knew that.
**HAPGOOD** And what am I supposed to tell him?
**BLAIR** Tell him it's a secret. Small boys understand that.
**HAPGOOD** What do you know about small boys?
**BLAIR** Well, I was one.
**HAPGOOD** Paul—
**BLAIR** No, no, you'll get over it.
**HAPGOOD** No.
**BLAIR** What about your network?
**HAPGOOD** _What network?!_ Ridley's blown it inside out! Christ, Paul, I must have been buying nothing but lies and chickenfeed since Joe was in his pram!
**BLAIR** One has to pick oneself up and carry on. We can't afford to lose. It's them or us, isn't it?
**HAPGOOD** What is? What exactly? The game has moved on.
Read the signs. It's over.
**BLAIR** Try telling that to the opposition.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, the KGB! The opposition! Paul we're just keeping each other in business, we should send each other Christmas cards—oh, f-f-fuck it, Paul!
_So that's that._
_Blair turns away, hesitates, and leaves. The next time Hapgood moves she is standing by the rugby pitch._
# SCENE 7
_Hapgood stands on the touch-line. She isn't looking at much. Kerner is standing some way behind her, wearing an overcoat. Some rugby sounds._
_Kerner comes down to join her._
_Hapgood sees him._
**HAPGOOD** Joseph... You came to say hello?
**KERNER** On the contrary.
_He looks front, a bit puzzled._
( _Gamely_ ) Interesting.
**HAPGOOD** It hasn't started yet. They're just practising.
**KERNER** Oh yes, which one is he?
**HAPGOOD** ( _Pointing_ ) New rugby boots. I'm awfully glad to see you.
**KERNER** ( _Spotting him_ ) Oh, yes.
**HAPGOOD** He'll come over when they take their tracksuits off. I tried to find you this morning.
**KERNER** I was buying my ticket. Also a suitcase.
**HAPGOOD** I heard you've been sending your luggage on ahead for months. Does Paul know why?
**KERNER** ( _Shrugs_ ) Paul thinks I was a triple, but I was definitely not, I was past that, quadruple at least, maybe quintuple.
**HAPGOOD** They found out about Joe, didn't they? They turned you back again. You made up the truth.
**KERNER** It is nothing to worry, you know.
**HAPGOOD** I'm not worried. I'm out of it now. This is him.
_Joe runs in, wearing his tracksuit, which he takes off now. His rugger kit is clean. The new boots._
**JOE** Hello, Mum.
**HAPGOOD** Good luck, darling. This is Mr Kerner—Joseph. Another Joe.
**JOE** Hello, sir.
**KERNER** Hello. How are you?
**JOE** All rights'a, thankyous'a. ( _To Hapgood_ ) Will you be here after?
**HAPGOOD** Yes, see you later.
_She has the tracksuit. Perhaps the top half goes round her neck. Joe runs off. Pause._
**KERNER** Very nice. Very English. ( _Pause._ ) Of course, he _is_ half English, one forgets that. Well... good.
**HAPGOOD** Do you want to stay for tea? They lay it on for parents.
**KERNER** Better not, I think.
**HAPGOOD** Oh, Joe.
_She breaks down. He holds her, awkwardly._
_Prosty, Josef.*_
**KERNER** _Da nyet—vyet u menya byl vybar, Lilichka._
**HAPGOOD** _Nyet, tagda u tibya nye bylo vybora_ —
**KERNER** _Da—nu ya pashol_... _ya napishu kagda dayedu_...
_Kerner kisses her and starts to leave._
**HAPGOOD** How can you go? _How can you?_
* HAPGOOD I'm sorry, Joseph.
KERNER No, no. I had a choice too, Lilychka.
HAPGOOD You had no choice then.
KERNER Yes, I'd better go. I'll write when I get there.
_She turns away. The game starts. Referee's whistle, the kick. After a few moments Hapgood collects herself and takes notice of the rugby._
_When the game starts Kerner's interest is snagged. He stops and looks at the game._
Come on St Christopher's—We can win this one! Get those tackles in!
_She turns round and finds that Kerner is still there. She turns back to the game and comes alive._
Shove!—heel!—well heeled!—well out!—move it! _—move it,_ Hapgood!—that's good—that's better!
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Eine Direktversicherung (auch: Firmendirektversicherung, abgekürzt oft FID) ist nach dem deutschen Arbeits- und Steuerrecht ein Lebensversicherungsvertrag, den der Arbeitgeber als Versicherungsnehmer auf das Leben eines Arbeitnehmers (versicherte Person) bei einem in Deutschland zugelassenen Versicherer abschließt. Bezugsberechtigt sind der Arbeitnehmer und/oder dessen Hinterbliebene. Die Direktversicherung ist einer der fünf in Deutschland bekannten Durchführungswege in der betrieblichen Altersversorgung.
Die Direktversicherung ist einer Pensionskasse sehr ähnlich, der Unterschied erschließt sich im Wesentlichen historisch: Im Gegensatz zu Direktversicherungen waren Pensionskassen bis 2002 großbetriebsinterne Einrichtungen.
Allgemein
Wie in der betrieblichen Altersversorgung üblich, können in der Direktversicherung Alters-, Invaliditäts- oder Hinterbliebenenleistungen versichert werden. Dazu zählen unter anderem Altersvorsorge, Hinterbliebenenrenten- oder -kapitale, Berufsunfähigkeits- und Unfallzusatzversicherungen.
Leistungen aus Direktversicherungen sind seit Einführung des Gesetzes zur Modernisierung der Krankenversicherung (GMG) für gesetzlich und freiwillig Krankenversicherte grundsätzlich zur KVdR beziehungsweise GKV mit dem vollen Beitrag krankenversicherungspflichtig. Dies gilt nur für den betrieblich veranlassten Teil einer Direktversicherung, nicht jedoch für den Teil, der nach betrieblichem Ausscheiden und privater Fortführung anfällt. Rückt beim Arbeitgeberwechsel ein neuer Arbeitgeber in die Position des Versicherungsnehmers, verbleibt es bei der betrieblichen Veranlassung der versicherungspflichtigen Beiträge. Dies gilt auch für die gesetzliche Pflegeversicherung (SGB V und SGB XI).
Zusagen seit dem 1. Januar 2005
Beiträge
Für Direktversicherungsverträge, die auf Grund einer Zusage seit dem 1. Januar 2005 abgeschlossen wurden, gilt Nr. 63 EStG. Hiernach sind Beiträge bis zu 4 % zur Beitragsbemessungsgrenze (West) der Rentenversicherung steuer- und sozialversicherungsfrei. Mit Einführung des Betriebsrentenstärkungsgesetzes zum 1. Januar 2018 wurde das steuerfreie Beitragskontingent auf 8 % der Beitragsbemessungsgrenze angehoben. Sofern eine Altzusage nach vorliegt, werden Beiträge hierzu dem Kontingent angerechnet, sodass nur noch der Differenzbetrag im Rahmen des § 3 Nr. 63 EStG zur Verfügung steht. Eine zusätzliche Sozialversicherungsfreiheit besteht hingegen nicht. Die steuerliche Entlastung der Beiträge gilt nur für Steuerpflichtige der Steuerklassen I bis V, mithin im Rahmen eines ersten Dienstverhältnisses, gegebenenfalls auch für geringfügig Beschäftigte. Arbeitnehmer der Steuerklasse VI können ihr Beitragsaufkommen steuerlich nicht frei stellen.
Seit 2009 wird nicht mehr zwischen Arbeitgeber- und Arbeitnehmerfinanzierung (letzteres auch Entgeltumwandlung genannt) unterschieden, denn das Sozialversicherungsprivileg gilt nunmehr über das Jahr 2008 hinaus. Die Sozialversicherungsfreiheit von Beiträgen greift auch dann, wenn sie nicht aus Sonderzahlungen geleistet werden.
Versteuerung in der Rentenphase
Renten- und Kapitalleistungen sind in der Rentenphase nach Nr. 5 EStG als sonstige Einkünfte in voller Höhe mit dem individuellen Steuersatz zu versteuern. Die Anwendung der Fünftelregelung ist bei Kapitalabfindungen nicht möglich.
Sofern während der Ansparphase Beiträge aus versteuertem Einkommen eingezahlt wurden (z. B. wegen Krankheit nach Ende der Lohnfortzahlung, Arbeitslosigkeit, privater Vertragsfortführung usw.), werden die daraus resultierenden Leistungen nach dem Ertragsanteilsverfahren besteuert (§ 22 Nr. 5 S. 2 in Verbindung mit § 22 Nr. 1 S. 3a EStG). Unberührt hiervon bleibt die Pflicht zur Entrichtung von Kranken- und Pflegeversicherungsbeiträgen auf die Leistungen aus den betrieblich finanzierten Beiträgen und Erträgen.
Kapitalabfindung
Sofern eine Kapitalabfindung in der Direktversicherung vorgesehen ist, kann Nr. 63 EStG nicht angewendet werden. Sofern eine Rentenzahlung vorgesehen ist und nur eine Kapitaloption besteht, kann die steuer- und sozialversicherungsfreie Einzahlung nur so lange fortgesetzt werden, wie die Kapitaloption nicht ausgeübt wurde.
Es gibt auch Versicherer, die dem Kunden ermöglichen, sich einen Teil des angesparten Kapitals auf einen Schlag auszahlen zu lassen (Teilkapitalabfindung) und den Rest als monatliche Rente. In der Regel können maximal 30 Prozent des Kapitals als Teilkapitalauszahlung zum Rentenbeginn ausgezahlt werden, wenn der Kunde dies möchte.
Hinterbliebene
Bezugsberechtigt im Todesfall können sein:
Ehegatten
Früherer Ehegatte
Kindergeldberechtigte Kinder
Lebensgefährten
Eingetragene gleichgeschlechtliche Lebensgemeinschaften
Sollte keine dieser Personengruppen vorhanden sein, kann im Todesfall vor Rentenbeginn ein Sterbegeld an jede beliebige Person gezahlt werden. Dieses ist allerdings auf die gewöhnlichen Beerdigungskosten – zurzeit 8.000 € – begrenzt.
Stirbt der Versicherte vor Rentenbeginn, erhalten sein Ehe- oder eingetragener Lebenspartner oder die kindergeldberechtigten Kinder entweder die bisher eingezahlten Beiträge (Beitragsrückgewähr) oder das bisher gebildete Kapital (zuzüglich Überschüssen) zurück. Die genannten Leistungen erfolgen regelmäßig als Rentenzahlung, wobei Einmalzahlungen möglich sind. Abgesicherte Biometrien, wie Leistungen an Hinterbliebene, schmälern die Altersrente des Versicherten. Im Rahmen der Rentengarantiezeit werden Hinterbliebenenrenten bezahlt.
Zusagen vor dem 1. Januar 2005
Beiträge
Beiträge des Arbeitgebers in eine Direktversicherung, deren Zusage vor dem 1. Januar 2005 erteilt wurde, sind nach Einkommensteuergesetz (EStG) bis zu einer Summe von 1.752 € jährlich pauschal mit 20 % – zuzüglich Solidaritätszuschlag und Kirchensteuer – steuerpflichtig. Weiterhin sind die Beiträge sozialversicherungsfrei, sofern entweder eine arbeitgeberfinanzierte Zusage vorliegt oder die Beiträge aus Sonderzahlungen beglichen werden. Liegt Entgeltumwandlung und keine Sonderzahlung vor, sind die Beiträge sozialversicherungspflichtig.
Durchschnittsbildung
Über einen so genannten "gemeinsamen Direktversicherungsvertrag" können in einzelne Verträge bis zu 2.148 € nach § 40b EStG jährlich einbezahlt werden, sofern die durchschnittliche Beitragshöhe aller Verträge im Unternehmen nicht höher als 1.752 € liegt.
Versteuerung in der Rentenphase
Kapitalauszahlungen sind für Altzusagen steuerfrei. Rentenzahlungen werden nach Nr. 5 EStG mit dem so genannten Ertragsanteil versteuert.
In der Rentenphase beziehungsweise bei Kapitalauszahlung sind Beiträge für die gesetzliche Kranken- und Pflegeversicherung zu entrichten, und zwar mit vollem Beitragssatz. Die zu zahlenden Sozialversicherungsbeiträge erstrecken sich über einen Zehnjahreszeitraum. Diese Verpflichtung resultiert aus dem Gesundheitsmodernisierungsgesetz (GMG) des Jahres 2004 mit Rückwirkung auf Direktversicherungen, die vor 2005 abgeschlossen wurden. Es erfolgt unter Umständen eine doppelte Belastung mit Sozialversicherungsbeiträgen bei der Einzahlung und dann nochmals bei der Auszahlung.
Hinterbliebene
Es gelten keine Begrenzungen für die Bezugsberechtigung im Todesfall. Die Todesfallleistung kann (gegebenenfalls steuerschädlich) an beliebige Person ausgezahlt werden.
Arbeitgeberwechsel
Verlässt ein Arbeitnehmer seinen Arbeitgeber, wird der Versicherungsvertrag – sofern unverfallbare Ansprüche vorliegen – im Rahmen des versicherungsvertraglichen Verfahrens auf den neuen Arbeitgeber beziehungsweise ihn selbst übertragen (Rechtsanspruch auf sogenannte Portabilität). Der Arbeitnehmer kann die Beiträge entweder fortzahlen (lassen) oder – sofern möglich – den Vertrag beitragsfrei stellen. Eine Kündigung mit Auszahlung des Rückkaufswertes ist – wie auch die Beleihung oder Abtretung des Guthabens – auf Grund der Verfügungsbeschränkung in Abs. 2 BetrAVG vor Vollendung des 60. Lebensjahres nicht möglich.
Tritt der Versicherte eine neue Stelle an, bieten sich ihm folgende Möglichkeiten:
Versicherungsnehmerwechsel und Weiterführung des alten Vertrages beim neuen Arbeitgeber.
Private Fortführung mit Eigenbeiträgen (sofern der neue Arbeitgeber nicht bereit ist, den Vertrag zu übernehmen) oder
Übertragung des Guthabens nach Abs. 3 Betriebsrentengesetz (BetrAVG) (nur für Zusagen ab dem 1. Januar 2005). Altverträge können ebenfalls übertragen werden, sofern beide Versicherungsgesellschaften dem Übertragungsabkommen des Gesamtverbandes der Versicherungswirtschaft beigetreten sind.
Der Arbeitgeber ist grundsätzlich verpflichtet, Entgeltumwandlung im Rahmen einer Pensionskasse oder Pensionsfonds (oder Direktversicherung) anzubieten, jedoch kann er den Anbieter der betrieblichen Altersversorgung bestimmen ( BetrAVG).
Vervielfältigung
Erhält ein Arbeitnehmer wegen seines Ausscheidens aus einem Unternehmen eine Abfindung, kann diese oder Teile von ihr steuerlich gefördert in eine Direktversicherung eingezahlt werden. Nach bisheriger Regelung konnte gemäß Nr. 63 EStG für jedes Dienstjahr seit 2005 ein Betrag von 1.800 € steuerfrei – abzüglich der im Kalenderjahr der Beendigung des Dienstverhältnisses, sowie den 6 vorangegangenen Jahren steuerfrei geleisteten Beiträge – in die Direktversicherung eingezahlt werden. Wurde auf die obige Regelung verzichtet und bestanden Arbeitsverhältnis und Zusage bereits vor 2005, konnten pro angefangenem Kalender-Dienstjahr 1.752 € – abzüglich der Direktversicherungsbeiträge der vergangenen sieben Jahre – pauschalbesteuert eingezahlt werden. Man spricht in diesem Zusammenhang vom sogenannten Vervielfältiger.
Mit Einführung des Betriebsrentenstärkungsgesetzes gilt seit Januar 2018 eine vereinfachte Regelung. Der Vervielfältigungsbetrag wird so berechnet, dass die Dienstzeit (maximal 10 Dienstjahre) mit 4 % der aktuellen Beitragsbemessungsgrenze multipliziert wird.
Sonstiges
Dem Arbeitnehmer ist es bei der Direktversicherung grundsätzlich nicht möglich, vor Erreichen des Rentenalters einseitig über das Guthaben zu verfügen, den Vertrag abzutreten, zu beleihen oder zu verpfänden.
Die Direktversicherung ist dem Pensionssicherungsverein nach Abs. 1 BetrAVG grundsätzlich zu melden. Eine Beitragspflicht wird allerdings nur ausgelöst, wenn der Arbeitgeber selbige (vorübergehend) abgetreten oder beliehen hat, beziehungsweise ein widerrufliches Bezugsrecht besteht.
Historisches
Die Pauschalsteuer für Altzusagen stieg von 1983, 10 % über 15 % auf zuletzt 20 %. Die abzuführende Pauschalsteuer ist aus dem Bruttogehalt abzuführen.
Siehe auch
Direktversicherer mit Direktvertrieb
In anderen Sprachräumen wird der Begriff "Direktversicherung" synonym mit dem deutschen Begriff der Erstversicherung, also im Unterschied zur Rückversicherung direkt mit dem Verbraucher abgeschlossene Versicherung, verwendet. Die oben beschriebene Direktversicherung ist eine Besonderheit des deutschen Steuerrechts und es gibt sie nur in Deutschland.
Einzelnachweise
Versicherungswesen
Versicherungsrecht
Betriebliche Altersversorgung
Mitarbeiterbeteiligung | {
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La rue Georges-Berger est une voie située dans le quartier de la Plaine-de-Monceaux du de Paris.
Situation et accès
La rue Georges-Berger est desservie par la ligne à la station Monceau, ainsi que par les lignes de bus RATP .
Origine du nom
Elle porte le nom de l'ingénieur et député Georges Berger (1834-1910).
Historique
Cette rue, ouverte par décret du , est un ancien tronçon de la rue Legendre qu'elle terminait à l'ouest.
Détachée de la rue Legendre, elle prend sa dénomination par arrêté du , approuvé par décret du .
Bâtiments remarquables et lieux de mémoire
La rue débouche sur le parc Monceau.
: consulat général du Portugal à Paris.
: immeuble construit en 1905-1906 par l'architecte Jacques Hermant.
: hôtel particulier construit vers 1900.
: hôtel particulier de style néo-Renaissance.
Notes et références
Georges-Berger
Georges-Berger | {
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} | 9,035 |
Q: Smartcard authentication for .NET I have a smartcard reader and a smartcard. I have installed drivers and it works as expected. I can use this card as windows logon or for remote desktop logon.
I'm building my app which should work only when the card is inserted and I need to call web services from my app which requires a certificate from the card.
Any suggestions on how do I do that? The web is full of examples for ASP.NET and I'm building Windows forms.
As a further note: Everything must work the same even if user logs on windows without the card. The card must me present for the app to work.
Thanks.
A: If the Smartcard driver supports the standard Windows CryptoAPI, it will export the certificates from the card into the personal store of the user. You can access those certificates using the X509Store class. When you access the certificate, the user will be prompted to insert the card and enter his PIN.
Note: Some smartcard drivers do not automatically export the certificates. Instead, they have a tool which the user can use to do this.
| {
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Father John Misty's Pure Comedy let us in on the joke
By Ryan Lunn / 05 April 2017, 13:22 BST
Pure Comedy
Get it on: Amazon
It was always going to be difficult for 35-year-old Josh Tillman, aka Father John Misty, to follow up I Love You, Honeybear - his 2015 career-defining album – but on his new full-length, Pure Comedy, he completely disregards his past successes and instead tentatively focuses on the grim road ahead.
Honeybear stood out as an album about love that was neither passé nor cringe, that is if you have the chutzpah to call it an album about love – it was more of an album about insecurity riddled with randy one liners, serving as an honest portrayal of modern romance rather than a meticulously-planned Instagram brunch with 'bae' or a sunset walk with 'this one'; it was a fucked-up love album for fucked-up times, if you will.
In that regard, it's interesting just how similar Pure Comedy is to Honeybear, despite their obvious differences. While they have their similarities in terms of core brutal honesty and irony, the subject matters are inherently separated - Comedy serves as take on the pitiful state of modern politics, whereas Honeybear focused on removing bland clichés from music about romance. You shouldn't fall for the façade that these albums are about politics or romance, though - make no mistake, both of these are albums about the life and times of Josh Tillman.
Having said that, Pure Comedy is a complex album that does address the futility of politics, with "Two Wildly Different Perspectives" serving as best example of what Misty's trying to say here – political parties ridiculing each other is pointless and gets us nowhere. Who's right and who's wrong? How do we know? And, what does that literally even mean?
However, it's very easy to misread Pure Comedy as an album that's pretentious, preachy and just generally too long (in the digital age of short attention spans and musical clickbait, the 13 tracks here clock in at a majestic 75 minutes). But, Misty's charming grandiosity puts his planned preachiness into perspective. He's joking, right? After all, it's difficult to take someone who opens a song with "Bedding Taylor Swift every night inside the Oculus Rift" seriously.
Yeah, of course he's joking – he's the Willy Wonka of folk rock that also happens to be too smart for his own good. He's aware of how these songs could be misunderstood as preachy, and it's intentional – he even plays into his ironic, bearded white guy shtick on several occasions: "Oh great, that's just what we all need / Another white guy in 2017 who takes himself so goddamn seriously," he's told on the 13-minute self-doubt anthem "Leaving LA".
In fact, "Leaving LA" sees Misty on some of his best form, with quips like "Five foot chicks with parted lips selling sweatshop jeans", "LA phonies and their bullshit bands that sound like dollar signs and Amy Grant" and "It's the pull quote from my last cover piece, entitled 'The Oldest Man in Folk Rock Speaks'", sprawling across the slow and exaggerated 13 minutes - the track uses the beauty of strings and a gentle acoustic guitar to juxtapose the boredom of Misty's elongated diary entries in order to highlight his self-deprecation, while also playing into his perceived pretentiousness. It's not the best track on the album, but it's a good demonstration of just how much Misty doesn't give a shit about what you think of him and his music.
Much more lively are the albums clear standout tracks "Total Entertainment Forever" and "Ballad of the Dying Man". The former (which boasts the aforementioned Taylor Swift lyric) will keep you entertained and reaching for the repeat button for as long as the title suggests, while the latter is a classic deadly Tillman cocktail, laced with his trademark wit and underlying scorn as he describes a dying man who wastes his final moments by checking his newsfeed one last time.
Album opener and title track "Pure Comedy" sets the tone for the record and contains some of Misty's most political lines yet: "Oh, their religions are the best
/ They worship themselves yet they're totally obsessed with risen zombies, celestial virgins, magic tricks, these unbelievable outfits / And they get terribly upset
when you question their sacred texts
, written by woman-hating epileptics," while "Things It Would Have Been Useful to Know Before the Revolution" is one of Misty's smartest songs to date, as he details a fictional reality that would take place if the world were free from its contemporary shackles and resorted back to its primal state.
Thank god that we haven't just been given Honeybear Part Two, though. Sure, the sarcasm, the self-righteousness and the sanctimony of Honeybear is present in Comedy, but it's packaged differently. At times, Pure Comedy is every bit as smart and funny as its predecessor but it's unlikely it'll be as successful.
In retrospect, success isn't that paramount to Father John Misty's relevance right now. He's the embodiment and personification of the honest and overexposure that comes with the digitalisation of society, albeit through the outdated (although accessible and modernised) folk rock genre - he's overly self-confident, yet openly insecure; he's extremely critical, while his actions are wildly open to criticism.
He may only be another album (and/or a few tweets) away from becoming a parody of himself, but for now Pure Comedy is another elongated and extensive example of Misty's intense outlook on cliché, contradictory and conceived contemporary life. If misunderstood, it's easy to believe that the signified still signifies the signifier, but call Pure Comedy boring at your peril. The more you consider the deliberate indifference towards irony in Misty's work, the more it feels like he's letting you in on the joke.
Stockholm's Viagra Boys are brazen and sleazy in the most refreshing of ways
Polaroids with Editors
Track by Track: Shinies on Nothing Like Something Happens Anywhere | {
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\section{Introduction}
The second law of thermodynamics, perhaps the deepest truth in all of science, tells us that the entropy is a non-decreasing function of time.
The arrow of time implies that the Universe initially inhabited a low entropy state and the subsequent cosmological evolution took the Universe away from this state.
A theory of quantum gravity must explain the singular nature of the initial conditions for the Universe.
Such a theory should then, in turn, shed light on time, its microscopic and directional nature, its arrow.
The quest for a theory of quantum gravity is fundamentally an attempt to reconcile two disparate notions of time.
On the one hand, Einstein's theory of general relativity teaches us that time is ultimately an illusion.
On the other hand, quantum theory tells us that time evolution is an essential part of Nature.
The failure to resolve the conflict between these competing notions is at the heart of our inability to properly describe the earliest moment of our Universe, the Big Bang.
The puzzle of the origin of the Universe intimately connects to a second fundamental issue:
should the initial conditions be treated separately from or in conjunction with the basic framework of the description of the dynamics?
The discord between the general relativistic and quantum theoretic points of view has very deep roots.
In this essay we will trace these roots to their origins.
Then, drawing inspiration from the profound lessons learned from relativity and quantum theory, we propose a radical yet conservative solution to the problem of time.
In quantum mechanics, time manifests as the fundamental evolution parameter of the underlying unitary group.
We have a state $|\psi\rangle$, and we evolve it as $e^{-\frac{i}{\hbar} H t} |\psi\rangle$.
The Hamiltonian operator of a given system generates translations of the initial state in time.
Unlike other conjugate quantities in the theory such as momentum and position, the relation between time and energy, which is the observable associated to the Hamiltonian, is distinguished.
Time is not an observable in quantum theory in the sense that generally there is no associated ``clock'' operator.
In the Schr\"odinger equation time simply enters as a parameter.
This conception of time as a Newtonian construct that is global or absolute in a post-Newtonian theory persists even when we promote quantum mechanics to relativistic quantum field~theory.
In contrast, time in general relativity is local as well as dynamical.
Suppose we promote general relativity to a quantum theory of gravity in a na\"{\i}ve fashion.
In the path integral, the metric of spacetime is one more dynamical variable.
It fluctuates quantum mechanically.
So notions such as whether two events are spacelike separated become increasingly fuzzy as the fluctuations amplify.
Indeed, Lorentzian metrics exist for almost all pairs of points on a spacetime manifold such that the metric distance is not spacelike.
Clearly the notion of time, even locally, becomes problematic in quantum gravitational regimes.
The commutation relation $[{\cal O}(x),{\cal O}(y)] = 0$ when $x$ and $y$ are spacelike separated, but this is ambiguous once the metric is allowed to fluctuate.
The failure of microcausality means that the intuitions and techniques of quantum field theory must be dramatically revised in any putative theory of quantum~gravity.
Crafting a theory of quantum gravity that resolves the problem of time is a monumental undertaking.
From the previous discussion, we see that the standard conceptions of time in quantum theory and in classical general relativity are in extreme tension:
time in the quantum theory is an absolute evolution parameter along the real line whereas in general relativity there can be no such one parameter evolution.
A global timelike Killing direction may not even exist.
If the vacuum energy density is the cosmological constant $\Lambda$, we may inhabit such a spacetime, de Sitter space.
In any attempt to reconcile the identity of time in gravitation and canonical quantum theory, one is also immediately struck by the remarkable difference in the most commonly used formulations of the two theories.
Whereas general relativity is articulated in a geometric language, quantum mechanics is most commonly thought of in algebraic terms within an operatorial, complex Hilbert space formalism.
A principal obstacle to overcome rests with the r\^ole of time being intrinsically tied to the underlying structure of quantum theory, a foundation which---as recapitulated below---is rigidly fixed.
Yet when quantum theory is examined in its less familiar geometric form, it mimics general relativity in essential aspects.
In fact, these parallels provide a natural way to graft gravity into the theory at the root quantum level.
Particularly, the geometric formulation illuminates the intrinsically statistical nature and rigidity of time in quantum theory and points to a very specific way to make time more elastic as is the case in general relativity.
Thus, by loosening the standard quantum framework minutely, we can surprisingly deduce profound implications for quantum gravity, such as a resolution of the problems of time and of its arrow.
In subsequent sections, we will lay out a framework for general quantum relativity in which the geometry of the quantum is identified with quantum gravity and time is given a dynamical statistical interpretation.
Some bonuses stem from this point of view.
We achieve a new conceptual understanding of the origin of the Universe, the unification of initial conditions, and a new dynamical framework in which to explore these and other issues.
Here to reach a broader audience, conceptual rendition takes precedence over mathematical formalism the details of which are available in the literature given below.
In Section~2, we examine the problem of time's arrow.
In Section~3, we briefly recall the geometric formulation of standard quantum mechanics, which naturally leads to a generalized background independent quantum theory of gravity and matter, the latter of which is embodied by M(atrix) theory.
In Section~4, we apply this prescription to a theory of quantum gravity in its cosmological setting:
the initial low entropy state of the Universe and cosmological evolution away from this state.
Specifically we will discuss key properties of the new space of quantum states---a nonlinear Grassmannian---features which notably embody an initial cosmological state with zero entropy and provides a description of cosmological evolution when viewed as of a far from equilibrium dissipative system.
We also will elaborate on a more general connection between quantum gravity, the concept of holography and some fundamental results in non-equilibrium statistical physics. Finally, Section~5 offers some concluding~remarks.
\section{The Problem of Time's Arrow}
The basic problem of time is exemplified by the fundamental clash between the classical general relativistic notion of spacetime---through the r\^ole of the diffeomorphism group and the ultimately chimerical nature of the evolution parameter---and the quantum notion of time as the fundamental evolution parameter of the underlying unitary group.
In thinking about the nature of time in physics it is tempting to succumb to the allure of general relativity and declare time to be an illusion and seek a reformulation of quantum theory to fit Einstein's worldview.
The consequent emergence of actual dynamics from the constrained description of such a ``quantum'' theory of Einstein gravity thus presents the main and almost insurmountable problem.
Given the overwhelming success of local quantum field theory in accounting for all (albeit non-gravitational) quantum interactions, it is tempting to retain its underlying precepts as we refine and deepen our analysis.
Thus, Euclidean local quantum field theory was extended into the realm of quantum gravity and in particular to give a prescription for the resolution of the initial singularity or the reconciliation of the problem of the initial conditions as opposed to the fundamental dynamical prescription.
Yet the problem of time runs much deeper; for there is an inescapable puzzle here.
The observational evidence points to a hot Big Bang some $13.75\pm 0.11$ Gyr ago~\cite{wmap}.
The Penrose--Hawking theorems point to the existence of an initial singularity~\cite{ph}.
Under conservative assumptions, there exist geodesics that are only finitely extendable into the past.
Time has a beginning.
The curvature of spacetime blows up at the initial singularity, which is the terminus of the geodesics, and general relativity can no longer reliably say anything useful about physics since the very notion of spacetime geometry breaks down.
The origin of the Universe also raises conceptual questions within the quantum theory itself.
Quantum mechanics tells us that we can evolve a state forward and backward in time forever.
But if we uphold the canonical definition of the unitary evolution with a globally defined evolution parameter in a cosmological setting, what happens to the evolution as we approach the singularity?
According to quantum theory, the evolution is not supposed to terminate, and yet, from both the physics and the general relativity standpoints, it seemingly does end.
Thus arise questions as to the quantum embodiments of the Big Bang, of the initial and final singularities of gravitational collapse, of the nature of the quantum vacuum in such extreme regimes, of the fuzziness of space and time, indeed the question of the very notion of the quantum itself.
Does the quantum need to be transgressed?
A proposed resolution to some of the above issues may be sought in an analysis of time in standard quantum theory set in a differential geometric form.
Clearly, before tackling the issue of its direction and its arrow, we should first settle on what time is in the context of quantum theory.
We begin by noting the difference between space and time in non-relativistic quantum mechanics.
No insight is gained through the usual operatorial formalism where quantum theory looks like a set of phenomenally successful but ultimately {\it ad hoc} set of rules for computation.
Particularly, there is no time operator neither in the point particle, nor even in the string and M-theory settings which leave unresolved the problem of time or equivalently that of background independence.
(AdS/CFT~\cite{adscft, adscft2, adscft3}, which is undeniably a background independent formulation of string theory in anti-de Sitter space, nevertheless fixes the asymptopia.)
From the particle physics or string theory perspective, time is needed for the dynamics while space could be holographically emergent~\cite{holo, holo2, seiberg}. In other words, time may well be more fundamental than space. Subsequently we will take this hunch seriously.
Guided by these ruminations, a more illuminating picture of the nature of quantum theory and of time is to be found through a geometric formulation of quantum theory.
This more intuitive form of quantum theory suggests a way to extend in the quantum context the concept of global time to local dynamical time and provides in the same vein the quantum geometrical framework to accommodate a quantum theory of gravity from first principles.
Such a frontal approach bypasses the ambiguous if not dubious process of canonical quantization of general relativity which, after all, is an effective theory of gravitation.
In fact, the thermodynamic formulation of classical gravity~\cite{thermo, thermo2, thermo3, ted} already suggests that gravitation is an intrinsically quantum phenomenon, universal in that it couples to all forms of energy.
\section{Quantum Gravity and a New Take on Time}
\subsection{Geometric Quantum Theory}
To begin addressing the problem of time through the lens of quantum gravity, one is struck by the dramatic difference in the formalisms standardly used to describe the two theories.
To recapitulate, general relativity is typically considered in geometric terms while quantum theory is most commonly couched in the operatorial formalism.
As has so often been the case in the history of physics, challenging questions have been difficult to answer in large part because they are cast in a formalism ill suited to providing clear answers.
Some examples are:
(a) Schr\"odinger's formulation of quantum mechanics versus Heisenberg's in easily obtaining the spectrum of the hydrogen atom;
(b) the second quantized formulation of the quantum many body problem as applied to solids and liquids leading, say, to the BCS theory of superconductivity;
(c) the Feynman path integral formulation and its elucidation of perturbative and specially non-perturbative phenomena in relativistic quantum systems.
In such cases, when the correct formalism was found solutions to previously intractable problems became apparent and even natural.
It is in this spirit that we take our first step in resolving the problem of time by considering an alternative but equivalent formulation of quantum mechanics in purely geometric terms.
This process will allow us to do a direct comparison, when attempting to understand the different ways in which time is treated in general relativity and quantum mechanics.
It is not widely known that standard quantum mechanics may be cast geometrically as Hamiltonian dynamics over a specific phase space ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, the complex projective Hilbert space of pure quantum states~\cite{geoqm, geoqm2, as}.
Deferring to the sizable literature for greater details---see~\cite{review} and references therein---we only sum up here the defining features of this geometric formulation.
The state space ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ is a compact, homogeneous, isotropic, and simply connected K\"ahler--Einstein manifold with a constant, holomorphic sectional curvature $2/\hbar$.
Notably, being K\"ahler, it possesses a defining property: a triad of compatible structures, any two of which determine the third.
These are a symplectic two-form $\omega$, a unique Fubini--Study metric $g$, and a complex structure $j$, respectively.
Indeed all of the key features of quantum mechanics are in fact encoded in this geometric structure.
In particular, the Riemannian metric determines the distance between states on the phase space and encodes the probabilistic structure of quantum theory. The Schr\"odinger equation is simply the associated geodesic equation for a particle moving on ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n = U(n+1)/(U(n)\times U(1))$ in the presence of an effective external gauge field (namely, the $U(n)\times U(1)$ valued curvature two-form) whose source is the Hamiltonian of a given physical system.
We observe that ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, where generally $n\ = \infty$, remains an absolute background in that there is no backreaction from the wavefunction.
So it provides only a single rigid kinematical stage for quantum dynamics.
Another simple but telling feature is the following.
When the configuration space of the theory is three dimensional physical space itself, the Fubini--Study metric reduces to the flat spatial metric.
This observation suggests that space and, indeed, curved spacetime, need not be inputs but may emerge from an, albeit, suitably extended quantum theory over phase space, generalized both kinematically and dynamically.
To put our results in their proper context, we next summarize the pertinent features of such a generalized geometric quantum theory.
\subsection{Background Independence and Matrix Theory}
First, we recall that crucially, Matrix theory is a manifestly second quantized, non-perturbative formulation of M-theory on a fixed spacetime background~\cite{bfss}.
While physical space emerges as a moduli space of the supersymmetric matrix quantum mechanics, time still appears as in any other canonical quantum theory.
Time is not an observable in quantum mechanics:
as we have repeatedly emphasized,
there is generally no ``clock'' operator in the way there is a position operator or a momentum operator.
Moreover, as we demand diffeomorphism invariance in a theory of gravitation, time and spatial position are only labels, and when the metric is allowed to fluctuate, classical notions, such as spacetime paths and spacelike separation of points---hence causality---cease to have operational meaning.
To construct a background independent
formulation of Matrix theory, it becomes necessary to relax the very stringent rigidity of the underlying quantum theory. Hence the question:
How can this procedure be minimally accomplished?
Our extension of geometric quantum mechanics via a quantum equivalence principle yields the following~\cite{review, mt, mt2, dj, dj2, jm, jm2,footnote1}.
At the basic level, there are only dynamical correlations between quantum events.
Staying close to the structure of quantum mechanics, the phase space of states must have a symplectic structure, namely a symplectic two-form, and be the base space of a $U(1)$ bundle. Moreover---and this is the key difference with unitary quantum mechanics---this space must be diffeomorphism invariant.
Paralelling quantum mechanics, we next demand a three-way interlocking of the Riemannian, the symplectic, and the non-integrable almost complex structures.
In thus departing from the integrable complex structure of ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, which in fact is the {\it only} change made to the structure of quantum mechanical state space, the most natural quantum mechanical phase space is then identified as the nonlinear Grassmannian,
${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1}) = {\rm Diff}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})/{\rm Diff}({\mathbb C}^{n+1}, {\mathbb C}^n\times \{0\})$,
with $n\to\infty$, a complex projective, strictly almost K\"ahler manifold.
Here the term nonlinear denotes the fact that we have a coset space of diffeomorphism groups as compared to the cosets from such linear Lie groups as $U(n)$ or $SU(n)$---${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ being a pertinent example.
This shift toward a novel state space is then the radical yet conservative departure from standard quantum mechanics.
From diffeomorphism invariance, which defines a new framework beyond quantum mechanics, it follows that not just the metric but also the almost complex structure and hence the symplectic structure be fully dynamical in the space of states.
Consequently, with the coadjoint orbit nature of ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$, the equations of motion of this general theory are the Einstein--Yang--Mills equations:
\begin{equation}
\label{BIQM1}
{\cal{R}}_{ab} - \frac{1}{2} {\cal{G}}_{ab} {\cal{R}} - \lambda {\cal{G}}_{ab}= {\cal{T}}_{ab} (H, F_{ab}) ~
\end{equation} %
with ${\cal{T}}_{ab}$ as determined by ${\cal{F}}_{ab}$, the holonomic Yang--Mills field strength, the Hamiltonian (``charge'') $H$, and a ``cosmological'' term $\lambda$.
Furthermore,
\begin{equation}
\label{BIQM2}
\nabla_a {\cal{F}}^{ab} = \frac{1}{2M_P} H u^b ~
\end{equation}
where $u^b$ are the velocities, $M_P$ is the Planck energy, and $H$ the Matrix theory Hamiltonian~\cite{bfss}.
These coupled equations imply via the Bianchi identity a conserved energy-momentum tensor: $\nabla_a {\cal{T}}^{ab} =~0$.
Just as the geodesic equation for a non-Abelian charged particle is contained in the classical Einstein--Yang--Mills equations, so is the corresponding geometric, covariant Schr\"odinger equation.
The latter is here genuinely nonlinear and cannot be, as in quantum mechanics, linearized by lifting to a flat Hilbert space.
The above set of equations defines the physical system (here the model Universe) and identifies the correct variables including time.
Just as the geometry of ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ holds the key to all the quantum propositions, the crux of our extended quantum theory rests in the above Grassmannian.
We next list its key geometrical features from which new physics is to be deduced.
\subsection{Geometry of ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$}
In contrast with ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, the space ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ is much less studied. We do know that it a compact, homogeneous but non-symmetric, multiply-connected, infinite dimensional complex Riemannian space.
It is a projective, strictly almost K\"ahler manifold, a coadjoint orbit, hence a symplectic coset space of the volume preserving diffeomorphism group~\cite{hv}.
It is also the base manifold of a circle bundle over ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$, where the $U(1)$ holonomy provides a Berry phase.
Essential for our purposes, nonlinear Grassmannians are Fr\'echet spaces.
As generalizations of Banach and Hilbert spaces, Fr\'echet spaces are locally convex and complete topological vector spaces.
(Typical examples are spaces of infinitely differentiable functions encountered in functional analysis.)
Defined either through a translationally invariant metric or by a countable family of semi-norms, the lack of a true norm makes their topological structures more complicated.
The metric, not the norm, defines the topology.
Moreover, there is generally no natural notion of distance between two points so that many different metrics may induce the same topology.
In sharp contrast to ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ with its unique Fubini--Study metric, the allowed metrical structures are much richer and more elastic, thereby allowing novel probabilistic and dynamical applications.
Thus ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ has in principle an infinite number of metrics, a subset of which form the solution set to the Einstein--Yang--Mills plus Matrix model equations we associate with the space.
For example, in~\cite{mm}, an infinite one-parameter family of non-zero geodesic distance metrics was found.
Since ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ is the diffeomorphism invariant counterpart of ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, the necessary topological metric to consider is the analogue of the Fubini--Study metric of standard quantum theory.
This weak metric was analyzed in 2005 by Michor and Mumford~\cite{mm}, who obtained a most striking result, henceforth called their {\em vanishing theorem}.
Their theorem states that the generalized Fubini--Study metric induces on ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ a vanishing geodesic distance.
Such a paradoxical phenomenon is due to the curvatures being unbounded and positive in certain directions causing the space to curl up so tightly on itself that the infimum of path lengths between any two points collapses to zero.
What could be the possible physics of such a remarkable property?
\section{Modeling Time's Arrow}
\subsection{The Big Bang}
In order to address the origin of the cosmological arrow of time we must have an understanding of the physics of the initial low entropy state of the Universe.
To this end, we shall apply the quantum gravitational model outlined in the previous section to address the Big Bang singularity.
Remarkably, given the vanishing geodesic distance induced on ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ by the generalized Fubini--Study metric, such a state arises as a feature of the model considered here.
Recalling that all of the key features of quantum mechanics are encoded in ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, our next crucial task is to take seriously the unusual mathematical properties of ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ and interpret them in physical terms.
By taking this space as the space of states out of which spacetime emerges, we see that the vanishing theorem naturally describes an initial state in which the Universe exists at a single point, the cosmological singularity.
Moreover, viewed through this lens, a statistical notion of time may apply close to the cosmological singularity.
To see the intrinsically probabilistic nature of time, we observe that in both standard geometric quantum mechanics and its extension given above, the Riemannian structure encodes the statistical structure of the theory.
The geodesic distance is a measure of change in the system, for example through Hamiltonian time evolution.
In standard quantum mechanics, by way of the Fubini--Study metric and the energy dispersion $\Delta E\ $, the infinitesimal distance in phase space is
\begin{equation}
{\rm d} s = \frac{2}{\hbar}\, \Delta E\, {\rm d} t ~
\label{distance}
\end{equation}
Through this Aharonov-Anandan relation, time reveals its fundamental statistical, quantum nature \cite{geoqm}.
It also suggests that dynamics in time relate to the behavior of the metric on the state space.
A quantum state changes infinitesimally from fluctuation to fluctuation: {e.g.}, time evolution corresponds to statistical energy fluctuations.
Note also the above linear relation Equation~\eref{distance} between the line element ${\rm d} s$ and the time interval ${\rm d} t$.
It underscores the rigidity of global time in quantum theory, a rigidity connected to the uniqueness and universality of the Fubini--Study metric on ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, singled out by the compatibility between symplectic structure and the integrable complex structure.
It is in fact the relaxation of the complex structure to a non-integrable almost complex structure that leads to a more flexible local time and naturally to the need to go beyond the unitary group of quantum mechanics to the diffeomorphism group as the invariance group of the space of states. So in lieu of Equation~\eref{distance} and due to the availability of the Planck length in our model, we can define a local time $t$ through the equation ${\rm d} s =\frac{2}{\hbar}E_p {\rm d} t$ where $E_p$ is the Planck energy \cite{jm2}. In this fashion the time $t$ is only obtained by solving for a given metric of the nonlinear Grassmannian.
Thus, this quantum time in the extended theory is not only local but dynamical;
this is in line with general relativity: here the equivalence principle operates on the quantum state space and not in spacetime seen as an emergent structure yet to be obtained.
Moreover as Wootters~\cite{woot} showed, what the geodesic distance ${\rm d} s$ on ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ measures is the optimal distinguishability of nearby pure states:
if the states are hard to resolve experimentally, then they are close to each other in the metrical sense.
Statistical distance is therefore completely fixed by the size of fluctuations.
A telling measure of the uncertainty between two neighboring states or points in the state space is given by computing the volume of a spherical ball $B$ of radius $r$ as $r\to0$ around a point $p$ of a $d$-dimensional manifold ${\cal M}$.
This is given by
\begin{equation}
\frac{\textrm{Vol}( B_p(r) )}{\textrm{Vol}( B_e(1) )} = r^d \left( 1 - \frac{R(p)}{6(d+1)} r^2 + o(r^2) \right) ~
\label{balls}
\end{equation}
where the left hand side is normalized by $\textrm{Vol}( B_e(1) )$, the volume of the $d$-dimensional unit sphere.
$R(p)$, the scalar curvature of ${\cal M}$ at $p$, can be interpreted as the average statistical uncertainty of any point $p$ in the state space~\cite{petz}.
As $2/\hbar$ is the sectional curvature of ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$, $\hbar$ can be seen as the mean measure of quantum fluctuations.
Equation~\eref{balls} indicates that, depending on the signs and values of the curvature, the metric distance gets enlarged or shortened and may even vanish.
In fact the vanishing geodesic distance under the weak Fubini--Study metric on ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ is completely an effect of extremely high curvatures~\cite{mm}.
Because the space is extremely folded onto itself, any two points are indistinguishable ({\em i.e.}, the distance between them is zero).
This feature is an exceptional locus in the Fr\'echet space of all metrics on ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$.
It is a purely infinite dimensional phenomenon, and one that does not occur with the ${\mathbb C}{\mathbb P}^n$ of the canonical quantum theory.
From the foregoing discussion on quantum local time and the phase space metric, the low entropy problem tied to the initial conditions of the Universe finds a natural resolution.
In the language of statistical or information geometry and quantum distinguishability, the generalized Fubini--Study metric having vanishing geodesic distance between any two of its points means that none of the states of our nonlinear Grassmannian phase space can be differentiated from one another.
Due to the large fluctuations in curvatures everywhere, the whole phase space is comprised of a single state, an {\em unique} microstate at time zero.
The number of microstates $\Omega$ = 1, so the probability $P$ for this state is unity.
By Boltzmann's thermodynamic entropy formula $S = k_B \log \Omega = - k_B \sum_i P_i \log P_i$---the latter equation being for the informational (Shannon) entropy---it follows that the entropy of the Universe is identically zero at the Big Bang.
We must bear in mind that our model for quantum cosmology begins with the space of states from which space-time subsequently emerges. Thus the vanishing theorem refers to the vanishing of microstates. This implies that the number with the natural weak Fubini--Study metric, the Universe is in that one fixed configuration of just one microstate with probability one. Clearly this exceptional state at time zero begs the question as to the origin of the expected manifold microstates which must occur as the Universe evolves away from the Big Bang. This issue relates directly to the process of nonlinear generation of further degrees of freedom through entropy production.
As we shall see below, from the physics standpoint this striking zero-entropy phenomenon is most natural when viewed within a non-equilibrium setting.
From the relation between geodesic distance and time, we also have the emergence of a cosmological arrow of time.
While at time $t = 0$ the system has entropy $S=0$, the very high curvatures in ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ signal a non-equilibrium condition of dynamical instability.
Because of its nonlinear dissipative and chaotic dynamics, our system will flow through small perturbations toward differentiation. This process of entropy production by way of fractionization of one state into ever more distinguishable states in the state space which thus acquires an ever larger volume.
Mathematically, this instability is further evidenced by the existence of a whole family of non-zero geodesic distance metrics, of which the zero entropy metric is a special case~\cite{mm}.
Larger geodesic distance is naturally associated with distinguishably of states and thus larger entropy. Thus evolution from the zero distance state to the family of non-zero geodesics distance metrics allows for a clear example of time evolution (and cosmological evolution) in the direction of higher entropy states.
In accord with the second law of thermodynamics, the dynamical evolution---made possible, say, via these very metrics---is toward some higher entropy but stable state.
The system will ultimately go into a phase with a dynamically realized lower symmetry in which classical spacetime and canonical quantum mechanics would emerge.
However, it is the physics of the Big Bang---at time zero and immediately afterwards---which will be detailed next.
\subsection{Cosmological Evolution from a Jammed State}
What could the physics behind a low (zero) entropy, yet high temperature state of the Big Bang be?
We suggest that the paradoxical zero distance, everywhere high curvature property of ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ with the Fubini--Study metric finds an equally paradoxical physical realization in the context of our model.
This kind of occurrence is to be found in a class of far from equilibrium collective phase transitions, the so called ``freezing by heating'' transitions.
From many studies~\cite{pettini} it has been established that high curvatures in the phase or configuration manifold of a physical system precisely reflect large fluctuations of the relevant physical observables at a phase transition point.
This correspondence means equating the high curvatures of the Fubini--Study metric on ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$ with large fluctuations in our system at a phase transition.
The vanishing geodesic distance can be interpreted as the signature, or order parameter, of a strong fluctuation (or ``heat'') induced zero entropy, and hence a highly ordered state.
While from an equilibrium physics perspective such a state seems nonsensical, it occurs in certain far from equilibrium environments.
Specifically, we point to a representative continuum model~\cite{helbing, helbing2} where such an unexpected state was first discovered.
Here, one has a system of particles interacting, not only through frictional forces and short range repulsive forces, but also and most importantly via strong driving fluctuations ({e.g.}, noise, heat, \emph{etc.}).
As the amplitude of the fluctuations ({e.g.}, temperature) goes from weak to strong to extremely strong and as its total energy increases, such a system shows a thermodynamically counterintuitive evolution from a fluid to a solid and then only to a gas.
At and beyond the onset of strong fluctuations, it first goes to a highly ordered, low entropy, indeed a crystalline state, which is a phase transition like state if both particle number and fluctuations are sufficiently large.
This jammed collective state, being energetically metastable then goes into a third disordered, higher entropy gaseous state under extremely strong fluctuations.
So from this non-equilibrium setting, the zero entropy property of the Big Bang is compatible with an early Universe observed to have a very nearly uniform matter distribution in thermal equilibrium at a uniform temperature.
While our model's dynamics are clearly mathematically far more intricate than the above models for phenomena such as traffic jams and the flocking of birds, it does have the requisite combination of the proper kind of forces to achieve these ``freezing by heating'' transitions.
The system being considered is far from equilibrium with low entropy, high temperature, and negative specific heat.
In addition we have nonlinear, attractive, and repulsive Yang--Mills forces, short range repulsive forces of D$0$-branes in the Matrix theory, repulsive forces from a positive ``cosmological'' term, and most importantly large gravitational fluctuations induced by the large curvatures.
Moreover, it is known that geometric quantum mechanics can be seen as a classical Hamiltonian system, one with a K\"ahler phase space.
Its complete integrability in the classical sense~\cite{block} derives from the K\"ahler property which implies hermiticity of all observables in their operatorial representations.
The extended quantum theory is similarly viewed in terms of classical nonlinear field and particle dynamics over a strictly almost complex phase space.
This last property implies that corresponding operators are non-hermitian, and hence our system is a dissipative system~\cite{rajeev}.
Moreover, classical Einstein--Yang--Mills systems are non-integrable and chaotic~\cite{barrow}.
Further physical insights into the above quantum gravity model must await the detailed mathematical analysis yet to be done on the space ${\rm Gr}({\mathbb C}^{n+1})$. This is the subject of the still little explored area of geometric nonlinear functional analysis.
In the meanwhile, we may wish to approach the jammed Big Bang state, its evolving entropy, and its possible decay modes from a more phenomenological and quantifiable stance of non-equilibrium physics of jammed systems. Here we may conceive the following scenario: Immediately following the Big Bang phase transition, spacetime is expected to emerge as a jammed state of a spacetime foam or quantum foam. It is known that if condensed matter materials such as foams or emulsions are compressed, they display solid behavior above the so-called ``jamming'' transition. We do not wish to commit ourselves to any particular model of spacetime foam discussed in the literature. After all a more specific spacetime foam model or family of models may ultimately derive from the proposed theory of quantum gravity discussed here. In lieu of making use of a specific model of spacetime foam we here invoke an effective theory of jamming which best describes the universal features of jammed systems and hence possibly jammed spacetime foams. Edwards' statistical mechanics of jammed matter~\cite{makse} far from equilibrium is precisely such a theory \cite{footnote2}.
So if the above identified Big Bang state is modeled as a granular system with a well defined volume (so a relevant variable), but where, due to dissipation, energy is of minor relevance, then as this state becomes unjammed, the number of microstates $\Sigma_{\rm jammed}(V)$ for a given volume $V$ is equal to the area of the surface ${\cal{W}}(\kappa)=V$ in phase space.
Thus,
\begin{equation}
\Sigma_{\rm jammed}(V) = \int d\kappa\ \delta\big(V-{\cal{W}}(\kappa )\big)\Theta(\kappa) ~
\end{equation}
This type of system may be described by a Boltzmann-like equation
\begin{equation}
S(V)= \lambda \log\Sigma_{\rm jammed}(V) = \lambda\log\int d\kappa\ \delta\big(V-{\cal{W}}(\kappa)\big)\Theta(\kappa) ~
\end{equation}
where $\Theta(\kappa)$ serves to constrain the summation to reversible jammed states and $\lambda$ plays the r\^ole of Boltzmann's constant.
We may also define the analogue of temperature, compactivity
\begin{equation}
X_V^{-1} = \frac{\partial S}{\partial V} ~
\end{equation}
The partition function is then given by
\begin{equation}
Z=\sum_{n}e^{-\frac{{\cal{W}}^n}{\lambda X}}\Theta_{n} ~
\end{equation}
where the total energy is replaced by ${\cal{W}}$ and the temperature by the compactivity.
In the above setting, we may consider phase space foam as a similarly jammed system.
The packing volume corresponds to the quantum phase space volume.
The irreversible evolution corresponds to the pre-Big Bang epoch in which the Universe naturally assembles itself into a jammed state, the Big Bang singularity.
The cosmological expansion would then correspond to a reversible expansion away from the jammed state with the above defined entropy, which can indeed be shown to be an increasing function on time: $\frac{\partial S}{\partial t} \geq 0$.
The model we have presented is a generalized quantum dissipative system, {\em i.e.}, one with frictional forces at work.
Because the fluctuations of linear quantum mechanics and its associated equilibrium statistical mechanics are incapable of driving a system such as our Universe to a hot yet low entropy state and of generating a cosmological arrow of time~\cite{penrose2}, a nonlinear, non-equilibrium, strong fluctuation driven quantum theory such as the one presented here becomes necessary.
Time irreversibility is of course a hallmark of non-equilibrium systems;
this cosmological model, which notably comes with its own initial (boundary) condition, naturally produces both an arrow and an origin of time.
Moreover, in this approach the relationship of canonical quantum theory and equilibrium statistical mechanics is extended to an analogy between generalized quantum theory and non-equilibrium statistical mechanics, both of which are very much still under construction.
We will elaborate further on this interconnection~next.
\subsection{Quantum Gravity and Non-Equilibrium Physics}
We wish to discuss a more general connection between quantum gravity, the concept of holography, and some fundamental results in non-equilibrium statistical physics alluded to in the preceding sections.
This relation between holography and non-equilibrium statistical physics can prove fruitful in finding new results on both sides of the map, naturally extending the usual Wilsonian approach to quantum field theory and equilibrium statistical physics.
Let us first summarize some basic literature on non-equilibrium statistical physics.
(See~\cite{david} and references therein.)
Consider a nonlinear Hamiltonian system with slight dissipation.
The relevant nonlinearities will generate positive Lyapunov exponents in dynamics which ultimately lead to chaos;
negative Lyapunov exponents are irrelevant on long time scales.
The chaotic dynamics manifests itself in the emergence of the attractor.
There exists natural measures on this attractor, for example the Sinai--Ruelle--Bowen (SRB) measure~\cite{david}.
The {\it dissipative} dynamics is described as follows:
\begin{equation}
{{\rm d} p_a \over {\rm d} t} = - \kappa \frac{\partial F}{\partial p_a} ~, \qquad {{\rm d} q_a \over {\rm d} t} = p_a ~
\end{equation}
The dissipative term, encoded by the dissipative functional $F$, for example, goes as
\begin{equation}
F \sim \sum_{ij} a_{ij} p^i p^j ~
\end{equation}
This is generated by looking at an infinite system.
An infinite reservoir acts as a thermostat.
Integrating out the reservoir degrees of freedom produces a finite non-Hamiltonian dissipative system.
Because the dynamics is non-Hamiltonian, the volume of phase space is not preserved!
The entropy production is, at the end, crucially related to the construction of the phase space volume.
Note that it is important that there is chaos (hyperbolic dynamics) in the effective dynamical equations:
\begin{equation}
\frac{{\rm d} x}{{\rm d} t} = g(x) ~
\end{equation}
where the function $x(t) = f^t x(0) \sim e^{\ell t}$, with $\ell > 0$.
The positive Lyapunov exponent leads to chaotic time evolution and the stretching of some directions of a unit phase space volume.
Finally, there are measures that are invariant under time evolution.
The SRB measure $\rho$ may be singular. (It is defined on the attractor, which is usually a fractal space.) However, the time evolution averages are indeed averages over this measure, so that
\begin{equation}
\lim_{T \to \infty} \frac{1}{T +t} \int_{-T}^{t} {\rm d}\tau\ {\cal O}(f^{T +\tau} x) = \int \rho ({\rm d} y) {\cal O}(y) ~
\label{hop}
\end{equation}
This is the crucial relation which has a holographic interpretation. Notice that in (\ref{hop}) the dynamics of a $d+1$ dimensional system is related to an ensemble description on a $d$ dimensional system, with a specific measure. In this case the extra dimension $t$ is indeed a time parameter, but it could be some other evolution parameter such as the radial slicing of AdS space.
Another crucial aspect of this theory is that entropy production is equated with volume contraction. (Note that dissipation is crucial for the appearance of the attractor and the new measures.) The introduction of the new measures is tantamount to the breaking of the time reversal symmetry, which is ultimately the consequence of dissipation.
It is natural to ask whether this entropy production be related to the holographic entropy perhaps universally required in our formulation of quantum gravity.
The central equation for the entropy $S$ in terms of the invariant measure $\rho$ is~\cite{david}
\begin{equation}
S(\rho) = \int \rho({\rm d} x) ( - \nabla_x \cdot g)
\end{equation}
where the divergence is computed with respect to the phase space volume element.
For the SRB measure one can show that the $S(\rho) \ge 0$~\cite{david}.
In the light of our work it is tempting to interpret this entropy production precisely as gravitational entropy and the emergent arrow of time!
Given the naturally dynamically generated measure on the attractor, in the near-to-equilibrium limit of the response functions for this general dynamics one gets an averaged, coarse grained description as required by the ergodic theorem {\em i.e.}, an averaged ensemble description, with respect to the above measure.
We wish to point out that the non-perturbative formulation of quantum gravity reviewed in this paper is very much of the nature discussed in the context of the non-equilibrium dissipative dynamics.
Thus we would not be surprised if the well known large-scale formulation of holography, as represented by the AdS/CFT duality would be of a special type of our more general proposal.
In particular, in the case of AdS spaces, the attractor could be represented by the asymptotics of the AdS space, and the SRB distribution. This can, in special cases, be of the Gibbsian nature and may correspond to the generating functional of the dual CFT \cite{footnote3}.
It would be interesting to pursue this intuition in greater detail in the future~\cite{jarz, jarz2, jarz3}.
\section{Conclusions}
It is a widely held expectation that the theory of quantum gravity will offer a revolutionary vista on gravity and spacetime from the Planck to the Hubble scales.
Various research avenues on such a topic have appealed to a mix of rigorous mathematics, bold conjectures, foundational, and technical issues.
The foregoing presentation embodies such a blending.
Foremost, such a theory of quantum gravity must offer a solution to the problem of time.
In this paper, we have presented a model of time and of its arrow in a specific novel theory of quantum gravity.
In particular, we did so in the context of a geometric extension of standard quantum theory.
The latter, in turn, is found to be linked to a generalized non-equilibrium statistical and thermodynamic framework.
Such an extended quantum theory arises from the notion of a local, dynamical, and statistical time.
This generalizes and relaxes the global Newtonian time of quantum theory and leads to an equivalence principle, a general covariance principle, not one on spacetime, but on a dynamical space of quantum states.
The result is a harmonious nonlinear synthesis of Schr\"odinger's wave equation and the Einstein--Yang--Mills generally covariant dynamics on an infinite dimensional (almost) complex space of states.
What obtains is an emergent picture of spacetime and quantum mechanics.
How the latter structures are realized explicitly has yet to be worked out.
What we have is an informational geometric picture of quantum spacetime in which time is intrinsic and primary while space is a secondary and derivative concept.
Specifically in a scheme where dynamics is primary, time is grounded in the very nature of quantum gravitational probabilities and quantum gravitational observables within a new framework for physics.
In this context the classical Einstein paradigm about the dynamical spacetime structure has been extended to the dynamical framework for fundamental physics itself.
Moreover, the irreversibility of measurements and its consequent unresolved measurement problem in quantum theory is tied to the time arrow. That our gravity model has an arrow of time as well as specific stochastic nonlinear dynamics~\cite{weinberg} implies that it may well hold a key to the measurement problem in quantum~theory.
Clearly, as is the case with the conceptual and mathematical complexity of non-equilibrium physics, much remains to be explored in what has been laid out above.
We hope to report on our progress in future communications.
\section*{Acknowledgments}
We gratefully acknowledge stimulating discussions with Lay Nam Chang, Zach Lewis, Michel Pleimling, and Tatsu Takeuchi.
DM is supported in part by the U.S. Department of Energy under contract DE-FG05-92ER40677, task A.
The work of VJ is based upon research supported by the South African Research Chairs Initiative of the Department of Science and Technology and National Research Foundation.
\bibliographystyle{mdpi}
\makeatletter
\renewcommand\@biblabel[1]{#1. }
\makeatother
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 3,023 |
Q: How to use OpenCV from Xamarin (Android and iOS)? I would like to create a mobile app using Xamarin for both iOS and Android, and I would like to call a few OpenCV functions (for example, contour detection and perspective transform).
I generally understand the process of calling C++ functions from C#, but I don't know how to do this from the OpenCV binaries provided for iOS and Android. There's a fork of OpenCvSharp that supports Xamarin.Android, but it doesn't support Xamarin.iOS.
I'm not looking to port the entire OpenCV library to Xamarin (yet). I'm just looking to call a very small subset of functions.
A: For iOS you should provide binding for Objective-C yourself. Here is an example of how to do, code is NOT mine.
https://github.com/trinnguyen/xamarin.ios-opencv
Here is an article describing the steps:
https://chamoda.com/how-to-use-opencv-with-xamarin-ios/
[BaseType(typeof(NSObject))]
interface OpenCV
{
[Export("version:")]
NSString Version();
}
private OpenCV OpenCV = new OpenCV();
Console.WriteLine(OpenCV.Version());
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 1,076 |
\section{CLIP-Benchmark}
\subsection{Setup}
\paragraph{Evaluation Metric} In this paper, we mainly evaluate zero-shot performance of different models, which is regarded as the main feature of CLIP methods.
We choose the zero-shot top-1 accuracy on ImageNet~\cite{deng2009imagenet} as the evaluation metric.
We perform prompt ensemble by averaging the caption embeddings for each class across the prompt templates.
The prompts are the same as proposed in CLIP\cite{radford2021learning}.
\paragraph{Implementation details}
The models in this work are trained and tested in the same codebase. Unless otherwise specified, all models are realized with Pytorch, and are trained with 32 NVIDIA A100 GPUs. When pretraining, we use an AdamW optimizer~\cite{loshchilov2017decoupled} with a total batch size of 4,096 (single GPU batch size 128). Starting with a learning rate (LR) of 0.0001, we linearly increase the LR to 0.001 (a.k.a warm-up) in one epoch, and then we use the cosine anneal LR decay strategy~\cite{loshchilov2016sgdr} to decrease the LR. The weight decay rate is set to 0.1. The input resolution of the image encoder is 224 $\times$ 224, and the maximum context length of the text encoder is 76. The learnable temperature parameter $\tau$ in Eq.\ref{eq:infonce} is initialized to 0.07. We train the ResNet50 (\texttt{abbr}. as R50) and ViT-B/32 (\texttt{abbr}. as V-B32) from scratch for 32 epochs.
\paragraph{Data augmentation}
SLIP, FILIP and DeCLIP all perform data augmentation for images during the pre-training phase. The augmentation policy includes: \texttt{RandomResizedCrop} with scale in [0.2,1.0]~\cite{wu2018unsupervised}, \texttt{ColorJitter} containing \{brightness, contrast, saturation, hue\} strength of \{0.4, 0.4, 0.4, 0.1\} with an applying probability of 0.8, \texttt{RandomGrayscale} with an applying probability of 0.2. Blurring augmentation~\cite{chen2020simple} has a Gaussian kernel with std in [0.1, 2.0], and \texttt{RandomHorizontalFlip}. Only DeCLIP performs data augmentation for texts. DeCLIP uses the EDA~\cite{wei2019eda} method as their text augmentation strategy, which contains three types of text augmentation strategies: synonym replacement, random swap, and random deletion.
\subsection{Data}
Data is a crucial part of CLIP. This section does a holistic study of two mid-scale YFCC15M versions. V1 from CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning} and V2 from DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision}.
\vspace{-0.5em}
\paragraph{Data statistics}
We present statistics of two versions YFCC15M on examples number, mean/std of caption length, mean English word ratio, and the vocabulary size (unique tokens) in Table \ref{tab:yfcc15}.
The V2 consists of 15.4M image-text pairs, 0.6M(3\%) more than V1.
V2 is generally shorter and more evenly distributed than V1 regarding the caption length.
The English word ratio (\ie, \# of English words divided by \# of all words) of V2 is about 0.92, which is significantly better than V1's 0.72.
For the vocabulary size (unique tokens), V1 is one order larger than V2 mainly because V1 contains many non-English characters.
We can infer from these statistics that V2 has better quality than V1 because V2 is more evenly distributed and has fewer non-English characters.
We believe that V2 includes a more meticulous filtering strategy, making its data quality better than V1.
\setlength\tabcolsep{4pt}
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\begin{small}
\caption{\label{tab:yfcc15} The basic statistics of the two versions of YFCC15M. V1 is filtered by CLIP. V2 is filtered by DeCLIP.}
\vspace{-1.0em}
\begin{tabular}{ccccc}
\toprule
\textbf{Dataset}
& \textbf{Examples}
& \tabincell{c}{\textbf{Caption} \\ \textbf{length}}
& \tabincell{c}{\textbf{En-word} \\ \textbf{ratio}}
& \tabincell{c}{\textbf{Unique} \\ \textbf{Tokens}} \\
\midrule
V2 & 15,388,848 & 16.7$\pm$29.2 & 0.92 & 770,996 \\
V1 & 14,747,529 & 26.1$\pm$69.6 & 0.72 & 8,262,556 \\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\label{sample-table}
\end{small}
\end{center}
\end{table}
\setlength\tabcolsep{6pt}
\noindent\textbf{Performance over V1-V2}. To further evaluate the quality of the two YFCC15M versions and explore the impact of data quality on CLIP, we perform a comparison with V1~\cite{radford2021learning} and V2~\cite{li2021supervision}, using the same methodology. As shown in Tab.~\ref{quality-table}, training with V2 leads to a better zero-shot performance than V1 under the same experimental setup.
On the one hand, it proves that the data quality of V2 is better regarding final performance. On the other hand, it also proves that data quality significantly impacts the performance of CLIP methods.
\setlength\tabcolsep{3pt}
\begin{table}[t]
\begin{small}
\begin{center}
\caption{\label{tab: quality} Zero-shot top1 accuracy on ImageNet. We train CLIP-ViT-B32 and our DeFILIP-ViT-B32 using different datasets}
\vspace{-1.0em}
\begin{tabular}{cccc}
\toprule
\textbf{Method} & \textbf{Accuracy w/ V1} & \textbf{Accuracy w/ V2} \\
\midrule
CLIP & 26.1 & 32.8 \\
DeFILIP & 36.4 & 45.0 \\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\label{quality-table}
\end{center}
\vspace{-2.0em}
\end{small}
\end{table}
\subsection{Supervision}
We perform a comprehensive comparison of our re-implemented pretraining methods \cite{radford2021learning, li2021supervision, mu2021slip, yao2021filip} to benchmark these methods under the same training recipe.
We report the zero-shot top-1 accuracy on ImageNet in Tab.~\ref{tab:ablation on YFCC}
When the image encoder is ViT, all supervision is proved to be effective. DeCLIP, which utilizes the maximum supervision, obtains the best results.
Moreover, we further integrate the existing supervision to make the strongest variant, named DeFILIP. Our proposed DeFILIP reaches 45.0\% accuracy, surpassing the CLIP baseline by a considerable 12.2\% margin.
\begin{table}[h]
\caption{\label{tab:ablation on YFCC} Zero-shot top1 accuracy on ImageNet. All models are trained with YFCC15M-V2~\cite{li2021supervision}.
$\Delta$ denotes the improvement.
}
\begin{center}
\vspace{-1.5em}
\begin{tabular}{cccccc}
\toprule
\textbf{Method} & \textbf{Image encoder} & \textbf{Accuracy} & \textbf{$\Delta$} \\
\midrule
CLIP & \multirow{4}{*}{ResNet50} & 37.2 & - \\
SLIP & & 28.5 & - \\
FILIP & & 21.3 & - \\
DeCLIP & & \textbf{44.4} & +7.2 \\
\midrule
\hline
CLIP & \multirow{4}{*}{ViT-B/32} & 32.8 & - \\
SLIP & & 34.3 & +1.5 \\
FILIP & & 39.5 & +6.7 \\
DeCLIP & & \textbf{43.2} & +10.4 \\ \hline
DeFILIP & ViT-B/32 & \textbf{45.0} & +12.2 \\ \bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{table}
When we use ResNet as the image encoder, some methods seem cannot preserve the improvement. Worth mentioning, SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip} and FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip} do not report the results of ResNet models. We conjecture there are two reasons: 1) ResNet models might need more dedicated hyper parameter tuning. 2). Fine-grained alignment requires the image features to be non-overlapped, which is unachievable for ConvNets. However, DeCLIP can still brings 7.2\% improvement over the CLIP baseline.
\subsection{Model}
While most attention is paid to image encoders, little research is conducted on text encoders.
Most literature follows the exact setting from CLIP, \ie, a 12-layer transformer.
Therefore, we expect to study the role of the text encoder, and further explore whether the training efficiency can be improved by reducing the parameters of the text encoder without affecting the performance.
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\caption{\label{text-encoder-size} Zero-shot top1 accuracy on ImageNet. All models are trained with YFCC15M-V2~\cite{li2021supervision}. The image encoder is ViT-B32, we vary the layer number of transformers in the text encoder.
}
\begin{small}
\begin{tabular}{ccc}
\toprule
\textbf{Method} & \textbf{Layer number} & \textbf{Accuracy} \\
\midrule
\multirow{4}{*}{CLIP} & 1 & 29.9 \\
& 3 & 34.2 \\
& 6 & 34.3 \\
& 12 & 32.8 \\
\midrule
\multirow{4}{*}{DeFILIP} & 1 & 39.7 \\
& 3 & 44.1 \\
& 6 & 44.3 \\
& 12 & 45.0 \\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{small}
\end{center}
\vspace{-1.0em}
\end{table}
As shown in Tab.~\ref{text-encoder-size}, we try 1/3/6/12-layer transformer for CLIP-ViTB32 and DeFILIP-ViTB32. Surprisingly, we find that
(1) For the primitive CLIP method, text encoders with 6 layers of transformers achieve the best results instead of the default 12 layers. A 3-layers transformer is enough to achieve high results. (2) For the DeCLIP, which applies more supervision, the text encoder is more critical. However, even if half the number of layers, it does not significantly affect the final performance. Such an exciting result shows that curtailing the text-encoder is an efficient approach to reducing training costs.
\section{Related Work}
Concurrently to this work, many researchers continue to push the frontier of CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning}. SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip} introduces self-supervision to Contrastive Language-Image Pretraining.
DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision} utilizes widespread supervision among the image-text pairs.
FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip} leverages the finer-grained alignment between image patches and textual words.
LiT ~\cite{zhai2021lit} adopt contrastive-tuning to tune the text tower using image-text data while using a pre-trained, strong image model as the image tower.
OTTER~\cite{wu2021data} uses online entropic optimal transport to find a soft image-text match as labels for contrastive learning.
The representations learned by CLIP have shown excellent transferability over various tasks.
CLIP2Video~\cite{fang2021clip2video} and CLIP4Clip~\cite{luo2021clip4clip} apply CLIP to video retrieval task.
ActionCLIP~\cite{wang2021actionclip} utilizes CLIP for action recognition task.
More works about improving image captioning with CLIP, \eg CLIPCap~\cite{mokady2021clipcap}, CLIP4Caption~\cite{tang2021clip4caption}.
Interestingly CLIP can be even used in text-guided image generation task ( StyleCLIP~\cite{patashnik2021styleclip}) and Embodied AI ( EmbCLIP~\cite{khandelwal2021simple}). CLIP has also contributed to the development of general vision~\cite{shao2021intern}. Witnessing CLIP's active community and wide applications, we propose the first work to benchmark CLIP.
\section{Introduction}
Over the past few years, supervised pre-training on well-labeled ImageNet~\cite{deng2009imagenet} and then transferred to downstream tasks~\cite{girshick2014rich, long2015fully, vinyals2015show} has greatly transformed the computer vision (CV) community.
However, supervised pre-training is hard to scale since we need arduous human labeling to specify new visual concepts.
More Recently, Contrastive Language-Image Pretraining (CLIP)~\cite{radford2021learning} has emerged as a scalable pre-training paradigm via learning visual models from language supervision, or more specifically, image-text pairs.
Basically, CLIP adopts the contrastive loss to push the embeddings of matched image-text pairs together while pushing those of non-matched pairs apart.
Benefiting from abundant image-text pairs on the Internet, CLIP learns general visual features that could perform zero-shot recognition, \ie, predict an image's category without seeing a single labeled example.
CLIP's transferable features could also be well transferred to various downstream tasks.
\begin{table}[t]
\begin{center}
\caption{\label{tab: clip_variants}
Summary of CLIP and its variants.
Although several approaches use the same amount of 15 million data from YFCC, the filtering strategies are different.
V1$^\dagger$ is filtered by CLIP. V2$^\star$ is filtered by DeCLIP.}
\small
\begin{tabular}{cccc}
\toprule
\multirow{2}{*}{\textbf{Method}} & \textbf{Training} & \textbf{Available} & \textbf{Image} \\
& \textbf{code} & \textbf {data} & \textbf{encoder} \\
\midrule
CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning} & No & YFCC15M-V1$^\dagger$ & ViT, ResNet\\
SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip} & Yes & YFCC15M-V1$^\dagger$ & ViT \\
DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision} & Yes & YFCC15M-V2$^\star$ & ViT, ResNet\\
FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip} & No & -- & ViT\\
\bottomrule
\end{tabular}
\end{center}
\end{table}
Witnessing its great success, researchers continue to push the frontier of CLIP.
For instance, SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip}, DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision} and FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip} achieve considerable improvements via embracing different kinds of supervision within the image-text pairs.
However, it remains challenging to make fair comparison between these methods.
This is because they do not choose consistent training recipes and even use different data.
As we can see from Tab.~\ref{tab: clip_variants}, although CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning}, DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision} and SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip} use the same amount of 15 million data from YFCC~\cite{thomee2016yfcc100m}, they adopt different filtering strategies.
Moreover, methods~\cite{radford2021learning,jia2021scaling,li2021supervision,yao2021filip,pham2021combined} crawl their datasets from the Internet, making the fair comparison more difficult.
This paper aims to democratize large-scale CLIP, \ie, to build a fair and reproducible CLIP community.
We propose CLIP-benchmark, a first attempt to evaluate, analyze, and benchmark CLIP and its variants.
We do a comprehensive empirical study on three key factors: data, supervision, and model architecture.
We find considerable intuitive or counter-intuitive insights:
\begin{itemize}
\item \textbf{Data}: Mid-scale 15M data is a good balance of the training cost and performance.
Thus, most methods use a 15M subset from YFCC~\cite{thomee2016yfcc100m} to verify the effectiveness of their methods.
We carefully compare the current two YFCC15M versions, V1 from CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning} and V2 from DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision}.
Interestingly, we find that in terms of the zero-shot performance on ImageNet, V2 is much better than V1 (details in Tab.~\ref{tab: quality}).
We conjecture that V2 includes a more meticulous filtering strategy, making its data quality better than V1.
This also helps us conclude that data quality is crucial in CLIP training.
\item \textbf{Supervision}: We first reproduce all the methods using a unified training recipe (details in Tab.~\ref{tab:ablation on YFCC}).
We find that fine-grained alignment supervision~\cite{yao2021filip} could benefit ViT image encoder but hurts ConvNets.
Intuitively, fine-grained alignment needs the image features to be non-overlapped, which is unachievable for ConvNets.
For ViT image encoder, aggregating self-supervision~\cite{mu2021slip, li2021supervision}, multi-view supervision~\cite{li2021supervision}, nearest-neighbor supervision ~\cite{li2021supervision} and fine-grained alignment supervision~\cite{yao2021filip} brings us the strongest variant DeFILIP.
\item \textbf{Model}: While most attention is paid to image encoders, little research is conducted on text encoders.
Most literature follows the exact setting from CLIP, \ie, a 12-layer transformer~\cite{radford2019language}.
We find that CLIP's text encoder is not necessary to be so much deep; a 3-layer transformer performs even better than the default 12-layer setting under the mid-scale data scenarios (details in Tab.~\ref{text-encoder-size}).
Therefore, pay attention to the text encoder when designing your CLIP models.
\end{itemize}
In a nutshell, this paper proposes the first CLIP-benchmark that includes the state-of-the-art methods. We benchmark these methods under the same training recipe using the same data. Our CLIP-benchmark also brings some insights about data, supervision and model. The CLIP-benchmark would be released to the public for future research.
\section{Methods}
CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning} and its variants (\eg, DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision}, SLIP~\cite{mu2021slip}, and FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip}) follow a common high-level structure(see Fig.~\ref{fig:clip_framework}).
The model consists of an image encoder (\eg, ResNet~\cite{he2016deep} or ViT~\cite{dosovitskiy2020image}) and a text encoder(\eg, transformer~\cite{vaswani2017attention}), with a multimodal interaction at the top.
Take the most straightforward CLIP as an example, the image encoder (the text encoder) extracts the image embedding (the text embedding) based on the input image-text pair.
A contrastive objective is used to push the embeddings of matched image-text pairs together while pushing non-matched pairs apart.
At the test phase, the learned text encoder synthesizes a zero-shot linear classifier by embedding the arbitrary categories of the test dataset.
As shown in the Fig.\ref{fig:clip_framework}, different variants further explore the widespread supervised signal of the image-text pair for better visual representations.
This section will briefly introduce the above CLIP variants and bring the strongest variant DeFILIP.
\begin{figure*}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=1.8\columnwidth]{figs/defilip.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:clip_framework} A unified framework of CLIP variants.
Combining different supervision leads to different variants. CLIP: \{\protect\circled{0}\}, SLIP: \{\protect\circled{0},\protect\circled{1}\}, FILIP: \{\protect\circled{5}\}, DeCLIP: \{\protect\circled{0},\protect\circled{1},\protect\circled{2},\protect\circled{3},\protect\circled{4}\}, DeFILIP: \{\protect\circled{0},\protect\circled{1},\protect\circled{2},\protect\circled{3},\protect\circled{4},\protect\circled{5}\},}
\end{figure*}
\subsection{CLIP}
CLIP~\cite{radford2021learning} only uses the original image-text supervsion. In a batch of $N$ image-text pairs ${\{(x_i^I, x_i^T)\}}$, we denote $ x_i^I$ and $x_i^T$ as image and text of the $i_{th}$ pair. Let $z_i^I$ and $z_j^T$ be the normalized embedding of the $i_{th}$ image and $j_{th}$ text, respectively. CLIP uses InfoNCE loss~\cite{van2018representation}. The loss for the image encoder can be denoted as Eq.~\ref{eq:infonce}.
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:infonce}
L_I = - \frac{1}{N} \sum_{i=1}^{N} \log \frac{\exp(\mathrm{sim}(z_i^I, z_i^T)/\tau)}{\sum_{j=1}^{N}\exp(\mathrm{sim}( z_i^I, z_j^T)/\tau)}~
\end{equation}
Here, the similarity function $\mathrm{sim}(,)$ is measured by dot product, and $\tau$ is a learnable temperature variable to scale the logits. We have a symmetrical loss for image and text encoder; thus, the overall loss function $L_{CLIP}$ is the average of $L_I$ and $L_T$.
\begin{equation}
L_{CLIP}= (L_I + L_T)/2
\end{equation}
At the test phase, the learned text encoder synthesizes a zero-shot linear classifier by embedding the arbitrary categories of the test dataset. Because it is rare in the dataset that image caption is just a single word, CLIP uses prompts to make up the context of the category \texttt{\{label\}}, such as \texttt{"a photo of a \{label\}"}.
\subsection{SLIP}
SLIP ~\cite{mu2021slip} introduces self-supervision to CLIP for better visual representations.
Built upon CLIP, SLIP gets two more strong augmented views for image self-supervised contrastive loss $L_{ISS}$. SLIP further compares different image self-supervised methods and finally selected SimCLR~\cite{chen2020simple} for the final framework. The overall loss function of SLIP is shown in Eq.~\ref{eq:slip_loss}. $\alpha$ is the scale of self-supervision and is set to 1.
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:slip_loss}
L_{SLIP} =L_{CLIP} + \alpha L_{ISS}
\end{equation}
\subsection{FILIP}
FILIP ~\cite{yao2021filip} perform finer-grained alignment supervision on token level rather than image-text level. The similarity ${\{sim( z_i^I, _i^T)\}}$ of the $i_{th}$ image and $j_{th}$ text is improved to token-wise maximum similarity which is calculated as:
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:filip_loss}
\begin{cases}
\mathrm{sim^I}(z_i^I, z_j^T) = \frac{1}{n_1} \sum_{k=1}^{n_1} z_{i,k}^I z_{j,m_k^I}^T \\
\mathrm{sim^T}( z_i^I, z_j^T) = \frac{1}{n_2} \sum_{k=1}^{n_2} z_{i,m_k^T}^I z_{j,k}^T \\
\end{cases}
\end{equation}
Where $ m_k^I = argmax_{0<r<n_2} z_{i,k}^I z_{j,r}^T $ and $m_k^T = argmax_{0<r<n_1} z_{i,r}^I z_{j,k}^T $. FILIP achieves finer-level alignment through a cross-modal late interaction mechanism, which uses a token-wise maximum similarity between visual and textual tokens to guide the contrastive objective.
Though the late cross-modal interaction can capture finer-grained features, it relies on the token-wise representations of both modalities and can be inefficient in terms of communication, memory, and computation. To alleviate this problem, the authors carefully reduce the precision and embedding size of the model and further select the 25\% tokens with the highest token-wise maximum similarity score among all texts (\emph{resp}, images) in the same local worker before node communication. Denoting the loss of fine-grained alignment supervision as $L_{FAS}$, The overall loss function of FILIP is shown in Eq.~\ref{eq:filip_loss}.
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:filip_loss}
L_{FILIP} = L_{FAS}
\end{equation}
\subsection{DeCLIP}
DeCLIP ~\cite{li2021supervision} utilizes widespread supervision among the image-text pairs, including Self-Supervision(SS), Multi-View Supervision(MVS), and Nearest-Neighbor Supervision(NNS). DeCLIP contains image SS and text SS: Image SS maximizes the similarity between two augmented views of the same instance while text SS leverages Masked Language Modeling(MLM) within a text sentence.
For MVS, DeCLIP has two augmented views of both image and text, then contrasts the $2\times2$ image-text pairs. For NNS, DeCLIP sample text NN in the embedding space as additional supervision.
In summary, DeCLIP denote $L_{ISS}$ and $L_{TSS}$ as the loss function of image SS and text SS, respectively. $L_{MVS}$ is multi-view loss, and $L_{NNS}$ is nearest-neighbor loss. The overall loss function of DeCLIP is shown in Eq.~\ref{eq:declip_loss}. $\alpha, \beta, \gamma$ are the loss scales and are both set to 0.2.
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:declip_loss}
\begin{aligned}
L_{DeCLIP} = & (1 - \alpha - \beta - \gamma) L_{CLIP} \\
& + \alpha (L_{ISS} + L_{TSS}) \\
& + \beta L_{MVS} + \gamma L_{NNS} \\
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
\subsection{DeFILIP}
By introducing the above methods, we can find a large number of possible supervision signals in the image-text pairs, which can improve the efficiency of training and generalization ability. In order to learn better visual representations and improve the data efficiency of the model, we further combine DeCLIP~\cite{li2021supervision} with FILIP~\cite{yao2021filip}, bringing us the strongest variant DeFILIP.
The overall loss function of DeFILIP is shown in Eq.~\ref{eq:defilip_loss}.
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:defilip_loss}
\begin{aligned}
L_{DeFILIP} = & (1 - \alpha - \beta - \gamma) L_{CLIP} \\
& + \alpha (L_{ISS} + L_{TSS}) \\
& + \beta L_{MVS} + \gamma L_{NNS} \\
& + \lambda L_{FAS}
\end{aligned}
\end{equation}
$L_{FAS}$ is applied to improve fine-grained learning of visual representations further. The loss weight $\lambda$ is set to 0.2 in this work. As shown in fig. \ref{fig:clip_framework}, our DeFILIP is a summary and development of the existing SOTA methods, which applies the existing supervision and achieves a new state-of-the-art performance.
\section{Conclusions}
In this paper, we propose the first CLIP-benchmark that includes state-of-the-art methods. We benchmark these methods under the same training recipe using the same data. Our CLIP-benchmark also brings some insights about data, supervision, and model. Moreover, we further propose DeFILIP to make a stronger baseline for this task. The CLIP-benchmark would be released to the public for future research. We hope this technical report could avoid duplicate data cleaning efforts and provide a consistent benchmark to facilitate fair comparisons.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 2,392 |
\section{Introduction}
\label{sec:intro}
The problem of determining a realistic interaction among hyperons and nucleons
capable of reconciling the terrestrial measurements on hypernuclei and the recent
observations of very massive neutron stars is still by and large unsolved.
The amount of data available for nucleon-nucleon scattering~\cite{Stoks:1993}
is enough to build satisfactory models of nuclear forces, either purely
phenomenological or built on the basis of an effective field theory
\cite{Stoks:1994,Wiringa:1995,Machleidt:1996,Wiringa:2002,Epelbaum:2005,
Ekstrom:2013,Gezerlis:2013}. In the hyperon-nucleon sector, much less data are
available~\cite{deSwart:1971,Kadyk:1971,Ahn:2005}, and almost nothing is known
about the hyperon-hyperon interaction. The main reasons of this lack of
information are the instability of hyperons in the vacuum and the impossibility
of collecting hyperon-neutron and hyperon-hyperon scattering data. This implies that
interaction models must be fitted mostly to binding energies (and possibly excitations)
of hypernuclei.
Besides the very old emulsion data~\cite{Juric:1973,Cantwell:1974},
several measurements of hypernuclear energies have become available
in the last few years~\cite{Pile:1991,Hasegawa:1996,Takahashi:2001,Yuan:2006,Cusanno:2009,
Agnello:2010,Nakazawa:2010,Agnello:2012_H6L,Nakamura:2013,Ahn:2013,Feliciello:2013},
both for single and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei. These can be used to validate
or to constrain the hyperon-nucleon interactions within the framework of many-body systems.
The ultimate goal is then to constrain these forces by reproducing
the experimental energies of hypernuclei from light systems
made of few particles up to heavier systems.
In previous work it was shown that the inclusion of a $\Lambda NN$ interaction
gives a very important repulsive contribution towards a realistic description of the
saturation property of the $\Lambda$~separation energy
in medium-heavy hypernuclei~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}.
In this paper, we focus on single and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei
to study more in detail the role of $\Lambda N$ and $\Lambda NN$ interactions.
Ground state properties of hypernuclei are here computed by means of Quantum Monte
Carlo (QMC) methods, and in particular by the auxiliary field diffusion Monte Carlo
(AFDMC) algorithm. These methods have been shown to be very accurate in solving the
many-body problem fully non-perturbatively even when the system is dominated by
very strong correlations that cannot be neglected~\cite{Pieper:2008}.
This is the case for nuclear systems.
The paper is organized as follows. In Sec.~\ref{sec:hamiltonians},
we introduce the Hamiltonians involved in the description of single
and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei. Section~\ref{sec:method} gives
an overview of the auxiliary field diffusion Monte Carlo method
with particular attention to its application to hypernuclear systems
(Sec.~\ref{subsec:AFDMChyp}). Next, in Sec.~\ref{sec:results} we report
the results for single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei (Sec.~\ref{subsec:singleL})
and for double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei (Sec.~\ref{subsec:doubleL}).
Finally, in Sec.~\ref{sec:conclusions} the conclusions of our work.
\section{Hamiltonian}
\label{sec:hamiltonians}
We describe nuclei and $\Lambda$~hypernuclei with a non-relativistic
Hamiltonian that includes two- and three-body forces,
\begin{align}
H_{\rm nuc}&=T_N+V_{NN}=\sum_{i}\frac{p_i^2}{2m_N}+\sum_{i<j}v_{ij}\;,\\[0.7em]
H_{\rm hyp}&=H_{\rm nuc}+T_\Lambda+V_{\Lambda N}+V_{\Lambda NN}+V_{\Lambda\Lambda}\nonumber\\[0.5em]
&=H_{\rm nuc}+\sum_{\lambda}\frac{p_\lambda^2}{2m_\Lambda}+\sum_{\lambda i}v_{\lambda i}
+\!\!\sum_{\lambda,i<j}v_{\lambda ij}+\!\sum_{\lambda<\mu}v_{\lambda\mu}\;,
\end{align}
where $A$ is the total number of baryons $A=\mathcal
N_N+\mathcal N_\Lambda$, latin indices $i,j=1,\ldots,\mathcal N_N$ label
nucleons, and greek symbols $\lambda,\mu=1,\ldots,\mathcal N_\Lambda$
are used for $\Lambda$~particles. The nuclear potential is limited to a
two-body interaction, while in the strange sector we adopt explicit
$\Lambda N$ and $\Lambda NN$ interactions. In the case of double
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei, a $\Lambda\Lambda$ force is also involved.
\subsection{Nucleon-Nucleon interaction}
\label{subsec:NN}
The interaction between nucleons is described via the Argonne V4'
and V6' two body-potentials~\cite{Wiringa:2002}, that are simplified
versions of the more sophisticated Argonne V18 potential~\cite{Wiringa:1995}
obtained with a re-projection of the interaction to preserve the
phase shifts of lower partial waves. The Argonne potential between
two nucleons $i$ and $j$ is written in coordinate space as a sum of
operators
\begin{align}
v_{ij}=\sum_{p=1}^n v_p(r_{ij})\mathcal O_{ij}^{\,p}\;,
\end{align} where $n$ is the number of operators, which depends on
the potential, $v_p(r_{ij})$ are radial functions, and $r_{ij}$ is the
interparticle distance. The six operators included in the Argonne
V6' potential mainly come from the one-pion exchange (OPE) between nucleons and they
read
\begin{align}
\mathcal O_{ij}^{\,p=1,6}=\left(1,{\bm\sigma_i}\cdot{\bm\sigma_j},S_{ij}\right)
\otimes\left(1,{\bm\tau_i}\cdot{\bm\tau_j}\right)\;, \label{eq:op}
\end{align}
where $S_{ij}$ is the usual tensor operator
\begin{align}
S_{ij}=3\left(\bm\sigma_i\cdot \hat{\bm r}_{ij}\right)
\left(\bm\sigma_j\cdot \hat{\bm r}_{ij}\right)
-\bm\sigma_i\cdot\bm\sigma_j\;. \label{eq:S_ij}
\end{align}
The AV4' force does not include the tensor terms $p=5,6$.
It is important to note that the above nuclear potentials do
not provide the same accuracy as AV18 in fitting $NN$ scattering
data in all partial waves. In addition, three-body $NNN$ forces
are purposely disregarded for technical reasons related to the
AFDMC algorithm used. As reported
in Refs.~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_HYP2012,Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}, these restrictions on
the nuclear potentials do not affect the main result of this work, namely the
calculation of the $\Lambda$~separation energy (the difference between the
binding energy of a nucleus and the corresponding $\Lambda$~hypernucleus),
which is not significantly dependent on the specific choice of the
nucleon Hamiltonian.
\subsection{Hyperon-Nucleon interaction}
\label{subsec:YN}
To describe the interaction between the $\Lambda$~particle and
the nucleons, we adopt a class of Argonne-like interactions
that have been developed starting from the 1980's by Bodmer,
Usmani, and Carlson on the grounds of Quantum Monte Carlo methods
and have been mostly used in Variational Monte Carlo
calculations~\cite{Bodmer:1984,Bodmer:1985,Bodmer:1988,Usmani:1995,Shoeb:1998,
Shoeb:1999,Usmani:1999,Sinha:2002,Usmani:2003,Usmani:2004,Shoeb:2004,Usmani:2006,
Usmani:2006_He6LL,Usmani:2008}.
The interaction is written in coordinate space and it includes two-
and three-body hyperon-nucleon components with a hard-core repulsion
between baryons and a charge symmetry breaking term.
\begin{figure*}[!t]
\centering
\subfigure[\label{fig:LN_2pi}]{\includegraphics[height=3.2cm]{fig1a.pdf}}
\goodgap\goodgap\goodgap
\subfigure[\label{fig:LN_K}]{\includegraphics[height=3.2cm]{fig1b.pdf}}
\goodgap\goodgap\goodgap
\subfigure[\label{fig:LNN_pw}]{\includegraphics[height=3.2cm]{fig1c.pdf}}
\goodgap\goodgap\goodgap
\subfigure[\label{fig:LNN_sw}]{\includegraphics[height=3.2cm]{fig1d.pdf}}
\goodgap\goodgap\goodgap
\subfigure[\label{fig:LNN_d}]{\includegraphics[height=3.2cm]{fig1e.pdf}}
\caption[]{Meson exchange processes between nucleons and hyperons.
\ref{fig:LN_2pi} and \ref{fig:LN_K} represent the $\Lambda N$ channels.
\ref{fig:LNN_pw}-\ref{fig:LNN_d} are the three-body $\Lambda NN$ channels
included in the potential by Usmani~\emph{et al.}.
See~\cite{Usmani:2008} and references therein.}
\label{fig:diagrams}
\end{figure*}
\emph{$\Lambda N$ charge symmetric potential.}\label{subsubsec:LN}
Since the $\Lambda$~particle has isospin $I=0$, there is no OPE term,
the strong $\Lambda\pi\Lambda$ vertex being
forbidden due to isospin conservation. The $\Lambda$ hyperon can
exchange a pion only via a $\Lambda\pi\Sigma$ vertex. The lowest-order
$\Lambda N$ coupling must therefore involve the exchange of two pions,
with the formation of a virtual $\Sigma$ hyperon, as illustrated in
Fig.~\ref{fig:LN_2pi}. The 2$\pi$-exchange interaction is of intermediate
range with respect to the long-range part of $NN$ force. One-meson-exchange
processes can only occur through the exchange of a $K,K^*$
kaon pair, that contributes in exchanging strangeness between the two
baryons, as shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:LN_K}. The $K,K^*$ exchange potential
is short-range and it is expected to be quite weak because the $K$
and $K^*$ tensor contributions have opposite sign~\cite{Shinmura:1984}.
The short-range contributions are included, as in the Argonne $NN$
interaction, by means of a Wood-Saxon repulsive potential
\begin{align}
v_c(r)=W_c\Bigl(1+\e^{\frac{r-\bar r}{a}}\Bigr)^{-1}\;.
\end{align}
The $\Lambda N$ interaction has therefore been modeled with an Urbana-type
potential~\cite{Lagaris:1981}, consistent with the available $\Lambda p$
scattering data, with an explicit space exchange term
\begin{align}
\!\!\!v_{\lambda i}=v_{0}(r_{\lambda i})(1-\varepsilon+\varepsilon\,\mathcal P_x)
+\frac{1}{4}v_\sigma T^2_\pi(r_{\lambda i})\,{\bm\sigma}_\lambda\cdot{\bm\sigma}_i \;,
\label{eq:V_LN}
\end{align}
where $\mathcal P_x$ is the $\Lambda N$ exchange operator and
$v_0(r)=v_c(r)-\bar v\,T_{\pi}^{2}(r)$ is a central term. The terms
$\bar v=(v_s+3v_t)/4$ and $v_\sigma=v_s-v_t$ are the spin-average and
spin-dependent strengths, where $v_s$ and $v_t$ denote singlet- and
triplet-state strengths, respectively. Note that both the spin-dependent
and the central radial terms contain the usual regularized OPE tensor
operator $T_\pi(r)$
\begin{align}
T_{\pi}(r)=\left[1+ \frac{3}{\mu_\pi r}+ \frac{3}{(\mu_\pi r)^2} \right]
\frac{\e^{-\mu_\pi r}}{\mu_\pi r}\Bigl(1-\e^{-cr^2}\Bigr)^2\;,\label{eq:T_pi}
\end{align}
where $\mu_\pi$ is the pion reduced mass
\begin{align}
\mu_\pi=\frac{1}{\hbar}\frac{m_{\pi^0}+2\,m_{\pi^\pm}}{3}\quad\quad\frac{1}{\mu_\pi}\simeq 1.4~\text{fm} \;.
\end{align}
All the parameters defining the $\Lambda N$ potential can be found
in Table~\ref{tab:parLN+LNN}. For more details see for example
Ref.~\cite{Usmani:2008}.
\emph{$\Lambda N$ charge symmetry breaking potential.}\label{subsubsec:CSB}
The $\Lambda$-nucleon interaction should distinguish between the nucleon
isospin channels $\Lambda p$ and $\Lambda n$. This is required by the
experimental data, in particular the $^4_\Lambda$H and $^4_\Lambda$He
ground- and excited-state energies~\cite{Juric:1973}, that have been
reproduced in Ref.~\cite{Bodmer:1985} by means of a phenomenological
spin-dependent, charge-symmetry breaking (CSB) potential. It was found
that the CSB contribution is effectively spin independent. Following
Ref.~\cite{Usmani:1999}, we can express the CSB $\Lambda N$ interaction as
\begin{align}
v_{\lambda i}^{CSB}=
C_\tau\,T_\pi^2\left(r_{\lambda i}\right)\tau_i^z\;,
\label{eq:V_CSB}
\end{align}
where $C_\tau$ was found by the analysis
of the $A=4$ mirror $\Lambda$~hypernuclei and it is listed in
Table~\ref{tab:parLN+LNN}. $C_\tau$ being negative,
the $\Lambda p$ channel becomes attractive while the $\Lambda n$
channel is repulsive. The contribution of CSB is expected to be very
small in symmetric hypernuclei (if Coulomb is neglected) but could have
a significant effect in hypernuclei with a neutron (or proton) excess.
\emph{$\Lambda NN$ potential.}\label{subsubsec:LNN}
In contrast to the nucleon-nucleon force, the lowest order
$\Lambda$-nucleon interaction involves the exchange of two pions.
At the same 2$\pi$-exchange order, there are diagrams involving
two nucleons and one hyperon, as shown in Figs.~\ref{fig:LNN_pw},
\ref{fig:LNN_sw} and \ref{fig:LNN_d}. The first two diagrams correspond
to $P$-wave and $S$-wave 2$\pi$-exchange. The last diagram
represents a dispersive contribution associated with the
medium modifications of the intermediate-state potentials for
the $\Sigma$, $N$, $\Delta$ due to the presence of
the second nucleon. This term includes short-range contributions
and it is expected to be repulsive due to the suppression mechanism
associated with the $\Lambda N$-$\Sigma N$
coupling~\cite{Bodmer:1971,Rozynek:1979}.
As reported in Ref.~\cite{Usmani:2008},
the three-body potential $v_{\lambda ij}$ can be conveniently
decomposed in the 2$\pi$-exchange contributions
$v^{{2\pi}}_{\lambda ij}=v^{2\pi,P}_{\lambda
ij}+v^{2\pi,S}_{\lambda ij}$ (Figs.~\ref{fig:LNN_pw}
and \ref{fig:LNN_sw}) and the spin-dependent dispersive term $v_{\lambda
ij}^{D}$ (Fig.~\ref{fig:LNN_d}) as follows:
\begin{align}
\hspace{-0.19cm}v_{\lambda ij}^{2\pi,P}&=-\frac{C_P}{6}
\Bigl\{X_{i\lambda}\,,X_{\lambda j}\Bigr\}\,{\bm\tau}_{i}\cdot{\bm\tau}_{j}\;,\label{eq:V_LNN_P}\\[0.7em]
\hspace{-0.19cm}v_{\lambda ij}^{2\pi,S}&=
C_S\,Z\left(r_{\lambda i}\right)Z\left(r_{\lambda j}\right)\,
{\bm\sigma}_{i}\cdot\hat{\bm r}_{i\lambda}\,
{\bm\sigma}_{j}\cdot\hat{\bm r}_{j\lambda}\,{\bm\tau}_{i}\cdot{\bm\tau}_{j}\;,\label{eq:V_LNN_S}\\[0.7em]
\hspace{-0.19cm}v_{\lambda ij}^{D}&=W_D\,
T_{\pi}^{2}\left(r_{\lambda i}\right)T^{2}_{\pi}\left(r_{\lambda j}\right)
\!\!\bigg[1+\frac{1}{6}{\bm\sigma}_\lambda\!\cdot\!\left({\bm\sigma}_{i}+{\bm\sigma}_{j}\right)\bigg]\;.\label{eq:V_LNN_D}
\end{align}
The function $T_\pi(r)$ is the same as in Eq.~(\ref{eq:T_pi}),
while the $X_{\lambda i}$ and $Z(r)$ are defined by
\begin{align}
X_{\lambda i}&=Y_{\pi}(r_{\lambda i})\;\bm\sigma_{\lambda}\cdot\bm\sigma_{i}+
T_{\pi}(r_{\lambda i})\;S_{\lambda i}\;,\\[0.7em]
Z(r)&=\frac{\mu_\pi r}{3} \Bigl[Y_\pi(r)-T_\pi(r)\Bigr]\;,
\end{align}
where
\begin{align}
Y_\pi(r)=\frac{\e^{-\mu_\pi r}}{\mu_\pi r}\Bigl(1-\e^{-cr^2}\Bigr)
\label{eq:Y_pi}
\end{align}
is the regularized Yukawa potential and $S_{\lambda i}$ is the
same tensor operator as in Eq.~(\ref{eq:S_ij}).
The range of parameters $C_P$, $C_S$ and $W_D$ can be
found in Table~\ref{tab:parLN+LNN}.
It is important to note that the three-body $\Lambda NN$ interaction has been
used in Variational Monte Carlo calculations for single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei
($^3_\Lambda$H~\cite{Bodmer:1988,Shoeb:1999},
$^4_\Lambda$H and $^4_\Lambda$He~\cite{Bodmer:1985,Bodmer:1988,Shoeb:1999,Sinha:2002}, $^5_\Lambda$He~\cite{Bodmer:1988,Shoeb:1999,Usmani:1995_3B,Usmani:1999,Sinha:2002,Usmani:2003,Usmani:2006,Usmani:2008},
$^9_\Lambda$Be~\cite{Bodmer:1984,Shoeb:1998},
$^{13}_{~\Lambda}$C~\cite{Bodmer:1984},
$^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O~\cite{Usmani:1995,Usmani:1995_3B})
and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei ($^{\;\;\,4}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$H,
$^{\;\;\,5}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$H, $^{\;\;\,5}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He~\cite{Shoeb:2004} and $^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He~\cite{Shoeb:2004,Usmani:2004,Usmani:2006_He6LL}),
but no unique set of parameters has been set so far.
We stress the fact that, unlike to the nucleon sector, both
the two- and three-body hyperon-nucleon interactions are of the same
2$\pi$-exchange order. In addition, the mass of the intermediate excited
state $\Sigma$ compared to the $\Lambda$ is much smaller than in the
pure nucleonic case, where the difference between the nucleon and the
$\Delta$ resonance is much larger. The $\Lambda NN$ interaction should
therefore be considered necessary in addition to the $\Lambda N$ force
in any consistent theoretical calculation involving a $\Lambda$.
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption[]{Parameters of the $\Lambda N$ and $\Lambda NN$
interaction~(see~\cite{Usmani:2008} and references therein).
For $C_P$ and $W_D$ the variational allowed range is shown. The
value of the charge-symmetry breaking parameter $C_\tau$ is from
Ref.~\cite{Usmani:1999}.\label{tab:parLN+LNN}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{ccc}
Constant & Value & Unit \\
\hline
$W_c$ & 2137 & MeV \\
$\bar r$ & 0.5 & fm \\
$a$ & 0.2 & fm \\
$v_s$ & 6.33, 6.28 & MeV \\
$v_t$ & 6.09, 6.04 & MeV \\
$\bar v$ & 6.15(5) & MeV \\
$v_\sigma$ & 0.24 & MeV \\
$c$ & 2.0 & fm$^{-2}$ \\
$\varepsilon$ & $0.1\div0.38$ & -- \\
$C_\tau$ & $-0.050(5)$ & MeV \\
$C_P$ & $0.5\div2.5$ & MeV \\
$C_S$ & $\sim 1.5$ & MeV \\
$W_D$ & $0.002\div0.058$ & MeV \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
\subsection{Hyperon-Hyperon interaction}
\label{subsec:YY}
For the $\Lambda\Lambda$ potential, we follow the guide lines
adopted in the three- and four-body cluster models for double
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei~\cite{Hiyama:1997,Hiyama:2002}, which were
also used in Faddeev-Yakubovsky calculations for light double
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei~\cite{Filikhin:2002} and in variational
calculations on $^{\;\;\,4}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$H~\cite{Shoeb:2004,Shoeb:2005},
$^{\;\;\,5}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$H and
$^{\;\;\,5}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He~\cite{Shoeb:2004,Shoeb:2007} and
$^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He~\cite{Usmani:2004,Usmani:2006_He6LL,Shoeb:2004,Shoeb:2007},
with different parametrizations.
The employed effective interaction is a low-energy phase equivalent
Nijmegen interaction represented by a sum of three Gaussians:
\begin{align}
&v_{\lambda\mu}=\sum_{k=1}^{3}\left(v_0^{(k)}+v_\sigma^{(k)}\,
{\bm\sigma}_\lambda\cdot{\bm\sigma}_\mu\right)
\e^{-\mu^{(k)}r_{\lambda\mu}^2}\;. \label{eq:V_LL}
\end{align}
The most recent parametrization of the potential (see
Table~\ref{tab:parLL}), has been fitted to
simulate the $\Lambda\Lambda$ sector of the Nijmegen F (NF)
interaction~\cite{Nagels:1979,Maessen:1989,Rijken:1999}. The NF
model is the
simplest among the Nijmegen models with a scalar nonet, which seems
to be more appropriate than the versions including only a scalar
singlet in order to reproduce the weak binding energy indicated
by the NAGARA event~\cite{Takahashi:2001}. The components $k=1,2$
of the above Gaussian potential are determined so as to simulate the
$\Lambda\Lambda$ sector of NF and the strength of the part for $k=3$
is adjusted so as to reproduce the $^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He
NAGARA experimental double $\Lambda$~separation energy of $7.25\pm
0.19^{+0.18}_{-0.11}$~MeV. In 2010, Nakazawa reported a new, more
precise determination of $B_{\Lambda\Lambda}=6.93\pm0.16$~MeV for
$^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He~\cite{Nakazawa:2010}, obtained via the
$\Xi^-$ hyperon capture at rest reaction in a hybrid emulsion. This value
has been recently revised to $B_{\Lambda\Lambda}=6.91\pm0.16$~MeV by
the E373 (KEK-PS) Collaboration~\cite{Ahn:2013}. No references were
found about the refitting of the $\Lambda\Lambda$ Gaussian potential on
the more recent experimental result, which is in any case compatible
with the NAGARA event. We therefore use the original parametrization
of Ref.~\cite{Hiyama:2002}.
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption[]{Parameters for the one-boson exchange potential simulating
the $\Lambda\Lambda$ interaction. Depths $v_0^{(k)}$ and $v_\sigma^{(k)}$
[MeV] for each size parameter $\mu^{(k)}$ [fm$^{-2}$]~\cite{Hiyama:2002}.
\label{tab:parLL}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{cccc}
$\mu^{(k)}$ & 0.555 & 1.656 & 8.163 \\
\hline
$v_0^{(k)}$ & -10.67 & -93.51 & 4884 \\
$v_\sigma^{(k)}$ & 0.0966 & 16.08 & 915.8 \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
\section{Method}
\label{sec:method}
\subsection{Auxiliary field DMC method for nuclei}
\label{subsec:AFDMCnuc}
The auxiliary field diffusion Monte Carlo (AFDMC) method was introduced
by Schmidt and Fantoni~\cite{Schmidt:1999} as an extension of the
usual diffusion Monte Carlo (DMC) method to deal in an efficient way
with spin/isospin-dependent Hamiltonians. The standard DMC projects out the
ground state of the system by starting from a trial wave function not
orthogonal to the true ground state. By sampling configurations of the
system in coordinate-spin-isospin space, the trial wave function is
propagated in imaginary-time $\tau$. Expectation values are computed
averaging over the sampled configurations in the $\tau\rightarrow\infty$
limit, for which the evolved state approaches the ground state of the
Hamiltonian.
In nuclear Hamiltonians, the potential contains quadratic spin and
isospin operators, so the many-body wave function cannot
be written as a product of single-particle, spin-isospin states. The
number of components in the propagated wave function grows exponentially with $A$
and thus it quickly becomes computationally intractable. Standard
DMC calculations for nuclei are in fact limited
up to 12 nucleons~\cite{Pieper:2005,Lusk:2010,Lovato:2013} or 16
neutrons~\cite{Gandolfi:2011}.
The idea of the AFDMC method consists in reducing the quadratic
spin-isospin operators into linear terms in the propagator. The starting point
is to recast the Argonne V6- and V4-type potentials in spin-isospin independent
and spin-isospin dependent components, the latter of the form
\begin{align}
V_{NN} &=\frac{1}{2}\sum_{i\ne j}\sum_\gamma\tau_{i\gamma}\;
A_{ij}^{[\tau]}\;\tau_{j\gamma} \nonumber \\[0.2em]
&\,+\frac{1}{2}\sum_{i\ne j}\sum_{\alpha\beta}\sigma_{i\alpha}\;
A_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma]}\;\sigma_{j\beta}
\label{eq:V_NN_AFDMC} \\[0.2em]
&\,+\frac{1}{2}\sum_{i\ne j}\sum_{\alpha\beta\gamma}\tau_{i\gamma}\,\sigma_{i\alpha}\;
A_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma\tau]}\;\sigma_{j\beta}\,\tau_{j\gamma}\;. \nonumber
\end{align}
The matrices $A$ are real and symmetric with zero
diagonals and contain proper combinations of the components of AV6 and AV4
(latin indices are used for the
nucleons, greek ones refer to the cartesian components of the operators)
\begin{align}
A_{ij}^{[\tau]}&=v_2\left(r_{ij}\right)\;,\nonumber\\[0.5em]
A_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma]}&=v_3\left(r_{ij}\right)\delta_{\alpha\beta}
+v_5\left(r_{ij}\right)\left(3\,\hat r_{ij}^\alpha\,\hat r_{ij}^\beta-\delta_{\alpha\beta}\right)\;,\label{eq:A_NN}\\[0.5em]
A_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma\tau]}&=v_4\left(r_{ij}\right)\delta_{\alpha\beta}
+v_6\left(r_{ij}\right)\left(3\,\hat r_{ij}^\alpha\,\hat r_{ij}^\beta-\delta_{\alpha\beta}\right)\;.\nonumber
\end{align}
By diagonalizing such matrices it is
possible to write the quadratic operators of Eq.~(\ref{eq:op}) in terms
of the eigenvectors of the matrices $A$. In the $\sigma$ channel we define
for example
\begin{align}
\mathcal O_n^{[\sigma]}=\sum_{j\beta}\sigma_{j\beta}\,\psi_{n,j\beta}^{[\sigma]}\;,
\end{align}
where
\begin{align}
\sum_{j\beta} A_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma]}\,\psi_{n,j\beta}^{[\sigma]}=
\lambda_n^{[\sigma]}\,\psi_{n,i\alpha}^{[\sigma]}\;.
\end{align}
Given the nucleon-nucleon spin-isospin dependent interaction in this
form, we can write the imaginary time propagator by means of the
Hubbard-Stratonovich (HS) transformation
\begin{equation}
\e^{-\frac{1}{2}\tau\,\lambda_n\,\left(\mathcal O_n\right)^2}
=\frac{1}{\sqrt{2\pi}}\int\!dx_n\,\e^{-\frac{x_n^2}{2}}
\e^{\sqrt{-\tau\lambda_n}\,x_n\,\mathcal O_n}\;.
\label{eq:HS}
\end{equation}
The newly introduced $x_n$ variables, called \emph{auxiliary fields},
are sampled to evaluate the integral of Eq.~(\ref{eq:HS}). The linearized
propagator has the effect of rotating the spin-isospin components of each
single nucleon. This eventually recovers the action of the quadratic
spin-isospin operators on the trial wave function containing all the
possible good spin-isospin states. The procedure described reduces the
dependence to the number of operations needed to evaluate the trial wave
function from exponential to polynomial in the number of nucleons. The price
to pay is the additional computational cost due to the diagonalization
of the $A$ matrices and the sampling of the integral over auxiliary
fields. In any case, there is a net gain in computational time,
the total number of AFDMC operations being at most proportional to~$A^3$.
The details of the AFDMC algorithm
for nuclei and neutron matter can be found in
Refs.~\cite{Gandolfi:2006,Gandolfi:2007,Gandolfi:2009},
where the adopted nuclear wave function, the computation of expectation
values, and the approximations used to overcome the Fermion sign
problem are discussed in detail.
\subsection{Auxiliary field DMC method for hypernuclei}
\label{subsec:AFDMChyp}
\emph{Hypernuclear wave function.}
\label{subsubsec:wave}
The starting point of all DMC methods is the set up of the trial wave
function. The $\Lambda$~particle is distinguishable from the nucleons
so, to describe single and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei, we write
a factorized trial wave function of the form
\begin{align}
\psi_T(R,S)=\psi_T^N(R_N,S_N)\,\psi_T^{\Lambda}(R_\Lambda,S_\Lambda)\;,
\label{eq:psiT}
\end{align}
where $R=\{R_N,R_\Lambda\}$ and $S=\{S_N,S_\Lambda\}$
with $R_p=\{\bm r_1,\ldots,\bm r_{\mathcal N_p}\}$ and
$S_p=\{ s_1,\ldots, s_{\mathcal N_p}\}$, $p=N,\Lambda$.
The two components of $\psi_T$ are chosen of the same form of
Refs.~\cite{Gandolfi:2007}
\begin{align}
\!\!\!\psi_T^p\left(R_p,S_p\right)=\!\Bigg[\prod_{i<j}f_{ij}\Bigg]_p\!
\mathcal A\Bigg[\prod_i\varphi_i\left(\bm r_i-\bm r_{CM}, s_i\right)\!\Bigg]_p,\!
\label{eq:psi_T_p}
\end{align}
where $\mathcal A$ is an antisymmetrization operator, $\bm r_{CM}$ is the
center of mass of the hypernucleus, and $\varphi_i$ are single-particle space
and spin-isospin orbitals, built from combinations of radial functions,
spherical harmonics and spinors. Radial orbitals are the solutions of
the self-consistent Hartree-Fock problem with the Skyrme effective
interactions of Ref.~\cite{Bai:1997}. For the $\Lambda$~particle, we
assume the neutron $1s_{1/2}$ radial function. Spinors are defined
as four-component complex vectors for the nucleons and two components
complex vectors for the $\Lambda$~particles
\begin{align}
\!\!\! s_i^{\,N}\!&=\!\left(
\begin{array}{c}
a_i\\
b_i\\
c_i\\
d_i
\end{array}
\right)\!=a_i|p\uparrow\rangle+b_i|p\downarrow\rangle+
c_i|n\uparrow\rangle+d_i|n\downarrow\rangle\;,\label{eq:spinor}\\[0.5em]
\!\!\! s_i^{\,\Lambda}\!&=\!\left(
\begin{array}{c}
u_i\\
v_i
\end{array}
\right)\!=u_i|\Lambda\uparrow\rangle+v_i|\Lambda\downarrow\rangle\;.
\end{align}
The functions $f_{ij}$ are symmetric and spin independent Jastrow correlation
functions, solutions of the Schr\"odinger-like equation for $f_{ij}(r<d)$
\begin{align}
-\frac{\hbar^2}{2\mu_{ij}}\nabla^2 f_{ij}(r)+\eta\,v_{ij}^c(r)f_{ij}(r)=\xi f_{ij}(r)\;,
\end{align}
where $v_{ij}^c(r)$ is the spin independent part of the two-body interaction,
$\mu_{ij}=m_p/2$ the reduced mass of the pair, and $\eta$ and the healing
distance $d$ are variational parameters. For distances $r\ge d$, we
impose $f_{ij}(r)=1$.
The role of $f_{ij}$ functions is to include the short-range
correlations in the trial wave function. In the AFDMC algorithm the
effect is simply a reduction of the overlap between pairs of particles,
with the reduction of the energy variance. Since there is no change
in the phase of the wave function, the $f_{ij}$ do not influence the computed
energy value in projection methods.
With the presented wave function, we consider nucleons and hyperons
as distinct particles. In this way, it is not possible to include
the $\Lambda N$ exchange term of Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_LN}) directly in the
propagator, because it mixes hyperon and nucleon states. The complete
treatment of this factor would require an enlarged hyperon-nucleon isospin
space, which at present has not yet been developed. A perturbative
analysis of the $v_0(r)\varepsilon(\mathcal P_x-1)$ term is however
possible as described in Ref.~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}.
\emph{Algorithm.}
\label{subsubsec:algorithm}
The idea of the standard AFDMC method can be easily extended to
$\Lambda$~hypernuclear systems with the interactions described in
Sects.~\ref{subsec:YN} and \ref{subsec:YY}.
Consider the hypernuclear potentials of Eqs.~(\ref{eq:V_LN}),
(\ref{eq:V_CSB}), (\ref{eq:V_LNN_P})-(\ref{eq:V_LNN_D}) and (\ref{eq:V_LL}),
and assume the notations
\begin{align}
T_{\lambda i}&=T_{\pi}(r_{\lambda i})\;,\nonumber \\[0.5em]
Y_{\lambda i}&=Y_{\pi}(r_{\lambda i})\;, \\[0.5em]
Q_{\lambda i}&=Y_{\lambda i}-T_{\lambda i}\;.\nonumber
\end{align}
In analogy with the nucleon-nucleon $A$ matrices of Eqs.~(\ref{eq:A_NN}),
we can define the following hyperon-nucleon and hyperon-hyperon
matrices (Greek $\lambda$, $\mu$ indices indicates the $\Lambda$~particles)
\begin{align}
B_{\lambda i}^{[\sigma]}&=\frac{1}{4}v_\sigma T_{\lambda i}\;,\\[0.5em]
C_{\lambda i}^{[\sigma]}&=\frac{1}{3}W_D\!
\sum_{j,j\ne i}T^2_{\lambda i}\,T^2_{\lambda j}\;,\\[0.5em]
C_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma\tau]}&=\sum_\lambda\Bigg\{\!-\frac{1}{3}
C_P Q_{\lambda i}Q_{\lambda j}\delta_{\alpha\beta}
-C_P Q_{\lambda j}T_{\lambda i}\,\hat r_{i\lambda}^{\,\alpha}\,
\hat r_{i\lambda}^{\,\beta} \nonumber \\[0.2em]
&\quad-C_P Q_{\lambda i}T_{\lambda j}\,
\hat r_{j\lambda}^{\,\alpha}\,\hat r_{j\lambda}^{\,\beta}
+\!\left[\frac{1}{9} C_S \mu_\pi^2 Q_{\lambda i}
Q_{\lambda j}\,|r_{i\lambda}||r_{j\lambda}|\right. \nonumber \\[0.2em]
&\quad\left.-3\,C_PT_{\lambda i}T_{\lambda j }
\left({\sum_\delta}\,\hat r_{i\lambda}^{\,\delta}\,
\hat r_{j\lambda}^{\,\delta}\right)\right]\,\hat r_{i\lambda}^{\,\alpha}\,
\hat r_{j\lambda}^{\,\beta}\Bigg\}\;,\\[0.5em]
D_{\lambda\mu}^{[\sigma]}&=
\sum_{k=1}^{3}v_\sigma^{(k)}\e^{-\mu^{(k)}r_{\lambda\mu}^2}\;.
\end{align}
In such a way it is possible to
recast the $\Lambda N$, $\Lambda NN$ and $\Lambda\Lambda$ interactions
so that they contain at most two-body operators in the hyperon-nucleon
extended space
\begin{align}
V_{\Lambda N}&=\sum_{\lambda i}\sum_\alpha\sigma_{\lambda\alpha}
\; B_{\lambda i}^{[\sigma]}\;\sigma_{i\alpha}+\widetilde V_{\Lambda N}\;,
\label{eq:V_LN_2_AFDMC} \\[0.5em]
V^{2\pi}_{\Lambda NN}&=\frac{1}{2}\sum_{i\ne j}
\sum_{\alpha\beta\gamma}\tau_{i\gamma}\,\sigma_{i\alpha}
\; C_{i\alpha,j\beta}^{[\sigma\tau]}\;\sigma_{j\beta}\,\tau_{j\gamma}\;,
\label{eq:V_LNN_2pi_AFDMC} \\[0.5em]
V^{D}_{\Lambda NN}&=
\frac{1}{2}\sum_{\lambda i}\sum_\alpha\sigma_{\lambda\alpha}\;
C_{\lambda i}^{[\sigma]}\;
\sigma_{i\alpha}+\widetilde V_{\Lambda NN}\;,
\label{eq:V_LNN_D_AFDMC} \\[0.5em]
V_{\Lambda\Lambda}&=\frac{1}{2}\sum_{\lambda\ne\mu}
\sum_{\alpha}\sigma_{\lambda\alpha}\; D_{\lambda\mu}^{[\sigma]}\;
\sigma_{\mu\alpha}+\widetilde V_{\Lambda\Lambda}\;,
\label{eq:V_LL_AFDMC}
\end{align}
where $\widetilde V_{\Lambda N}$,
$\widetilde V_{\Lambda NN}$ and
$\widetilde V_{\Lambda\Lambda}$ include all
the spin-isospin independent and the linear $\mathcal P_x$, $\tau_i^z$ terms
\begin{align}
\widetilde V_{\Lambda N}&=\sum_{\lambda i}v_{0}(r_{\lambda i})(1-\varepsilon)
+\sum_{\lambda i}v_{0}(r_{\lambda i})\,\varepsilon\,\mathcal P_x \nonumber\\[0.2em]
&\,+\sum_{\lambda i} C_\tau\,T_\pi^2(r_{\lambda i})\,\tau_i^z\;,\nonumber\\[0.5em]
\widetilde V_{\Lambda NN}&=\sum_{\lambda,i<j}W_D\,
T_{\pi}^{2}\left(r_{\lambda i}\right)T^{2}_{\pi}\left(r_{\lambda j}\right)\;,\\[0.5em]
\widetilde V_{\Lambda\Lambda}&=\sum_{\lambda<\mu}\sum_{k=1}^{3}v_0^{(k)}
\e^{-\mu^{(k)}r_{\lambda\mu}^2}\;.\nonumber
\end{align}
All the remaining terms of
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:V_LN_2_AFDMC})-(\ref{eq:V_LL_AFDMC})
consist of two-body spin-isospin operators of exactly the same type as
those of Eqs.~(\ref{eq:V_NN_AFDMC}).
The algorithm follows then the nuclear version with the sampling
of the coordinates, which now contains also the $\Lambda$ particles,
and of the auxiliary fields, one for each linearized operator.
The application of the propagator of Eq.~(\ref{eq:HS}) has
the effect of rotating the spinors of nucleons and $\Lambda$s.
The strategy adopted in order to control the Fermion sign
problem and reduce the variance of the estimators is the same of
Refs.~\cite{Gandolfi:2006,Gandolfi:2007,Gandolfi:2009},
with a straightforward extension to the enlarged hyperon-nucleon space.
The structure of the AFDMC algorithm for $\Lambda$~hypernuclei closely
follows the usual AFDMC procedure
\begin{enumerate}
\item Sample the nucleons and $\Lambda$'s positions, spins and isospins from
$|\psi_T(R,S)|^2$, using the Metropolis Monte Carlo method.
\item\label{item:1} Propagate the spatial degrees of freedom as in the
usual diffusion Monte Carlo with a drifted Gaussian for a small time step.
\item For each set of generalized coordinates (\emph{walker}), build
and diagonalize the potential matrices $A$, $B$, $C$ and $D$.
\item Loop over the eigenvectors, sampling the corresponding auxiliary
fields and rotating the spinors.
\item\label{item:2} Apply the fixed phase prescription and evaluate
the estimator contributions to averages for the calculation of expectation
values.
\item Iterate from \ref{item:1} to \ref{item:2} as long as necessary
until convergence of the energy is reached. Error bars on expectation
values are then estimated by means of block averages and the analysis
of auto-correlations on data blocks.
\end{enumerate}
\section{Results and discussion}
\label{sec:results}
\subsection{Single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei}
\label{subsec:singleL}
A direct comparison of energy calculations with experimental results is
given for the $\Lambda$~separation energy, defined as
\begin{align}
&B_{\Lambda}\left(\,^A_\Lambda\text{Z}\,\right)=
E\left(\,^{A-1}\text{Z}\,\right)-E\left(\,^A_\Lambda\text{Z}\,\right)\;,
\label{eq:BL}
\end{align}
where $E$ is the energy of the system, i.e. the ground state expectation
value of the Hamiltonian,
\begin{align}
E(\kappa)=\frac{\langle\psi_\kappa^0|H_\kappa|\psi_\kappa^0\rangle}
{\langle\psi_\kappa^0|\psi_\kappa^0\rangle}\;,\quad\quad\kappa={\rm nuc},{\rm hyp}\;.
\end{align}
The computation of $B_{\Lambda}$ thus involves the calculation of the
energy of the nucleus $^{A-1}\text{Z}$ and the corresponding
hypernucleus $^A_\Lambda\text{Z}$. The nuclear wave function is the same
as in Eq.~(\ref{eq:psi_T_p}) with the spinor of Eq.~(\ref{eq:spinor}).
As reported in Refs.~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_HYP2012,Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}, the
$\Lambda$~separation energy is not sensitive to the details of the nuclear
interactions. On the grounds of this observation, we adopt the nuclear
potential AV4' for both nuclei and hypernuclei in the present work.
This choice makes AFDMC calculations less expensive and more stable. The
resulting absolute binding energies are not comparable with experimental
results, but the estimated $B_\Lambda$ is in any case realistic.
In our previous work~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}, we tackled the problem
of hyperon-nucleon interaction by studying closed-shell single
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei with the inclusion of two- and three-body
$\Lambda$-nucleon forces. The set of parameters for the $\Lambda NN$
potential was originally taken from Ref.~\cite{Usmani:1995_3B}, being
the choice that made the variational $B_\Lambda$ for $_\Lambda^5$He and
$^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O compatible with the expected results. It reads
\begin{equation*}
\hypertarget{par_I}{(\text{I})}\phantom{I}\quad
\left\{
\begin{array}{rcll}
C_P&\!=\!&0.60& \!\text{MeV}\\
C_S&\!=\!&0.00& \!\text{MeV}\\
W_D&\!=\!&0.015&\!\text{MeV}
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
The main outcome of the study is that the saturation property of the
$\Lambda$ binding energy is reproduced only with the inclusion of the
$\Lambda NN$ interaction. However, with the given parametrization, only
a qualitative accord with the experimental results is obtained. Thus,
a refitting procedure for the three-body hyperon-nucleon interaction is
needed.
As reported in Ref.~\cite{Usmani:2008}, the $C_S$
parameter can be estimated by comparing the $S$-wave term of
Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_LNN_S}) with the Tucson-Melbourne model of the
$NNN$ force reported in Ref.~\cite{Pieper:2001}. We take the same
$C_S=1.50$~MeV value, in order to reduce the
number of fitting parameters. This
choice is justified because the $S$-wave component of the three-body $\Lambda NN$
interaction is sub-leading.
We indeed verified that a change in the $C_S$ value yields a variation of the total
energy within statistical error bars and definitely much smaller than the variation
in energy due to a change of the $C_P$ and $W_D$ parameters.
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{fig2.pdf}
\caption[]{(Color online) $\Lambda$~separation energy for $^5_\Lambda$He as a function
of strengths $W_D$ and $C_P$
of the three-body $\Lambda NN$ interaction. The red grid represents the
experimental $B_\Lambda=3.12(2)$~MeV~\cite{Juric:1973}. The dashed yellow
curve is the interception between the expected result and the $B_\Lambda$
surface in the $W_D-C_P$
parameter space. Statistical error bars on AFDMC results (solid black
dots) are of the order of $0.10\div0.15$~MeV.}
\label{fig:Wd-Cp_3D}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[ht]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{fig3.pdf}
\caption[]{(Color online) Projection of Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_3D} on the
$W_D-C_P$ plane. Error
bars come from a realistic conservative estimate of the uncertainty
in the determination of the parameters due to the statistical errors
of the Monte Carlo calculations. Blue and green dashed, long-dashed
and dot-dashed lines (lower curves) are the variational results of
Ref.~\cite{Usmani:2008} for different $\varepsilon$ and $\bar v$
(two-body $\Lambda N$ potential). The dashed box corresponds to the
parameter domain of Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_3D}. Black dots and the red
band (upper curve) are the projected interception describing
the possible set of parameters reproducing the experimental~$B_\Lambda$.}
\label{fig:Wd-Cp_2D}
\end{figure}
In Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_3D} we report the systematic study of the
$\Lambda$~separation energy of $_\Lambda^5$He as a function of
both $W_D$ and $C_P$.
Solid black dots are the AFDMC results. The red grid represents the
experimental $B_\Lambda=3.12(2)$~MeV~\cite{Juric:1973}. The dashed
yellow curve follows the set of parameters reproducing the
expected $\Lambda$~separation energy. The same curve is also reported
in Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_2D} (red band with black dots and
error bars), that is a projection of Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_3D} on
the $W_D-C_P$ plane.
The dashed box represents the $W_D$ and
$C_P$ domain of the previous picture. For
comparison, the variational results of Ref.~\cite{Usmani:2008}
are also reported. Green curves are the results for $\bar v=6.15$~MeV
and $v_\sigma=0.24$~MeV, blue ones for $\bar v=6.10$~MeV and
$v_\sigma=0.24$~MeV. Dashed, long-dashed and dot-dashed lines correspond
respectively to $\varepsilon=0.1$, $0.2$ and $0.3$.
In our calculations, we have not considered different combinations for
the parameters of the two-body $\Lambda N$ interaction, focusing on
the three-body part. We have thus kept fixed $\bar v$ and $v_\sigma$
to the same values of the green curves of Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_2D}
(see Table~\ref{tab:parLN+LNN} for the detailed list of constants).
Moreover, in the present work we have set $\varepsilon=0$ for all the
studied hypernuclei due to the impossibility of exactly including the
$\mathcal P_x$ exchange operator in the propagator. However, from a
perturbative analysis, the net effect of the $v_0(r)\varepsilon(\mathcal
P_x -1)$ term on the hyperon separation energy within the statistical
errors of the Monte Carlo calculation, seems to be the same as a slight change in
the strength of the central $\Lambda N$ potential.
Starting from the analysis of the results in the
$W_D-C_P$ space for
$_\Lambda^5$He, we performed simulations for the next closed-shell
hypernucleus $^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O. Using the parameters in the red band
of Fig.~\ref{fig:Wd-Cp_2D} we identified a parametrization able
to reproduce the experimental $B_\Lambda$ for both $_\Lambda^5$He and
$^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O at the same time, namely
\begin{equation*}
\hypertarget{par_II}{(\text{II})}\quad
\left\{
\begin{array}{rcll}
C_P&\!=\!&1.00& \!\text{MeV}\\
C_S&\!=\!&1.50& \!\text{MeV}\\
W_D&\!=\!&0.035&\!\text{MeV}\ .
\end{array}
\right.
\end{equation*}
Given the set (\hyperlink{par_II}{II}), the $\Lambda$~separation energy
of closed-shell and open-shell single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei has been
calculated in a mass range $3 \leq A \leq 91$. The closed-shell
hypernuclei are the same of Ref.~\cite{Lonardoni:2013_PRC(R)}. The results
are summarized in Fig.~\ref{fig:BL-A23}, where we report $B_\Lambda$
as a function of $A^{-2/3}$, and as a function of $A$ in the inset.
Solid green dots are the available experimental data, empty symbols the
AFDMC results.
The blue curve is obtained using only the two-body hyperon-nucleon
interaction in addition to the nuclear AV4' potential. The red
curve refers to the results for the same systems when also the
three-body $\Lambda NN$ interaction with the old set of parameters
(\hyperlink{par_I}{I}) is included. The black lower curve shows the results obtained by including the three-body hyperon-nucleon interaction
described by the new parametrization~(\hyperlink{par_II}{II}).
A detailed comparison between numerical results and experiments for the hyperon-separation energy
can be found in Table~\ref{tab:BL}.
\begin{figure}[hb]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{fig4.pdf}
\caption[]{(Color online) $\Lambda$~separation energy as a function of $A^{-2/3}$.
Solid green dots~(dashed curve) are the available $B_\Lambda$
experimental or semiempirical values. Empty blue dots~(upper
banded curve) refer to the AFDMC results for the two-body $\Lambda N$
interaction alone. Empty red diamonds~(middle banded curve) and empty
black triangles~(lower banded curve) are the results with the inclusion
also of the three-body hyperon-nucleon force, respectively for the set
of parameters (\hyperlink{par_I}{I}) and (\hyperlink{par_II}{II}). In
the inset, the same data plotted as a function of $A$.}
\label{fig:BL-A23}
\end{figure}
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption[]{$\Lambda$~separation energies (in MeV) obtained using the
two-body plus three-body hyperon-nucleon interaction with the set of
parameters (\hyperlink{par_II}{II}).
The results already include the CSB contribution.
In the last column, the expected $B_\Lambda$ values.
No experimental data for $A=17,18,41,49,91$ exists.
For $^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O the reference separation energy is a semiempirical value.
For $A=41,49,91$ the experimental hyperon~binding energies are those of the nearest hypernuclei
$^{40}_{~\Lambda}$Ca, $^{51}_{~\Lambda}$V and $^{89}_{~\Lambda}$Y respectively.
\label{tab:BL}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{ccc}
System & {AFDMC $B_\Lambda$} & {Expt. $B_\Lambda$} \\
\hline
\hspace{-0.3em}$^3_\Lambda$H & -1.22(15) & 0.13(5) \hspace{1.2em}\cite{Juric:1973} \\
\hspace{-0.3em}$^4_\Lambda$H & 0.95(9) & 2.04(4) \hspace{1.2em}\cite{Juric:1973} \\
\hspace{0.1em}$^4_\Lambda$He & 1.22(9) & 2.39(3) \hspace{1.2em}\cite{Juric:1973} \\
\hspace{0.1em}$^5_\Lambda$He & 3.22(14) & 3.12(2) \hspace{1.2em}\cite{Juric:1973} \\
\hspace{0.1em}$^6_\Lambda$He & 4.76(20) & 4.25(10) \hspace{0.7em}\cite{Juric:1973} \\
\hspace{0.1em}$^7_\Lambda$He & 5.95(25) & 5.68(28) \hspace{0.7em}\cite{Nakamura:2013} \\
\hspace{-0.6em}$^{13}_{~\Lambda}$C & 11.2(4) & 11.69(12) \hspace{0.2em}\cite{Cantwell:1974} \\
\hspace{-0.5em}$^{16}_{~\Lambda}$O & 12.6(7) & 12.42(41) \hspace{0.2em}\cite{Hashimoto:2006} \\
\hspace{-0.5em}$^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O & 12.4(6) & 13.0(4) \hspace{1.2em}\cite{Usmani:1995} \\
\hspace{-0.5em}$^{18}_{~\Lambda}$O & 12.7(9) & \hspace{-3.0em}--- \\
$^{41}_{~\Lambda}$Ca & 19(4) & 18.7(1.1) \hspace{0.43em}\cite{Pile:1991} \\
$^{49}_{~\Lambda}$Ca & 20(5) & 19.97(13) \hspace{0.18em}\cite{Hotchi:2001} \\
$^{91}_{~\Lambda}$Zr & 21(9) & 23.11(10) \hspace{0.18em}\cite{Hotchi:2001} \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
For systems with $A\ge 5$, all the $\Lambda$~separation energies are
compatible with the expected results, where available. For $A<5$
our results are more than 1~MeV off from experimental data. For
$^3_\Lambda$H, the $\Lambda$~separation energy is even negative, meaning
that the hypernucleus is less bound than the corresponding nucleus $^2$H.
We can ascribe this discrepancy to the lack of accuracy of our nucleonic
wavefunction. Moreover, the
single particle orbitals might need to be changed when the $\Lambda$ is
added to the nucleus. This effect is expected to be much less important
for heavier hypernuclei where bulk effects dominate over the surface. A study
of these systems within a few-body method might solve this issue.
The effect of the CSB potential has been studied for the $A=4$ mirror hypernuclei.
As reported in Table~\ref{tab:CSB_A4}, without the CSB term there is no difference
in the $\Lambda$ binding energy of $^4_\Lambda$H and $^4_\Lambda$He. When CSB
is active, a splitting appears due to the different behavior of the $\Lambda
p$ and $\Lambda n$ channels. The strength of the difference $\Delta
B_\Lambda^{CSB}$ is independent on the parameters
of the three-body $\Lambda NN$ interaction and it is compatible with
the experimental result~\cite{Juric:1973}.
\begin{table}[htb]
\caption[]{$\Lambda$~separation energies (in MeV) for the $A=4$ mirror
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei with (fourth column) and without (third column)
the inclusion of the charge symmetry breaking term.
In the last column the difference in the separation energy induced by
the CSB interaction. First and second rows refer to different set of
parameters for the $\Lambda NN$ interaction, while the last row is the
experimental result.\label{tab:CSB_A4}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{ccccc}
Parameters & System & $B_\Lambda^{sym}$ & $B_\Lambda^{CSB}$
& {$\Delta B_\Lambda^{CSB}$} \\
\hline
\multirow{2}{*}{set (\hyperlink{par_I}{I})}
& $^4_\Lambda$H\hspace{0.4em} & 1.97(11) & 1.89(9) & \multirow{2}{*}{0.24(12)} \\
& $^4_\Lambda$He & 2.02(10) & 2.13(8) & \\[0.8em]
\multirow{2}{*}{set (\hyperlink{par_II}{II})}
& $^4_\Lambda$H\hspace{0.4em} & 1.07(8) & 0.95(9) & \multirow{2}{*}{0.27(13)} \\
& $^4_\Lambda$He & 1.07(9) & 1.22(9) & \\
\midrule
\multirow{2}{*}{Expt.~\cite{Juric:1973}} & $^4_\Lambda$H\hspace{0.4em} & {---} & 2.04(4) & \multirow{2}{*}{0.35(5)\phantom{0}} \\
& $^4_\Lambda$He & {---} & 2.39(3) & \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption[]{Difference (in MeV) in the hyperon separation energies induced by
the CSB term for different hypernuclei. The fourth column reports the
difference between the number of neutrons and protons.
Results are obtained with the full two- plus three-body
(set (\hyperlink{par_II}{II})) hyperon-nucleon interaction.
In order to reduce the errors, $\Delta B_\Lambda$ has been calculated
by taking the difference between total hypernuclear binding energies,
instead of the hyperon separation energies.\label{tab:CSB}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{ccccc}
System & $p$ & $n$ & $\Delta_{np}$ & $\Delta B_\Lambda$ \\
\hline
\hspace{-0.5em}$^4_\Lambda$H & 1 & 2 & $+1$ & $-0.12(8)$ \\[0.5em]
$^4_\Lambda$He & 2 & 1 & $-1$ & $+0.15(9)$ \\
$^5_\Lambda$He & 2 & 2 & \hspace{0.78em}$0$ & $+0.02(9)$ \\
$^6_\Lambda$He & 2 & 3 & $+1$ & $-0.06(8)$ \\
$^7_\Lambda$He & 2 & 4 & $+2$ & $-0.18(8)$ \\[0.5em]
\hspace{-0.7em}$^{16}_{~\Lambda}$O & 8 & 7 & $-1$ & $+0.27(35)$ \\
\hspace{-0.7em}$^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O & 8 & 8 & \hspace{0.78em}$0$ & $+0.15(35)$ \\
\hspace{-0.7em}$^{18}_{~\Lambda}$O & 8 & 9 & $+1$ & $-0.74(49)$ \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
The same CSB potential of Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_CSB}) has been included
in the study of hypernuclei for $A>4$. In Table~\ref{tab:CSB},
the difference in the hyperon separation energies $\Delta
B_\Lambda=B_\Lambda^{CSB}-B_\Lambda^{sym}$
is reported for different hypernuclei up to $A=18$. The fourth
column shows the difference between the number of neutrons and protons
$\Delta_{np}=\mathcal N_n-\mathcal N_p$. For the symmetric hypernuclei
$^5_\Lambda$He and $^{17}_{~\Lambda}$O the CSB interaction has no
effect, this difference being zero. In the systems with neutron excess
($\Delta_{np}>0$), the effect of the CSB consists in decreasing the
hyperon separation energy compared to the charge symmetric case. When
$\Delta_{np}$ becomes negative, $\Delta B_\Lambda>0$ due to the attraction
induced by the CSB potential in the $\Lambda p$ channel, producing
more bound hypernuclei. These effects are in any case rather small
and they become almost negligible compared to the statistical errors on
$B_\Lambda$ when the number of baryons becomes large enough ($A>16$).
Single-particle densities can be computed in Monte Carlo calculations by
considering the expectation value of the density operator
\begin{align}
\hat\rho_\kappa(r)=\sum_{i}\delta(r-r_i)\quad\quad \kappa=N,\Lambda\;,
\end{align}
where $i$ is the single particle index running over nucleons for $\rho_N=\langle\hat\rho_N\rangle$ or hyperons for $\rho_\Lambda=\langle\hat\rho_\Lambda\rangle$.
The correct estimator for positive defined operators $\mathcal O$ different from the total Hamiltonian is obtained starting from
the mixed DMC result and the variational one via the relation~\cite{Pieper:2008}
\begin{align}
\!\!\langle\mathcal O\rangle_{real}=
\frac{\langle\psi_0|\mathcal O|\psi_0\rangle}{\langle\psi_0|\psi_0\rangle}
=\frac{\left(\frac{\langle\psi_T|\mathcal O|\psi_0\rangle}{\langle\psi_T|\psi_0\rangle}\right)^2}
{\frac{\langle\psi_T|\mathcal O|\psi_T\rangle}{\langle\psi_T|\psi_T\rangle}}
=\frac{\langle\mathcal O\rangle_{\text{DMC}}^2}{\langle\mathcal O\rangle_{\text{VMC}}}\;,
\end{align}
where $\psi_T$ is the trial wave function and $\psi_0$ the projected ground state
wave function. Although easy to implement, the calculation of single-particle
densities in the present version of the AFDMC algorithm suffers of two main issues.
On one hand, the employed trial wave function is too poor for variational
calculations. The estimate of $\langle\mathcal O\rangle_{\text{VMC}}$ could
be not accurate enough, introducing severe biases in the calculation of
$\langle\mathcal O\rangle_{real}$. On the other hand, the employed $NN$ potential
is too simplified to correctly describe the physics of nucleons in nuclei and
hypernuclei, particularly for heavy systems. This lack of accuracy does not
affect the calculation of the hyperon separation energy but could be important
in the estimate of single particle densities. For these reasons we do not report
here the results for nucleon and hyperon single-particle densities which will be
presented in a future work in connection with a better trial wave function and
a more realistic nucleon-nucleon interaction.
\subsection{Double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei}
\label{subsec:doubleL}
In the case of double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei, the interesting observables
we can have access with the AFDMC are the double $\Lambda$~separation
energy
\begin{align}
&B_{\Lambda\Lambda}\left(\,^{~\,A}_{\Lambda\Lambda}\text{Z}\,\right)=
E\left(\,^{A-2}\text{Z}\,\right)-E\left(\,^{~\,A}_{\Lambda\Lambda}\text{Z}\,\right)\;,
\label{eq:BLL}
\end{align}
and the incremental $\Lambda\Lambda$ energy
\begin{align}
&\Delta B_{\Lambda\Lambda}\left(\,^{~\,A}_{\Lambda\Lambda}\text{Z}\,\right)=
B_{\Lambda\Lambda}\left(\,^{~\,A}_{\Lambda\Lambda}\text{Z}\,\right)
-2 B_\Lambda\left(\,^{A-1}_{\quad\;\Lambda}\text{Z}\,\right)\;.
\label{eq:LL_int}
\end{align}
The calculation of these quantities proceeds in the same way of
those for single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei, starting from the
energy of the nucleus, the corresponding $\Lambda$~hypernucleus
and now the double $\Lambda$~hypernucleus. In Table~\ref{tab:BLL},
we report the total energies for $^4$He, $^5_\Lambda$He and
$^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He in the second column, the single or
double hyperon separation energies in the third and the incremental
$\Lambda\Lambda$ energy in the last column. The value of $B_{\Lambda\Lambda}$
confirms the weak attractive nature of the $\Lambda\Lambda$
interaction~\cite{Hiyama:2002,Nagels:1979,Maessen:1989,Rijken:1999}.
Starting from $^4$He and adding two hyperons with
$B_\Lambda=3.22(14)$~MeV, the energy of $^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He
would be 1.0 to 1.5~MeV less than the actual AFDMC result. Therefore
the $\Lambda\Lambda$ potential of Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_LL}) induces a net
attraction between hyperons, at least at this density.
Our results for $B_{\Lambda\Lambda}$ and $\Delta B_{\Lambda\Lambda}$
are very close to the expected results for which the potential
has originally been fitted within the cluster model. The
latest results $B_{\Lambda\Lambda}=6.91(0.16)$~MeV and $\Delta
B_{\Lambda\Lambda}=0.67(0.17)$~MeV of Ref.~\cite{Ahn:2013} suggest
a weaker attractive force between the two hyperons. A refit of
the interaction of the form proposed in Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_LL}) would be
required. It would be interesting to study other double $\Lambda$
hypernuclei within the AFDMC framework with the $\Lambda N$,
$\Lambda NN$ and $\Lambda\Lambda$ interaction proposed.
Some experimental data are available in the
range $A=7 - 13$, but there are uncertainties in
the identification of the produced double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei,
reflecting in inconsistencies about the sign of the $\Lambda\Lambda$
interaction~\cite{Dover:1991,Yamamoto:1991}. An ab-initio analysis of
these systems might put some constraints on the hyperon-hyperon force,
which at present is still poorly known, and give information on its
density dependence. Also the inclusion of the $\Lambda\Lambda N$ force
would be important.
\begin{table}[ht]
\caption[]{Comparison between $^4$He and the corresponding single
and double $\Lambda$~hypernuclei. In the second column the total
energies are reported. The third column shows the single
or double $\Lambda$~separation energies. In the last column the
incremental $\Lambda\Lambda$ energy $\Delta B_{\Lambda\Lambda}$ is reported.
All the results are obtained using
the complete two- plus three-body (set~(\hyperlink{par_II}{II}))
hyperon-nucleon interaction with the addition of the $\Lambda\Lambda$
force of Eq.~(\ref{eq:V_LL}). The results are expressed in MeV.
\label{tab:BLL}}
\begin{ruledtabular}
\begin{tabular}{cccc}
System & {$E$} & {$B_{\Lambda(\Lambda)}$} & $\Delta B_{\Lambda\Lambda}$ \\
\hline
\hspace{0.7em}$^4$He & -32.67(8) & --- & --- \\
\hspace{0.6em}$^5_\Lambda$He & -35.89(12) & 3.22(14) & --- \\
$^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He & -40.6(3) & 7.9(3) & 1.5(4) \\
\midrule
$^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He & {Expt.~\cite{Takahashi:2001}} & {$7.25\pm 0.19^{+0.18}_{-0.11}$} & {$1.01\pm 0.20^{+0.18}_{-0.11}$} \\
\end{tabular}
\end{ruledtabular}
\end{table}
\section{Conclusions}
\label{sec:conclusions}
We presented a detailed study of single $\Lambda$~hypernuclei
in the framework of the Quantum Monte Carlo method. By accurately refitting
the three-body hyperon-nucleon interaction we obtain substantial
agreement with available experimental data. The present results
confirm that the repulsion induced
by the $\Lambda NN$ force properly corrects the saturation property of
the hyperon separation energy that is strongly overestimated by
the use of a bare $\Lambda N$ interaction.
A $\Lambda\Lambda$ effective interaction has also been applied to
the study of $^{\;\;\,6}_{\Lambda\Lambda}$He. Results are in good agreement with
the available experimental data.
This is a first step in the study of $S=-2$
$\Lambda$~hypernuclei with QMC calculations, for which there are
controversial results both from theoretical and experimental studies.
The three-body $\Lambda NN$ interaction used in this work provides a stronger
repulsion than in our previous more qualitative results. On the
grounds of this observation, we feel confident that the application of the
$\Lambda N+\Lambda NN$ (and possibly $\Lambda\Lambda$) interaction to the
study of the homogeneous medium will lead to a stiff equation of state
for the $\Lambda$ neutron matter. This fact helps to understand how the
necessary appearance of hyperons at some value of
the nucleon density in the inner core of a neutron star
might eventually be compatible with the observed neutron star
masses of order $2~M_\odot$~\cite{Demorest:2010,Antoniadis:2013}.
A study along this direction is in progress and encouraging results are
indeed already available.
\section{Acknowledgments}
\label{sec:acknowledgments}
This work has been partially performed at LISC, Interdisciplinary
Laboratory for Computational Science, a joint venture of the University
of Trento and Bruno Kessler Foundation. Support and computer time
were partly made available by the AuroraScience project (funded by the
Autonomous Province of Trento and INFN), and by Los Alamos Open Supercomputing.
This research used also resources of the National Energy Research
Scientific Computing Center, which is supported by the Office of
Science of the U.S. Department of Energy under Contract No.
DE-AC02-05CH11231.
The work of S.~G. was supported by the Department of Energy Nuclear
Physics Office, by the NUCLEI SciDAC program, and by a Los Alamos LDRD
early career grant.
\bibliographystyle{apsrev4-1}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 5,288 |
Copyright
Copyright © 1960 by Georgette Heyer
Cover and internal design © 2012 by Sourcebooks, Inc.
Cover design by Dawn Adams/Sourcebooks
Cover image Crossing the Threshold, the New Bride, 1886 (w/c), Glindoni, Henry Gillard (1852-1913)/Private Collection/Photo © Bonhams, London, UK/The Bridgeman Art Library
Sourcebooks and the colophon are registered trademarks of Sourcebooks, Inc.
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious or are used fictitiously. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Published by Sourcebooks Casablanca, an imprint of Sourcebooks, Inc.
P.O. Box 4410, Naperville, Illinois 60567-4410
(630) 961-3900
FAX: (630) 961-2168
www.sourcebooks.com
Originally published in the United Kingdom in 1960 by William Heinemann Ltd
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Heyer, Georgette.
Pistols for two, and other stories / by Georgette Heyer.
p. cm.
1. England—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. I. Title.
PR6015.E795P57 2012
823'.912—dc23
2011043332
# Contents
Front Cover
Title Page
Copyright
Pistols for Two
A Clandestine Affair
Bath Miss
Pink Domino
A Husband for Fanny
To Have the Honour
Night at the Inn
The Duel
Hazard
Snowdrift
Full Moon
An excerpt from Sylvester
An excerpt from Venetia
About the Author
Back Cover
# Pistols for Two
## 1
In the end, the quarrel, smouldering for so many weeks, flared up over such a trifle that anyone, Tom reflected, would have laughed to have known the cause. Only they had not really reached pistol-point because Jack had stepped backward in a doorway, and cannoned into him, making him spill his glass of champagne, and treading on his foot. Nor had Jack turned pale and tight-lipped with anger because he had cursed him for being a clumsy oaf. If you had known a fellow from the cradle, had played with him, gone to school with him, shot, fished, and hunted with him, you could curse him with impunity, and either it ended in a bout of fisticuffs or in laughter: not in a meeting in the chill morning, attended by seconds. Even had they not been such close friends that sort of thing was out of date: rubbishing stuff, fit only for the stage! Tom's grandfather, of course, had been out five times, if the family legends were to be believed, on the most trifling provocation. He had once fought Jack's great-uncle George – and very comical they must have looked, Jack and he had often thought, giggling over it, with their shaven polls (for they had worn wigs, both of them), and the absurd ruffles they affected in place of wristbands, and had to tuck up, and their bare feet probably much bruised by the unkind ground. Nowadays, if one fought a duel, one chose pistols, and one didn't make a cake of oneself over the business. But very few people did fight duels, and certainly not because they had been jostled in doorways.
Only it wasn't that. This unthinkable situation had arisen out of something far more serious. Not that one could call Marianne Treen serious: she was the gayest and most light-hearted of all possible causes of dissension.
Strange what changes a few years could wreak in a female! There had been nothing remarkable in little Marianne Treen before she went south to boarding-school: in fact Tom could distinctly recall that he and Jack and Harry Denver had thought her a silly creature, with freckles on her nose, and a tiresome way of intruding where girls were not wanted. Her departure from Yorkshire left their withers unwrung; and since she spent her holidays in London, with her grandmama, they were very soon able to forget her.
But she had come back to Yorkshire. She had enjoyed a brilliant London season, and when most of the haut ton had gone to Brighton, Mrs Treen had brought her home to Treen Hall, and the neighbourhood had renewed their acquaintance with her at one of the assemblies at High Harrowgate. A stunning shock that had been to all the young gentlemen for miles around, for who would have supposed that this dazzling beauty was none other than freckled little Marianne, who was used to whine: 'Let me come with you! Oh, pray, let me come too!'
They rarely had let her, and now she had her revenge on them. Only she was too sweet and too gay to care for that, and if she did favour some more than others it was easy to see that she used her best endeavours to be impartial.
Jack and Tom were her favourites, as they were certainly the most assiduous, of her courtiers. Everyone laughed at this, and they were roasted a little for doing everything together, even when it came to falling in love for the first time. That did nothing to soothe exacerbated tempers. It was a strange and a deplorable circumstance that one's relatives were unable to see when one was in earnest, but, on the contrary, laboured under the delusion that if one had not yet come down from Oxford one was too young to think of marriage.
Each knew himself to be an eligible suitor. Perhaps Jack had a little the advantage over Tom, for his father was a baronet. But Tom's father was the Squire, which counted for something, and Tom was his only son, whereas Jack had two younger brothers to be provided for.
At first their courtship had been unattended by any rancour. They were agreed that Marianne was incomparable, and their rivalry had been conducted in the friendliest spirit. Perhaps neither knew when the change had crept into their relationship with one another. Perhaps Jack was jealous of Tom's superior height, and breadth of shoulder (sure to appeal to a female!); perhaps Tom envied Jack his air of elegance, and his handsome profile. Whatever the cause, the rift appeared between them. They had become hostile, each eyeing the other with suspicion, each on the watch for any cause for offence. A dozen times they had come within an ace of indulging in a maul; but never until this disastrous night had they considered the possibility of settling their quarrel at dawn, in Stanhope's Clearing – by tradition an honourable meeting-place.
That Marianne would choose one or other of them before the summer ended neither doubted. The only question was which it would be, and this made it of paramount importance that neither should steal an unfair advantage over the other. After one or two squabbles they had agreed to this – or so Tom had believed, until on this night of the Treens' Dress Party he had beheld with his own eyes the proof of Jack's perfidy. Both had meant to send Marianne a posy of flowers to carry at the ball, with a suitable message attached to the holder: which posy she chose would clearly indicate her heart's preference. Tom had bullied the Squire's head gardener into making up an exquisite bouquet of pink roses and sweet-peas. He had ridden over to Treen Hall himself that morning, to leave the tribute with the Treens' quelling butler, and the most shocking mischance had occurred. The mare had been stung by a horsefly, and Tom, that bruising rider, lost in some beatific dream, and riding with a loose rein and his head in the clouds, had abruptly parted company with Bess. Alas for the delicate bouquet grasped in his right hand! A shower of petals in the road, a dismal array of broken stalks in the filigree holder: that was all that remained of it.
He had only just caught Bess when, as ill-fortune would have it, Jack came driving along the road from Melbury Court in his smart new tilbury. A bouquet of yellow roses lay on the seat beside him, so that there was no need to enquire his errand.
Three months earlier Jack would have roared with laughter at Tom's mishap; today Jack was politeness itself, and not even the sight of that abject posy did more than make his lip quiver. Jack had had the infernal impudence to behave with magnanimity. He had said that since misfortune had overtaken Tom he should not present his own bouquet. This was precisely what Tom had been about to demand as his due, under the terms of their agreement. He said so, hating Jack for his punctiliousness. So Jack smiled in a slighting way, and had more than hinted that only a cork-brained fellow like Tom would have thought of offering pink roses to a goddess whose hair was a glorious Titian red.
Tom had brooded over it all the afternoon, but it was not then that the thought of calling Jack out had even remotely occurred to him. It hadn't really occurred to him when, on arriving at Treen Hall that evening, he had seen Marianne, adorable in a cloud of jonquil gauze over a white satin robe, holding in one gloved hand a posy of yellow roses. If any reasoned thought found room in his brain, it was merely a vague resolve to give Jack a leveller at the first convenient opportunity – if (for Jack was a clever boxer) Jack did not first plant him a heavy facer.
It was a very grand party, with several London swells, who were staying at Treen Hall, much in evidence. At any other time, Tom, aspiring to fashion, would have taken careful note of the folds of the neckcloth worn by the Tulip talking to Mrs Treen, or regarded with envy the cut of the coat moulded across the shoulders of the gentleman from London who was dancing with Marianne. He would not have been jealous of this personage, for all his handsome face, and exquisite bearing, for he was quite old – thirty at least, Tom judged – and probably already the father of a hopeful family.
All his jealousy, all his seething rancour, was reserved for Jack, his closest friend. Mr Treen's excellent champagne did nothing to assuage it. Before an hour had elapsed it must have been a very obtuse person who failed to realize that the two handsome boys from the Manor and Melbury Court were itching to be at one another's throats.
And then Jack, stepping back politely for an elderly gentleman to pass him, trod on Tom's toes, and made him spill his champagne.
## 2
Somehow they were confronting one another in the small saloon that led out of the ballroom, and Tom was cursing Jack, and Jack, instead of punching him in the ribs, or meekly apologizing for his clumsiness, was standing straight and stiff, white-faced and close-lipped, his pleasant grey eyes as cold and as hard as the granite of the country. Then Tom had uttered the words from which there could be no retreat. 'I shall send my friends to wait on yours!' he said, in a grand way that was only marred by his shaking voice of fury.
Dear, good Harry Denver, who had seen the encounter, and had followed the injured parties into the saloon, tried to make peace, urging them not to be gudgeons, to remember where they were.
'Harry, will you act for me?' demanded Tom.
Poor Harry stuttered and floundered. 'Now, Tom, you know this is the outside of enough! Jack meant no harm! Jack, for God's sake – !'
'I am perfectly ready to meet Mr Crawley, when and where he pleases!' replied Jack, in a chill, brittle voice.
'Be good enough to name your friends, Mr Frith!' said Tom, not to be outdone in formality.
'Jack, you're not three parts foxed!' Harry said urgently. 'Don't be such a damned fool, man!'
Then he saw that they were no longer alone. The gentleman from London, who had been waltzing with Marianne, had come into the saloon, and closed the door behind him. All three young men glared at him, the hostility of the native towards the stranger patent in their eyes.
'You must forgive me!' he said affably. 'An affair of honour, I collect? So much better to shut the door, don't you agree? Can I be of service to either of you?'
They stared at him. Harry, in desperate need of an ally, blurted out the ostensible cause of the quarrel, and besought the gentleman from London to assure the sworn enemies that they were behaving like idiots.
Jack, who had been mentally passing in review his acquaintances in the district, and rejecting them all as being unsuitable candidates for the post of second, said haughtily: 'I am persuaded no man of honour would advise another to refuse a challenge. Of course, if Mr Crawley cares to withdraw his rash words –'
This was a studied insult, as Tom well knew, for Jack was by far the better shot. He snapped out one word: 'No!'
'But they mustn't fight!' Harry protested, distress writ plain on his honest countenance. 'Sir, tell them so!'
The gentleman from London said apologetically: 'But I am in agreement with Mr Frith. A man of honour, sir, cannot refuse such a challenge.'
Jack looked at him with a certain approval, but said stiffly: 'You have the advantage of me, sir.'
'My name is Kilham,' said the gentleman from London. 'May I again offer my services? I shall be happy to act for you, Mr Frith.'
Three pairs of young eyes stared at him. One might live remote from London, but one was not such a Johnny Raw that one had not heard of Sir Gavin Kilham, friend of princes, member of the Bow Window set at White's, amateur of sport, Nonesuch amongst whips, arbiter of fashion. No wonder the folds of his neckcloth baffled the closest scrutiny! no wonder his coat fitted him like a glove!
Jack, bemused at the thought of having such an exalted person for his second, swallowed, and only just managed to achieve a creditable bow; Tom ground his teeth in rage that Jack should yet again have all the luck; and Harry, in relief, supposed that Beau Kilham must know as well as any man what ought now to be done. He ventured to say: 'I – I shall call upon you, sir, at your convenience!'
'That might be a trifle awkward,' said Sir Gavin, to whom the tragic situation seemed to be the merest commonplace. 'I am only a guest in this house, you see. Let us settle it here and now!'
Harry, who had a dim notion that the correct behaviour of a second was to seek a reconciliation between the principals, looked doubtful, but the prospective duellists emphatically applauded the suggestion.
Sir Gavin, drawing out his snuff-box, flicked it open, and took a delicate pinch. 'Since we, sir, have the choice, we shall elect to fight with pistols, at twenty-five yards, tomorrow, at an hour and a place which I shall ask you to suggest.'
Deep trouble was in Harry's face, for the longer range gave all the advantage to the better shot. Before he could speak, Jack said, quite insufferably, Tom considered: 'I prefer to fight Mr Crawley at a range of twelve yards, sir.'
'Well, I won't fight you at twelve yards!' retorted Tom furiously. 'Twenty-five, and be damned to you!'
'Tom, do, for God's sake – ! Now, listen, you crazy fools, this is nonsense! The quarrel can be composed in a trice!' exclaimed Harry.
They rounded on him, all their pent-up feelings finding expression in the loathing with which they commanded him to hold his tongue.
So there was nothing for poor Harry to do but to appoint the time and the place, both of which Sir Gavin accepted with the utmost amiability.
Then a paralysing thought occurred to all three young gentlemen.
'The – the weapons?' uttered Harry, exchanging an anguished glance with Tom.
For a moment no one said anything. Sir Gavin's lazy eyes were lowered to the contemplation of his charming snuff-box, and if his lips twitched it was so tiny a betrayal that it passed unnoticed. Bitter reflections on the ways of fathers, who kept under lock and key their duelling-pistols (if indeed they owned such things) possessed the minds of Jack and Tom. Anyone would have thought that a prudent parent would have given his son a good pair of Manton pistols instead of a pair of shot-guns, and would have taught him how to conduct himself in such a situation as this. Neither Sir John nor the Squire had made the least push to be of real service to their heirs; and intimate knowledge of both gentlemen could only lead those heirs to face the disagreeable fact that an appeal to them now would end in nothing but the summary end to their quarrel.
Harry, anxious though he might be to stop the affair, was not going to allow the gentleman from London to suppose that his principal owned no duelling-pistols. He said that unfortunately Tom's pistols had been sent back to the maker for a trifling repair. Jack was not going to be outdone by this sort of thing, and since he could not think of any reason that was not grossly plagiaristic for failing to produce a pair of pistols of his own, he said, with an odiously curling lip: 'Strange that I should not have been permitted to see Mr Crawley's weapons!'
'You have none either, so be damned to that humbug!' instantly replied Tom.
'In that case,' said Sir Gavin, restoring the snuff-box to his pocket, 'I will be responsible for the weapons. And since the hour of the meeting is not far distant, may I suggest that you should both now retire from this party, and go home to get what sleep you can? Mr Frith, I shall call for you in my curricle at half-past five; Mr Denver, I should like a word with you before we part!'
## 3
It was easy to talk of sleeping if you were only the second in an encounter, Tom reflected bitterly. He had slipped away from Treen Hall, and had driven himself home by the light of a full moon. The chill air sweeping over the moors cooled his head, and, to a great extent, his rage. By the time he reached the Manor, and had stabled the cob, he was finding it increasingly difficult to look forward with any pleasure to the morrow – no, not the morrow: it was past midnight, he observed, as he entered the Manor, and saw the tall-case clock at the foot of the stairs.
His mother had gone to bed, but as ill-luck would have it, the Squire was still up, and called to him from the library. 'Is that you, Tom?'
He was obliged to go into the room, and there was his father, and not alone either. He was playing chess with Sir John Frith. Tom regarded Sir John in the light of an uncle, and was much attached to him, but there was no one he wanted to see less tonight.
'You are back very early,' remarked the Squire, shooting a look up at him under his bushy brows.
'Yes, sir,' he said, in a careless voice. 'It was such a squeeze – and Harry and I mean to go out early, to fish the Brown Pool.'
'Oh!' said the Squire, his gaze bent again on the board. 'You have me, John, I fancy.'
'I think so,' agreed his guest. 'Jack going with you, Tom?'
Tom knew the tell-tale colour was rising to his cheeks. 'Yes – oh yes!' he stammered, feeling like a Judas – only that it was more likely that it would be he, and not Jack, who would be brought home on a hurdle so few short hours ahead.
'Glad to hear it!' said Sir John. 'Better than dangling after a petticoat at your age, pair of young fools that you are!'
That was the way dotards of forty-five (and very likely even older) talked to one, so senile they had forgotten what it meant to be young, and in love! Tom said stiffly that he would go to bed.
'Yes, you go,' agreed his father. 'Good night, my boy: don't wake the whole household when you get up! The mistake I made, John, was in moving my queen's bishop when I did.'
Tom went away, quite unnoticed by the insensate old men, who were already playing their game all over again. The last thing he wanted was for either of them to suspect the truth, but somehow it made him feel ill-used and resentful that they didn't even notice that something was amiss.
When he got into bed he hoped that Harry would not oversleep. Harry was coming to fetch him in his gig, and it would be a dreadful thing if he were to be late on the ground, perhaps oversleeping himself. The gentleman from London would certainly bring his man punctually to the rendezvous.
He soon found that there was no fear of his oversleeping. He could not sleep at all. He tossed and turned; threw off blankets; pulled them over him again; punched his pillows – all to no avail. He was wide awake, his mind so lively that his thoughts crowded in on it, jostling one another in a restless, worrying way he was not at all accustomed to.
He was not, he thought, afraid – or, at any rate, not more afraid than one was before going out to bat at Eton; but he felt sorry for his father, who would in all probability come down to breakfast to be greeted with the pleasing intelligence that the hope of his house was either a lifeless corpse, or hideously wounded. His mother would never recover from the blow; and what a terrible thing it would be for Sir John and Lady Frith, with their heir obliged to fly the country, and all communication with the Manor severed from that hour! Poor, deluded Uncle John, asking so casually if Jack were going fishing too!
Suddenly, as that thought flitted into his head, it was elbowed out by another: if only it had been true, and he and Jack were going to tramp off through the dewy early morning, sandwiches in their pockets, rods in their hands, creels on their backs, and nothing between them but the comfortable, idle chat of close friendship! No need for Harry on that expedition; in fact, better without Harry, though he might come if he chose, for he was a good sort of a fellow – a very faithful friend, really, though not to compare, of course, with Jack. He was apt to be a little in the way sometimes, as when he had gone with them when – Tom checked that thought quickly. Fatal to remember all the things he and Jack had done together, and the sport they had had, and the scrapes they had plunged into! That was all over; and even if their encounter did not end in the death of one of them, nothing would ever be the same again between them. But he couldn't help remembering, and it didn't seem to be of any use to dwell on Jack's miserable double-dealing today, because whether Jack gave Marianne flowers behind his best friend's back, or whether he behaved as impeccably as one had been so sure he would, he was still the friend who had shared one's every thought, helped one out of tight corners, called on one for instant aid himself, so that one would as readily have doubted Father's loyalty as his.
And it was all because of freckled little Marianne Treen, who was a shocking flirt, when one came to consider the matter dispassionately, and probably didn't care a rap for either of them! One dance each – and only country dances at that! – had she granted them tonight, but she had waltzed twice with Sir Gavin Kilham, and had engaged herself to another town-buck for the quadrille. When one thought of the time one had wasted, trying to fix her interest – yes, wasted was the word! All these summer months, when he and Jack might have been so much better employed, squandered on toadying a chit who had never been anything but a dead bore to either of them!
The more one thought of it the less vivid grew Marianne's present image, the clearer the memory of a tiresome little girl with freckles, spoiling one's sport by insisting on accompanying one, and then falling into the brook, or complaining that she was tired, or dared not cross a field with cows grazing in it. The idea that he and Jack – Jack! – should stand up to shoot at one another for the sake of Marianne Treen would have been a grand jest if it had not been so tragic. And just suppose that by some quirk of fortune it was not Jack's bullet that found its mark, but his? Why, if that happened he would blow out his own brains, because there would be nothing left in all the world for Jack's friend to do!
## 4
When his thoughts had slid into unquiet dreams he did not know, but he must have dozed a little, for he opened his eyes to find that the moonlight was no longer sliding between the chinks of the blinds, but a disagreeable morning-light instead. His watch informed him that it was after five o'clock, so he sprang out of his tumbled bed in a hurry. By the time he heard stealthy footsteps on the gravel-walk below his window, he was dressed, and he leaned out to tell Harry so. Harry had been about to throw a handful of pebbles up, but he dropped them, and made signs indicating that it was time to be off.
Tom stole downstairs, and slipped out of the house by a side door. No one was stirring. He and Harry went in silence down the drive to where Harry had left his gig.
Harry said, unhitching the reins from the gate-post: 'You know, I don't like this above half, old fellow.'
One could not draw back from an encounter, particularly when it was one's first, and one had never had the chance to prove one's mettle. 'Do you imagine I am going to cry off?' demanded Tom.
'Well, I don't know,' said Harry, climbing up beside him into the gig. 'After all, you and Jack – !'
'Don't waste your breath on me!' recommended Tom. 'Try what Jack will say to you! If I know him you'll have a short answer!'
'You couldn't expect Jack to draw back,' said Harry.
'I don't!'
'No, but I mean it wasn't his challenge! You were foxed, Tom – you know you were!'
'No, I was not,' said Tom.
'Dash it, to call a man out only because he jostles you in a doorway, without in the least meaning to –'
'It wasn't that,' answered Tom. 'And it's no use to prose at me: I shan't listen!'
So Harry said no more, and the rest of the drive was accomplished in silence. They came punctually on to the ground, just as a white-winged curricle with a pair of magnificent bays harnessed in the bar bowled up the broad woodland ride. Only two men sat in it, nor was there any sign of a doctor. Tom wondered if his stolid second would point this omission out to Sir Gavin. It was not, he decided, for himself to mention the matter. He stole one look at Jack, alighting from the curricle, and casting off the drab overcoat he wore, and then averted his gaze. Jack was still wearing his flint-face, and his eyes did not warm an atom as fleetingly they met his. Tom looked instead at those match-bays, thinking how much he would like to ask Jack if they were the sweet-goers they looked to be, and whether Sir Gavin had allowed him to handle the ribbons.
Sir Gavin was walking unhurriedly across the clearing to meet Harry. He wore top-boots polished till you might almost see your face in them; and a many-caped benjamin; and he carried an ominous case under one arm. He and Harry conferred together, and inspected the wicked-looking weapons in that case, and paced out the ground. Tom felt queasy, and rather cold, and a leaden weight seemed to have settled in his chest. He wished the seconds would make haste: they were being maddeningly deliberate. Another glance at Jack showed him that Jack was perfectly cool and collected, only rather pale.
Harry was coming towards him, to conduct him to his position. Sir Gavin was holding the pistols by their barrels; Jack took one in his right hand, and stood with it pointing downwards, his body turned sideways from his adversary.
Sir Gavin gave Harry the second pistol. He saw that it was cocked, and took it carefully, thankful to see that his hand was quite steady. He listened to what Sir Gavin was saying, about dropping his handkerchief, and nodded. Then Sir Gavin and Harry both stepped back, and he was looking straight at Jack, across, as it seemed to him, a vast stretch of greensward.
The handkerchief was fluttering aloft in the light breeze; it dropped, and Tom deliberately fired high in the air. His eyes were fixed on Jack, and even before he realized that his weapon had misfired he saw Jack's hand jerk up, so that his gun too pointed skywards. Only Jack didn't even take the trouble to pull the trigger, apparently, for nothing happened – not even a flash in the pan. Suddenly Tom was indignant with Jack for behaving in this heroic style, and he flung down his pistol, and strode forward, exclaiming: 'What the devil do you mean by that? Shoot, damn you! Deloping – not even pulling the trigger – !'
'I did pull the trigger!' Jack retorted. 'The curst piece misfired! It was you who didn't shoot! You crazy fool, I might have killed you!'
'You aimed in the air!' said Tom. 'Serve you right if I had killed you! I won't have it! Damn it, it's insulting!'
'So did you fire in the air!' Jack flung at him. 'And you might as well have aimed at me, because you couldn't hit a barn at twenty-five yards!'
'Oh, couldn't I?' said Tom.
'No – or at twelve!'
'Oh?' said Tom. 'Well, there's one thing I can do, and that's draw your cork!'
'You may try!' said Jack, casting his own pistol from him, and putting up his fists.
They closed with enthusiasm, far too anxious to get to grips to waste time in taking off their coats. It was rather a scrambling fight, because the coats hampered them, and mingled relief and exasperation made them spar wildly, and soon fall into a clinch, each striving to throw the other a cross-buttock. Since Tom was the larger and the stronger of the two the outcome of that was never in doubt.
'Damn you!' panted Jack, picking himself up, and rubbing one elbow.
They looked at one another. Tom's fists sank. 'Jack,' he said uncertainly, 'we – we came to fight a duel!'
Jack's mouth quivered. He bit his underlip, but it was to no avail. If Tom had not begun to grin, like the gudgeon he was, he might have kept his countenance, but Tom was grinning, and the huge bubble of laughter which had been growing within him burst.
## 5
The same thought occurred to both of them, as the gusts of mirth died, and they wiped their streaming eyes. 'Neither pistol went off!' Jack said.
'By God, you're right!' Tom said, and swung round to confront the seconds.
Both he and Jack had forgotten the presence of the gentleman from London when they came to fisticuffs. Torn between wrath at his suspected falsity, and dread of his contempt for their schoolboyish behaviour, they glared at him, flushed, and still panting.
Sir Gavin, who was seated negligently on a tree-stump, rose, and strolled forward, saying approvingly: 'Excellent! Rather glaringly abroad sometimes, perhaps, but I should like to see you both stripped. When you come to London you must tell me of your visit, and I'll take you to Jackson's Boxing Saloon.'
This gratifying invitation, from a noted Patron of the Ring, could not but mollify the injured feelings of the late combatants. Decency, however, had to be preserved. 'Sir,' said Jack accusingly, 'neither my friend's gun nor mine was loaded!'
'Do you know, that notion has just crossed my mind?' said Sir Gavin. 'I have such a wretched memory! Really, I must apologize, but I am quite famous for my lapses, and you must forgive me.'
They had a suspicion they were being laughed at, but it was very difficult to pick a quarrel with the gentleman from London. Tom solved the problem by rounding on Harry, and saying sternly: 'You should have inspected the weapons! You're my second!'
'I did!' said Harry, going off into a guffaw.
It might be difficult to know how to deal with the gentleman from London, but there was no difficulty at all in deciding how to deal with Harry – who had had the effrontery to make fools of two persons who, out of sheer compassion, had suffered him to join them occasionally in their chosen pursuits. They eyed him measuringly, and they advanced upon him in a purposeful way.
The gentleman from London seemed to be in the path. He said: 'The blame rests entirely on my shoulders. Er – did you wish to kill one another?'
'No!' said Jack. 'And it was – it was dashed officious of you, sir, to leave out the ball, for we meant all the time to delope!'
'My lack of tact often keeps me awake at night,' apologized Sir Gavin. 'You see, I was requested – by a lady – to intervene in your quarrel, so what else could I do?'
Jack looked at Tom, a little trouble in his face, as he recalled the events of the previous evening. 'Tom, why?' he asked.
Tom flushed. 'It don't signify! I dare say all's fair in – in love and war, but it was the roses! I never thought you would use me so!'
'What roses?' Jack demanded.
'Yours. The ones she carried!'
'They were not mine!' Jack said, his eyes kindling. 'By Jupiter, Tom, I have a mind to call you out for thinking I would serve you such a backhanded turn! It passes everything, so it does!'
'Not yours?' ejaculated Tom.
Sir Gavin coughed deprecatingly. 'If you refer to the roses Miss Treen carried last night, they were mine!' They stared at him. 'I hope you will not both call me out,' he said, 'but the fact is that Miss Treen has done me the honour to become my affianced wife. Our betrothal was announced at supper last night.'
This was shocking news. Each unsuccessful suitor tried to realize that his life was blighted, and failed. Tom said, with dignity: 'You might have told us so last night, sir!'
'I might, of course, but I had the oddest notion that it wouldn't have been of the least avail,' confessed Sir Gavin.
They thought this over. A reluctant grin overset Tom's dignity. 'Well, perhaps not,' he conceded.
Jack executed his best bow. 'We must beg leave to wish you happy, sir,' he said nobly.
'I am very much obliged to you,' responded Sir Gavin, with great civility.
'I suppose,' said Tom, blushing, 'you think we have made great cakes of ourselves, sir?'
'Not at all,' said Sir Gavin. 'You have conducted yourselves with perfect propriety, and I am happy to have assisted in an affair of honour so creditable to both parties. Let us repair to the inn beyond this charming coppice, and partake of breakfast! I bespoke it half an hour ago, and I am sure it will by now be awaiting us. Besides, I do not care to keep my horses standing any longer.'
'I should think not indeed!' Tom exclaimed. 'I say, sir, what a bang-up set-out it is! Real blood-and-bone!'
'I am so glad you like them,' said Sir Gavin. 'Do, pray, try their paces as far as to the Rising Sun! If you will allow me, I will drive the gig.'
It was rather too much to expect two budding whips to nurse their broken hearts when offered the chance of driving a match-pair of thoroughbreds. Briefly but fervently thanking Sir Gavin, Tom and Jack hurried off to the curricle, arguing with some heat on which of them was first to handle the ribbons.
Sir Gavin, devoutly trusting that his confidence in their ability to cope with a high-couraged pair had not been misplaced, took his fellow-second by the arm, and pushed him gently towards the humbler gig.
# A Clandestine Affair
Miss Tresilian surveyed the young couple before her with perturbation in her usually humorous grey eyes. Not that there was anything in the picture presented by Mr Rosely and Miss Lucy Tresilian to dismay the most captious of critics, for a better-looking pair would have been hard to find: the lady was a glowing brunette, the gentleman a fair youth with golden locks, classic features, and a graceful figure. He was dressed very correctly for a morning visit in a blue coat, with fawn pantaloons and Hessian boots; and if the folds of his neckcloth did not aspire to dandified heights it was easy to see that he had arranged these to the best of his ability. Mr Rosely, in fact, was doing justice to a momentous occasion: he had come to make an offer for the hand of Miss Tresilian's niece.
He said, with a shy smile: 'It can't, I fancy, come as a surprise to you, ma'am! You have been so kind that I'm persuaded – that is, I have ventured to indulge the hope that you wouldn't be displeased.'
No, it had not come as a surprise to Miss Tresilian. It was nearly a year since Mr Rosely had been introduced to Lucy in the Lower Rooms, at Bath; but although Lucy did not want for admirers, and it was scarcely to be supposed that anyone so handsomely endowed in face and fortune as Mr Rosely had not had a great many caps set at him, neither had swerved in allegiance since that date. Nor could Miss Tresilian deny that she had favoured the match: it had seemed so eminently suitable!
'Of course she's not displeased!' said Lucy. 'You knew from the start how it was, didn't you, Aunt Elinor?'
'Yes,' acknowledged Miss Tresilian. 'But I didn't know until I brought you to London, love, that the connection was disliked by Arthur's family.'
'Oh, no!' he said quickly. 'Only by Iver! My sister likes it excessively!'
'And Lord Iver is only Arthur's cousin,' said Lucy. 'Removed, too! Scarcely a relation at all!'
He demurred at this, saying diffidently: 'Well, it's more than that, for he has been my guardian, you know. I wouldn't for the world displease him, only that in this case he fancies we are both of us too young – or some such nonsense! He will come about! Particularly if I am able to tell him you don't frown on the marriage, ma'am!'
'No, I don't frown upon it,' said Miss Tresilian, 'but I agree with Lord Iver that you are very young. This is Lucy's first season, you know, and –'
'How can you, aunt?' protested her niece. 'I may not have been regularly presented until last month, but you know you would have brought me to town a year ago if Aunt Clara hadn't insisted she was too unwell to be left alone! Why, I am nineteen, and have been out in Bath above a twelve-month!'
'Yes, my dear, but I never knew until just the other day how awkwardly Arthur is situated. Or even that he had a guardian, much less –'
'No, no, ma'am!' interrupted Mr Rosely anxiously. 'Iver isn't my guardian now that I am of age, but only my trustee! He has no power to prevent my marriage – no authority over me at all!'
'It appears to me that if he holds your purse-strings until you are five-and-twenty he has a great deal of power over you,' responded Miss Tresilian dryly.
He looked troubled, but said: 'He wouldn't – I know he wouldn't! People think him tyrannical, but he has never been so to me! The kindest of guardians – and he must have wished me at the devil, for I was only eight when my father died, and he not much above five-and-twenty. I wonder he didn't leave me to be reared in my own house, for I was used to follow him about like a tanthony-pig!'
Miss Tresilian refrained from comment. It seemed to her unlikely that Mr Rosely had ever offered Lord Iver the least pretext for a display of tyranny, for while she could not but acknowledge the sweetness of his disposition she did not feel that resolution was amongst his many virtues. No hint of a strong will was to be detected in his delicate countenance, none of the determination that characterized Lucy.
'And even if he doesn't consent, we shall come off all right,' said Lucy cheerfully. 'After all, I have quite a genteel fortune of my own, and we can subsist on that, until your stupid Trust comes to an end.'
But at this Miss Tresilian intervened, saying firmly that neither she nor Lucy's papa could countenance an engagement entered into without Lord Iver's sanction. Lucy, always outspoken, said: 'Dearest, you know that's fudge! All Papa would say is that you must settle it as you think best!'
Miss Tresilian laughed, but said: 'Well, I can't settle it, precisely, but I can and must forbid an engagement at this present. I am very sorry for you both, but unless Lord Iver should change his mind I am afraid there is nothing for it but to wait until Arthur's fortune passes into his own hands.'
It was not to be expected that two young persons deep in love could view with anything but dismay the prospect of waiting more than three years before becoming engaged. Mr Rosely took a dejected leave of the ladies, and went away, saying that he was sure he must be able to prevail upon Iver to relent; and Lucy at once set about the task of convincing her aunt that her attachment to her Arthur was no girlish fancy to be speedily forgotten.
It was unnecessary. Although she had been virtually in her aunt's charge since her childhood only fifteen years separated them, and the bonds of affection between them were strong. Miss Tresilian knew that her niece was neither volatile nor impressionable. She had been much courted in Bath, but none of her suitors, before the arrival on the scene of Mr Rosely, had done so much as turn her head. But she had fallen in love with Mr Rosely at first sight, and not for the sake of his handsome face. 'Handsome?' said Lucy. 'I suppose he is – oh, yes, of course he is! Everyone says so! But, to own the truth, I don't in general care about fair men, and try as I will I cannot admire Grecian profiles!' She added, such a glow in her eyes as Miss Tresilian had never before seen: 'His nature is by far more beautiful than his countenance. He has so much sensibility – such quickness of apprehension! It is as though we had known each other all our lives. Oh, my dearest aunt, I never dreamed I could be so happy!'
No, Lucy was not likely to fall out of love, nor was it possible to suppose her to be infatuated. She seemed to be aware of the flaw in his character, for when her aunt ventured to suggest that his amiability perhaps made him a trifle too persuadable she replied without hesitation: 'Exactly so! I don't mean to say that he could be persuaded to do wrong, for his principles are fixed; but his nature is gentle, and his diffidence leads him to rely more on another's judgment than his own. That is one reason why I can't and won't wait for nearly four years before marrying him!'
'Lucy dear, could you be happy with a husband who would allow you to rule the roast?'
'To own the truth,' replied Lucy mischievously, 'I have a strong notion that I couldn't be happy with any other! You know what a detestably managing disposition I have!' She added, in a more serious tone: 'Please help me, dear Aunt Elinor! If there were any reason for Lord Iver's refusal to give his consent I promise you I would respect it! There is none! But Arthur has been so much in the habit of deferring to him that if all must remain at a stand for nearly four years – Oh, aunt, he is the horridest creature, and my enemy besides! I couldn't mistake! I have met him only once, when Mrs Crewe took me to the Waltons' ball, and Arthur brought him up to me, but he looked at me in such a way! If I had been a shabby-genteel wretch on the catch for a rich husband he couldn't have been more repelling! But he must know I'm nothing of the kind, for Lady Windlesham does – and if Arthur's sister likes the match I wish you will tell me what right Lord Iver has –' She checked herself. 'Well! Talking won't pay toll. Think for me, Aunt Elinor! Useless to suppose that Arthur will be able to bring that creature about!'
***
Even less than her niece did Miss Tresilian believe that Mr Rosely's efforts would meet with success, and much more astonished than Lucy was she when, two days later, Lord Iver came to call at the slim house in Green Street which she had hired for the season. Indeed, the news that he was awaiting her in the drawing-room startled her into exclaiming: 'Oh, no! No, no, I cannot – !' However, she recollected herself almost immediately, sent the servant down again to tell his lordship she would be with him directly, and turned to cast an anxious glance at her reflection in the mirror.
With the buoyancy of youth, Lucy was much inclined to think that Lord Iver had miraculously capitulated, and had come to discuss the marriage settlements. Miss Tresilian, with no such expectation, begged her not to indulge optimism, and trod resolutely downstairs, pledged to support the lovers' cause.
***
The visitor was standing with his back to the room, looking out of the window, but when he heard the door open he turned, and stared with hard, challenging eyes at his hostess.
She shut the door, but remained by it, meeting that fierce scrutiny resolutely. For a minute neither spoke, but each scanned the other, the lady perceiving a powerfully-built man, harsh-featured and swarthy, whose close-cropped hair, sporting neckcloth, and gleaming top-boots proclaimed the Corinthian; the gentleman gazing at an uncommonly pretty woman. Miss Tresilian was on the shady side of thirty, but although she had lately taken to wearing a cap over her soft brown curls, and bore herself with the assurance of her years, she retained the face and figure of a much younger woman.
It was she who broke the silence, saying, as she moved forward: 'You wished, I think, to see me, sir. May I know why?'
He bowed stiffly. 'I am obliged to you for receiving me, ma'am. As to my wishes – ! I thought it best to come here in person, that there should be no misunderstanding between us.'
'Pray be seated, sir!' said Miss Tresilian, disposing herself gracefully in a winged armchair.
He did not avail himself of this invitation, but said abruptly: 'I imagine you must know what my errand is. If you are indeed your niece's guardian – but you will permit me to say that I find it incredible that you should be! She has a father, and you are by far too young to be her guardian!'
'Certainly she has a father,' replied Miss Tresilian coldly. 'When he married again, however, it was agreed that his daughter should remain in my charge. Let me remind you that I am no longer a young woman, sir!'
At this point, the conversation, which had been conducted with the appearance at least of formality, underwent a change. 'I know to a day how old you are, so don't talk nonsense to me!' said his lordship impatiently. 'A more ramshackle arrangement – ! Is your sister with you?'
'No,' said Miss Tresilian, eyeing him with hostility, 'she is not! The indifferent state of her health –'
He gave a crack of sardonic laughter. 'You needn't tell me! Still suffering spasms and vapours to throw a rub in your way, is she?'
'Pray, did you come here merely to discuss my sister's constitution?' demanded Miss Tresilian.
'You know very well why I am here! This lamentable affair between your niece and my cousin – which you appear to have encouraged!'
'I can assure you, however, that had I known of Mr Rosely's relationship to you, sir, I should have done my utmost to discourage an affair which I dislike quite as much as you do!'
'A pretty sort of guardian, not to have made it your business to enquire who were Arthur's relations!' he said scathingly.
'And did you make it your business to acquaint yourself with all Lucy's remote cousins?' she retorted.
'It was unnecessary. I knew her to be your niece, and that was enough! In plain words, I don't wish for the connection, and shall do what I may to put an end to it. Don't under-rate me! you'll find I can do a great deal!'
'Do rid your mind of the notion that the connection is any more welcome to me than it is to you!' begged Miss Tresilian. 'Nothing could be more repugnant to me than an alliance with any member of your family!'
'So I should suppose – since you made it plain enough when you jilted me!'
'If you mean by that that I terminated an unfortunate engagement which you were regretting quite as much as I –'
'I didn't come here to discuss ancient history!' he interrupted roughly.
'Well, if you came merely to inform me that you don't wish your precious cousin to marry Lucy you've wasted your time!' she countered.
'Ah!' instantly responded his lordship. 'So you do support them, do you? I might have known it!'
She was about to repudiate this suggestion when it occurred to her that to do so would scarcely be in accordance with her promise to help her niece. It cost her a severe struggle, but she managed to summon up a smile, and to say with creditable composure: 'Come! It won't serve for us to rip up at each other, Iver. We may regret this business, but a twelve-year-old quarrel between us doesn't constitute a bar to these children's marriage.'
'Have you told your niece?'
'No – any more than you, I collect, have told your cousin! Much good would that do! They would say, and rightly, that it was no concern of theirs!'
'Well, I won't have it!' he announced.
'Now, don't fly into a pelter!' she begged. 'Our differences apart, what is there to be said against the match? Nothing, I dare say, could be more suitable!' She hesitated, and then added, with a little difficulty: 'How odiously selfish we should be if we were to let them break their hearts only because we once quarrelled!'
His lips curled disdainfully. 'Hearts are not so easily broken!'
'No one knows that better than I!' she retorted.
'We need not, then, discuss such an absurdity.'
Realizing, too late, the infelicity of her retort, she tried to recover lost ground. 'Neither of us is in a position to judge what may be the sufferings of two people who truly love one another! Lucy's character is unlike mine: her affection is not easily won, and is by far more tenacious than mine.'
'It could hardly be less!' he interpolated. 'Spare me any more moving speeches! She is young enough to recover from her disappointment, and will no doubt transfer her affections soon enough to some other, and, I trust, equally eligible suitor!'
Stung, she retaliated: 'She might well do that!'
'Oh, play off no airs for my edification!' he said angrily. 'You won't hoax me into believing that you are not well aware that my cousin is one of the biggest prizes in the Matrimonial Mart! A feather in any girl's cap!'
Rising hastily to her feet, she said: 'If I have anything to say to it, he won't be a feather in Lucy's cap, and that, my lord, you may depend on!'
'Thank you!' he replied. 'You have given me the assurance I sought, and I have nothing further to do here than to take my leave of you! Your obedient servant, ma'am!'
***
'Lucy,' said Miss Tresilian, with determined calm, 'if your pride doesn't revolt at the imputation of having snared a rich matrimonial prize, mine does! I am not asking you to put all thought of Arthur out of your head: I am merely saying that until he is in every respect his own master, and you have come of age, I will neither countenance his visits to this house, nor allow you to go where there is the least likelihood of your meeting him.'
The youngest Miss Tresilian said, with a brave attempt to speak lightly: 'Dearest, do you mean to lock me up? I must meet him at all the ton parties, and at Almack's too!'
'I know it,' said her aunt. 'And you know I don't mean to lock you up! I have a much better scheme in mind, and one which I think you must like. Indeed, I know you will, for you have always wished to visit foreign countries, only, of course, while that dreadful Bonaparte was at large it was impossible. Now, however –'
'Oh, no, no!' Lucy cried. 'I don't care a straw for anything Lord Iver may think! He has no power to forbid my marriage to Arthur, and if he is so spiteful as to cut off Arthur's allowance we shall contrive to live tolerably comfortably on my inheritance. And no one will think ill of Arthur for doing so, because the instant he is five-and-twenty he may pay me back every groat, if he feels he ought! All we need is Papa's consent – which is to say yours, my dear aunt!'
'And you won't get it!' said Miss Tresilian, with unusual asperity. 'Dear child, consider! How can you expect me to behave so improperly as to support a marriage which the person most nearly concerned with Arthur's affairs has expressly forbidden?' She saw that her words had struck home, and lost no time in representing to Lucy all the advantages of her scheme. She was listened to in silence, but had the satisfaction, when she had talked herself out of arguments, of being caught into a warm embrace, and tightly hugged.
'You are the best and kindest of aunts!' Lucy declared. 'I do understand what you must feel – indeed, I do! Never would I ask you to do what you think wrong! I had not reflected how impossible it must be for you! Forgive me!'
Much heartened, Miss Tresilian recommended her not to be a goose, and wondered how speedily she could put her plans into execution, and what her exacting elder sister would say when she learned that she meant, instead of returning to her home in Camden Place, to embark on an extended foreign tour.
It could not have been said that Lucy entered into any of the arrangements which occupied Miss Tresilian's every moment during the following week, or evinced the smallest enthusiasm for any of the promised treats in store, but she uttered no protests, and that, in Miss Tresilian's opinion, was as much as could be hoped for in the natural oppression of her spirits. Calculating ways and means, Miss Tresilian paused to consider the likelihood of Mr Rosely's following his inamorata. Probably Lord Iver would scotch any such scheme, but she determined nevertheless to add her prohibition to his.
***
In the event, she was denied the opportunity of private speech with Mr Rosely. Returning to Green Street just after eleven one morning, after a protracted appointment in the City, she was met by her personal maid, who did not scruple to read her a scold for having sallied forth alone on what this severe critic apparently believed to have been an expedition fraught with peril. 'And breakfast waiting for you this hour past!' said Miss Baggeridge, relieving her of her shawl and gloves. 'Now, you sit down this instant, Miss Elinor! Traipsing all about the town, and knocking yourself up like you are! What your poor mama would have said I'm sure I don't know!'
Accustomed from her childhood to her henchwoman's strictures, Miss Tresilian only said, as she removed her becoming hat of chip-straw: 'Where's Miss Lucy? I suppose she breakfasted an hour ago.'
'It's what anyone might suppose of a young lady of quality,' said Miss Baggeridge grimly. 'Though why they should, with you setting her the example you do, miss –'
'– you are sure you don't know!' supplied Miss Tresilian.
Miss Baggeridge fixed her with a kindling eye. 'Well do I know it's not my place to utter a word, miss, and far be it from me to unclose my lips on the subject, but when it comes to a young lady gallivanting about the town without so much as the page-boy to escort her, and carrying a bandbox on her arm like a common person, I couldn't reconcile it with my conscience not to speak!'
'If she was carrying a bandbox, she has only gone to take back that French cambric half-robe which must be altered,' said Miss Tresilian prosaically.
Miss Baggeridge sniffed, but refrained from further comment. Having seen her mistress supplied with fresh coffee and bread and butter, she produced from her pocket a sealed missive, saying, in a grudging tone: 'There's a letter from Miss Clara. There was a shilling to pay on it, too. I suppose you'd better have it, but if I was you, miss, I wouldn't worrit myself with it till you've eaten your breakfast.'
With these sage words of advice she withdrew; and Miss Tresilian, never one to shirk a disagreeable duty, broke the wafer of her sister's letter, and spread open three crossed pages of complaint.
While she sipped her coffee she perused these. Nothing could have been more discouraging than the eldest Miss Tresilian's account of her health, but as her detailed descriptions of the torment she endured from rheumatism, nervous tic, spasm, and insomnia were interspersed with the latest Bath on-dits, and some animadversions on the wretched cards she had held at the whist-table, Miss Elinor Tresilian's withers remained unwrung. She gathered that Clara was contriving to amuse herself tolerably well; was relieved to read no very serious criticism of the indigent lady engaged to act as companion to the invalid; and got up to place the letter in her writing-bureau. She never did so. No sooner had she raised the lid of the bureau than she found herself staring down at a letter addressed to herself in Lucy's handwriting. Clara's missive dropped to the floor, and Miss Tresilian, with a premonition of disaster, snatched up her niece's letter, and tore off the wafer that sealed it.
Dear, dearest aunt, she read. This will come as a Shock to you, and I can only implore you to forgive me, and to understand (as I am persuaded you will) the Exigency of my Situation, nothing less than which could have prevailed upon me to act in a manner as Repugnant to me as, alas, it will be to you. By the time your eyes alight on these lines I shall be many miles distant, and when I Cast myself at your feet to beg your Pardon it will be as the Bride of my Adored Arthur. Oh, my dear aunt, believe that I have not reached this Momentous Decision without an Agonizing Struggle, for to Approach the Altar without your Blessing, or your presence to support me at that Solemn Moment, so sinks my spirits that only my Conviction that your Refusal to sanction my Engagement sprang not from your Heart but from your sense of Propriety gives me courage to pursue a Line of Conduct which must Shock you and all the world. My only Comfort (besides the Bliss of being united to the Best and Noblest of men) is that You cannot be held accountable, even by Lord Iver, for what I must call (though my hand shrinks from penning the Dreadful Syllables) my Elopement...
Stunned by this communication, Miss Tresilian could not for many minutes collect her scattered wits. With every will in the world to spring to instant action she felt as though she had been smitten with paralysis. From this distressing condition she was reclaimed by the sudden opening of the door, and the sound of a harsh, too-well remembered voice saying: 'Thank you, I'll announce myself!'
She raised her head, and stared blankly across the room at Lord Iver.
He was dressed for travel, and had not stayed to put off his long, many-caped driving-coat of white drab. It was plain, from his blazing eyes and close-gripped lips, that he was in a towering rage, but he did not immediately speak. After a searing moment, his gaze dropped to the letter in her hand, and he said: 'Mine is an empty errand, I apprehend! Is that from your niece?'
Hardly knowing what she did, she held it out to him. He rapidly scanned it, and said contemptuously: 'Very affecting! – if you have a taste for the romantic! I have not!' His eyes searched her face; he gave a short laugh. 'Don't look so tragic! You don't imagine, do you, that I shan't stop this crazy project?'
She pressed her fingers to her throbbing temples. 'Can you do so? Do you know where – Has Arthur written to you?'
'Yes – like the silly widgeon he is!' he replied. 'As for knowing where, there was no need to tell me that! Or you either, I imagine!'
'But I haven't the least notion!' she said distractedly. 'Where could they have gone? She's under age! Even if Arthur has a special licence, no one would marry them! She knows that, and surely he must?'
'Of course they know it, and also the one place where they may be married, with no questions asked!' He read bewilderment in her face, and strode up to her, and gave her a rough little shake. 'They've set off for the Border, my innocent! This is to be a Gretna Green affair: a charming scheme, isn't it?'
'Gretna Green?' she repeated. The colour rushed up into her face; she thrust him away, exclaiming: 'How dare you say such a thing? Never would Lucy behave with such impropriety!'
'Then have the goodness to tell me where else she has gone – with a wedding as her acknowledged goal!'
'I don't know!' she cried, unconsciously wringing her hands. 'Unless – Oh, could they have hoaxed some cleric into believing Lucy to be of age?'
'They can hardly have needed a post-chaise-and-four for that fetch! Oh yes, I've ascertained that much already – and also that the chaise has been hired for an unspecified time, and the postboys for the first two stages. To Welwyn, in fact, and Welwyn, I would remind you, is on the Great North Road!'
'Oh no!' she protested. 'I don't believe it!'
'Well, that's of no consequence!' he said unkindly. 'I have discharged my duty, at all events, and must now be off. I shall overtake them long before they reach the Border, and will engage myself, to restore your niece to you with as little scandal as may be possible, so don't fall into despair!'
'Wait!' she uttered. 'If this is true – What was it she wrote? – repugnant to her as it must be to me – agonizing struggle – shock the world – Good God, she must be out of her senses! Iver, she left the house before ten o'clock! Can you overtake them?'
'Do you care to hazard a bet on the chance that I shan't have done so before nightfall? I shouldn't, if I were you!'
'Then grant me ten minutes, and I'll be ready to go with you!' she said, hurrying to the door.
'Don't be so absurd! I'm not taking you with me on this chase, or anyone! Not even my groom!'
'I should hope you were not taking your groom! But me you are taking, make up your mind to that, Iver! Who is to protect Lucy's reputation if I don't! You cannot! – in fact, you would be very much more likely to blast it!'
'Thank you! Let me tell you that I am not travelling in a post-chaise, but in my own curricle!'
'So I should suppose! And let me tell you, my lord, that this won't be the first time I've travelled in a curricle – or driven one, if it comes to that!'
'It will not come to that!' declared his lordship, flinging these words after her retreating form.
***
The first few miles of the journey were accomplished in silence, since Miss Tresilian was absorbed in her agitating reflections, and Lord Iver's attention was fully engaged by the task of guiding a spirited team through the noise and bustle of the crowded streets. His curricle was lightly built and well sprung; and since, like every other sporting blood of his day, he had not two but four horses harnessed to it, and was himself a Nonesuch of the first stare, it bowled over the ground, when the streets were left behind, at a speed that allayed one at least of Miss Tresilian's fears. The June day was bright and warm, the road in excellent condition, and these circumstances helped materially to restore her spirits. When my lord swept through Barnet without a check she asked him where he meant to change horses. He replied curtly that his team was good for two stages. Miss Tresilian relapsed into silence, but, after some twenty minutes, said suddenly: 'Try as I will, I can't believe we haven't come on a wild goose chase!'
'Then perhaps you will tell me why you forced yourself upon me?'
'On the chance that you might be right – but the more I consider it the less do I think you can be!'
But at Welwyn, where my lord arranged for the stabling of his own horses, and had a fresh team put-to, her optimism was quenched. One of the waiters at the White Hart had had ample opportunity to observe the handsome young gentleman who had jumped down from a chaise to procure a glass of lemonade for his lady; and he described him in terms which left no room for doubt. Miss Tresilian's rising spirits went into eclipse, and were not improved by his lordship's saying, as he drove out of the yard: 'Satisfied?'
Spurred by this unhandsome taunt, she responded: 'A very odd notion you must have of me if you suppose I could be satisfied by such intelligence! I was never more shocked in my life!'
'I should hope you had not been! If anything had been needed to prove me right in thinking you wholly unfit for the post of guardian your niece has supplied it!'
'Well, if it comes to that, you've made a sad botch of your ward, haven't you?' she retorted.
'I have not the smallest doubt that Arthur was cajoled into this escapade by your niece's wiles!'
'To own the truth,' said Miss Tresilian frankly, 'nor have I! Lucy has ten times his spirit! There is a want of resolution in him which I can't but deplore, even though I perfectly understand the cause of it. Poor boy! It must have been hard indeed to have developed strength of character, bullied and browbeaten as he has been almost from infancy!'
'Bullied and browbeaten?' echoed his lordship.
'I dare say you never knew you were crushing his spirit,' she offered, in a palliative tone.
'No! Nor he either, let me tell you! You have only to add that fear of me has driven him into this elopement, and you will have gone your length!'
'Well, of course it has!' she said, turning her head, in genuine astonishment, to scan his grim profile.
'God grant me patience!' he ejaculated. 'So you mean to shuffle off the blame on to my shoulders, do you? Well, you won't do it! You are to blame, not I!'
'I?' she gasped.
'Yes, you! With your henwitted scheme to carry the girl out of the country! Of all the cork-brained, ill-judged –'
'This,' interrupted Miss Tresilian, 'goes beyond belief! Next you will say that it was I who forbade the marriage!'
'You were the only person with the authority to do so, at all events!'
'Indeed? I collect I merely dreamed that you said you would put an end to the project, and warned me not to under-rate your power?'
'When I said that I gave you credit for having enough sense not to precipitate a crisis which any but a confirmed pea-goose must have foreseen!'
'No, that is too much!' she exclaimed. 'And don't dare to tell me that you are without power, Iver, because I know very well that you hold Arthur's purse-strings, and can withhold every penny of his fortune from him!'
'Don't be so ridiculous!' he said irritably. 'How could I possibly do so? A pretty figure I should cut!'
'You threatened to do it!'
'Very likely I may have, but if he believed I meant it he's a bigger gapeseed than I knew! If he was in earnest, there was nothing I could do to prevent the marriage – eligible enough in the eyes of the world, if not in mine! Had you refrained from interfering, I could have handled him: it wasn't any threat of mine which goaded him into this clandestine start, but your determination to carry the girl out of his reach!'
'Well, of all the wickedly unjust things you have ever said to me, this is without parallel!' she exclaimed. 'So I interfered! And for what other purpose, Iver, did you call in Green Street than to prevail upon me to do so?' She saw a slight flush creep into his lean cheek: a sign of discomfiture which afforded her far more gratification than she was prepared to admit. After a tiny pause, she added severely: 'If there is any virtue in you you'll own yourself at fault, and beg my pardon!'
That drew a disconcerting reply from him. He glanced at her, fire in his eyes. 'Oh no! Not again! Once I did so – took on myself the blame for a quarrel which was not of my making – begged you to forgive –' He checked himself, and said bitterly: 'Even Arthur isn't as big a gudgeon as I was!'
He reined in, for they had reached a toll-gate. She was never more glad to be spared the necessity of answering. While he bought a ticket to open the pikes on the next stage she had time to recover her countenance, and was able to say, quite calmly, as the curricle moved forward: 'If that man is to be believed, we have certainly gained on them, but they must be a great way ahead still. Where do you expect to overtake them?'
'Not short of Stamford, unless they meet with some accident.'
They were entering Baldock, and neither spoke again until they had proceeded for some way along the road beyond the town. Lord Iver then demanded abruptly: 'Why did you never answer me? Did you think it cost me nothing to write that letter?'
She shook her head, a constriction in her throat making it for a moment impossible for her to speak. She overcame it, and said, keeping her eyes lowered: 'I thought it better not to reply – not to reopen – when it reached me, you see, Mama had suffered the stroke which left her paralysed. You know what our household was at the Manor! My father so dependent on her – Lucy motherless – Clara – well, there can be no need for me to explain why it was useless to suppose that Clara could fill Mama's place!'
He had listened to her in thunderstruck silence, but at this he said, with suppressed violence: 'And equally useless for me to tell you that nothing ever ailed Clara but jealousy, and a selfishness I have never seen surpassed! We have quarrelled enough on that head!'
She smiled. 'We have indeed! Must I own that you were right? Perhaps you were – though it would be unjust to deny that her constitution was always sickly.'
'I told you years ago that she would spoil your life, if she could do it! I learn now that she spoiled mine as well, thanks to your blind, obstinate refusal to credit me with more wit than you had!'
'Nonsense!' said Miss Tresilian. 'You know very well that no two persons could have been less suited than we were! As for spoiled lives, I hope you don't mean to tell me you've been wearing the willow for the past twelve years, because I know very well you haven't! In fact, if only half the tales I've heard are true you've never lacked consolation!'
'Is that what the Bath quizzes say of me? No, I haven't worn the willow, but one tale you've never heard: that I was hanging out for a wife!'
'Very true, and I think you are wise to remain single. I am persuaded you must have a much more amusing time as a bachelor.'
A muscle quivered at the corner of his mouth. 'You haven't altered! How often have I wanted to wring your neck for just such a remark as that!'
'No doubt! But there is nothing to be gained by discussing what you very rightly called ancient history. We have a more important matter to decide. What's to be done with those abominable children when we do catch them?'
'Wring their necks!'
'Quite impractical! I have no fancy for Newgate, if you have!'
He laughed, but said: 'You may at least depend upon my giving Arthur the finest trimming of his life!'
'I do, and shall be strongly tempted to do the same to Lucy! But it won't answer, Iver: we shall be obliged to give our consent, and with as good a grace as we may.'
'Oh, why stop at that? Let us escort them to the anvil!'
She regarded him with misgiving. 'Iver, don't, I implore you, get upon your high ropes! You said yourself that you could not stop the marriage if Arthur was in earnest! You can hardly want more proof of that!'
'I can want no more proof that he hasn't outgrown his puppyhood! Good God, only a scoundrel or a paper-skulled schoolboy would do such a thing as this!'
'It's very bad, of course, but –'
'And if he, or your hoydenish niece, think they can force my hand, they will very soon learn to know me better!'
'Yes!' said Miss Tresilian bitterly. 'I might have guessed you'd turn mulish, might I not? You always did make bad worse, and you always will!'
***
By the time Stamford was reached, Miss Tresilian was herself so weary that she could only suppose her companion to be made of iron. More than eighty miles had been covered, often at a pace which demanded the strictest concentration, and in six hours of fast driving he had allowed himself only two brief respites. During one of these Miss Tresilian had found the time to swallow a mouthful of ham, and a few sips of scalding coffee, and on this meagre fare she had been obliged to subsist, encouraged by a disagreeable reminder from his lordship that he had warned her how it would be if she insisted on accompanying him. She forgave him for that: he sat as erect as at the start of the journey, his hands as steady and his eyes as watchful, but she knew, without the evidence of the crease between his brows, how tired he must be. No conversation had been held during the past hour; Miss Tresilian, in fact, had fallen into an uneasy doze, and woke up in the yard of the George, demanding to know where she was.
'Stamford,' replied Lord Iver, looking down at her. 'Quite done up?'
'A little tired – nothing to signify!'
'I'll say this for you: you were always full of pluck! Our runaways are not here, but there are two other posting-houses in the town, and several smaller inns. They may well be racking up at one of them for the night.'
'But it is still daylight!'
'It will be daylight for some hours yet, but it is nevertheless past six o'clock. If they knew they were being followed no doubt they would go on, but I've no reason to believe that they do. They have been travelling at a fair rate, but with no suggestion of flight. Come, let me help you down! You will have time to dine while I am making enquiries at the other houses.'
She agreed to this, but when he left her installed in a private parlour she discovered herself to be too anxious to be hungry. She ordered some tea, however, which revived her, though it drew a sharp rebuke from his lordship, when he presently returned to the George. 'Don't scold!' she begged. 'It was all I wanted, I promise you. And you have eaten nothing!'
'On the contrary, I had a sandwich and some beer at the Swan.' His frown deepened. 'I've been unable to get any news of them: they are certainly not in the town. If they changed horses here, no one recalls having seen them – though that's not wonderful: the ostlers are kept too busy to take particular note of all the travellers who pass through the place.'
Her heart sank, but she said: 'There's nothing for it but to go on, then.'
He said roughly: 'You've come far enough! I'll have that portmanteau of yours carried up to a bed-chamber, and you may remain here. You needn't be afraid I shan't catch that pair: I shall, and will bring Lucy to you at once, so don't argue with me, if you please!'
'I don't mean to,' said Miss Tresilian, tying the strings of her bonnet. 'Nor do I mean to be abandoned in this very noisy inn!'
'Now, listen to me, my girl!' said his lordship, in menacing accents.
'Go and order the horses to be put-to!' said Miss Tresilian, unimpressed.
***
No reliable news was to be gained at either of the two first pikes north of Stamford, but at Greetham, where they stopped for a change, an ostler clearly remembered the young lady and gentleman, for he had helped to fig out four lively 'uns for them, and not so many minutes ago neither. He'd suspicioned all along that there was something havey-cavey about them. Argufying, they were, the young gentleman being wishful to put up for the night, and Miss being that set on going on she was ready to nap her bib. Nothing would do for her but to get to Grantham, so off they'd gone.
'Having made it plain that they were an eloping couple!' said Miss Tresilian, as they drove away. 'How Lucy could be so dead to shame – !'
Lord Iver returned no answer, and she sat staring with unseeing eyes at the fading landscape, lost in the gloomiest reflections. From these she was presently recalled by his lordship's voice, ejaculating: 'At last!'
The curricle had swept round a bend, and brought into view a post-chaise and four, bowling ahead at a spanking pace. 'Hand me the yard of tin!' commanded his lordship grimly.
'You look after your horses!' returned Miss Tresilian, already in possession of the long horn. 'I can sound this quite as well as you can!'
In proof of this statement, she raised the horn to her lips and produced an ear-splitting blast.
'That should startle them!' observed his lordship. 'Oh, my God, of all the infernal cawkers – !'
This outburst of exasperation was provoked by the sudden widening of the gap between the two vehicles: the post-boys, instead of making way for the curricle to pass, were springing their horses. 'Hold on tightly!' snapped his lordship, following suit.
'Iver, for heaven's sake – !' she uttered, as the curricle swayed and bounded alarmingly.
He paid no heed; and one glance at his face showed her that to suggest that he might just as well, and far more safely, drive behind the chaise until the fugitives realized the folly of trying to escape from him would be a waste of breath. This foolish gesture of defiance had thoroughly enraged him: he was going to pass the chaise at the first opportunity that offered.
Feeling sick with apprehension, Miss Tresilian fixed her eyes on the road, and tried not to speculate on what would happen if some vehicle were to come round one of the bends towards them. My lord had swung out to the right, not yet attempting to pass, but obviously ready to open out his leaders. The road was narrow, and the chaise held obstinately to the centre. They rocked round another bend, and Miss Tresilian saw a straight stretch ahead. It was a little broader, but not broad enough yet, she decided. Then she saw his lordship drop his hands, and shut her eyes, realizing that her last hour had come. Rigid with fright, she awaited the inevitable crash.
'Good girl!' said his lordship approvingly.
Her eyes flew open. 'You don't mean to say you've done it?' she gasped.
'Of course I've done it! What, were you afraid I should lock the wheels? Absurd creature!' He glanced over his shoulder, saw that the post-boys had reined in their horses to a trot, and checked his own team. In another minute he had brought them to a halt, swinging them across the road to form a barrier. He gave the reins into Miss Tresilian's hands, and, as the chaise drew up, sprang down, and strode towards it.
The post-boys eyed him in some trepidation, but he paid no attention to them. He lifted a hand to wrench open the door of the chaise, but before he could grasp the handle the door was thrust open from within, and a fresh-faced youth, not waiting to let down the steps, jumped out, saying, in an impetuous, rueful voice: 'I beg your pardon, sir! I didn't mean – at least, I – oh, by Jupiter, sir, how you did give us the go-by! It was the most bang-up thing I ever saw in my life! But I'm afraid you're very vexed!' he added, gazing up in dismay at Lord Iver's countenance.
His lordship was, in fact, thunderstruck, but his expression was certainly alarming. The unknown youth said contritely: 'We shouldn't have done so – indeed, I am very sorry! We were only funning – that's to say – well, I dare say you know how it is, sir, when one is in spirits, and – and –' His voice petered out unhappily, for he perceived no understanding at all in the eyes that stared so fiercely at him.
At this point, there was an intervention. A damsel, clad in the demure raiment suitable for a school-room miss, peeped out of the chaise, and said, with an engaging mixture of mischief and penitence: 'It was all my fault! Because I wouldn't put up at Stamford, and so we came on, because it is a whole year since I was at home, and I couldn't have slept a wink, and it's not so very much farther! Only when we changed horses at Greetham Jack said the light had begun to go, and Papa would say we shouldn't have come on, but I said we might easily reach Grantham if we drove fast, and give them all such a surprise, for they don't expect to see us until tomorrow. So Jack said: "Oh, very well!" but we should have everyone thinking we were eloping to Gretna Green, which sent us both into whoops, of course! And that was what put the notion into our heads!'
'I should explain, sir, that she's my sister,' interpolated the youth, anxious to throw light upon dark places. 'She has been at school, you see.'
'Yes, but Mama let me come away before any of the others, so that Jack could bring me home. Isn't it famous?' rapturously exclaimed his sister. 'Because Jack, you know, is my particular brother, just as Ned is Cecy's!'
His lordship, stunned as much by all these whirling words as by the shock of finding that he had waylaid two complete strangers, could think of nothing to say but: 'Oh!' and that in a blank voice which made it necessary for Miss Tresilian, deeply appreciative of the scene, to take her underlip firmly between her teeth.
Frowning down his sister's irrelevance, the young gentleman embarked manfully on an explanation of his conduct. 'The thing was, sir, that I always meant to spring the horses, if the road was clear, because we have still more than twenty miles to go before we reach home, and my father – Oh, I should have told you that Father is Sir John Holloway, and we live near Grantham! Well – well, we were joking each other about being a runaway couple when you blew up to pass us, and I shouted to the post-boys to put 'em along – just cutting a lark, you know! But, of course, I shouldn't have done so!' he added hastily. 'And I didn't mean to keep it up. Only – well, when you gave chase it was so exciting – and when I saw you were going to make the attempt – well, I do beg your pardon, sir, but I wouldn't have missed it for anything! You drove to an inch!'
'I see,' said his lordship. 'Well, when next you try your hand at racing on the road, don't do it in a post-chaise, and don't take your sister with you! Tell me, have you come from London?'
'Oh no! From Oxford, sir. One of the old tabbies at Bella's school brought her up from Bath – Oh, I should have told you that I'm at Magdalen!'
'Are you? Well, if you are to reach home before dark you'd best lose no more time. Up with you!'
'Thank you!' said Mr Holloway, greatly relieved. 'I'm excessively obliged to you for not – Oh, you go first, sir!'
'No, I should only hold you up: I'm not going to drive at your hell-for-leather pace!'
Laughing heartily at this, Mr Holloway, after fervently shaking hands with his lordship, hoisted himself into the chaise, and it moved forward, Miss Tresilian having by this time drawn the curricle to the side of the road. His lordship, heavily frowning, walked back to it. He observed that Miss Tresilian had succumbed to her emotions, and regarded her balefully.
'Oh, don't look at me like that, Iver!' she begged, wiping her streaming eyes. 'If you could but have seen your own face – !'
'Much help you were!' he said, with a reluctant grin. 'Yes, it's all very well for you to laugh yourself into stitches, my girl, but where the devil are those pernicious brats?'
'I said we had come on a wild goose chase! Have we all the time been pursuing that enchanting couple?'
'Certainly not! Didn't you hear the boy say they had come from Oxford? They can never have been on our road until they entered Stamford. I have not the smallest doubt that when we entered Stamford we were hard on the heels of our own pair.'
That sobered her. She said, in dismay: 'Do you mean that they are ahead of us still?'
'No, I don't,' he said decidedly. 'They haven't passed any of the pikes. From Stamford we have been following the Holloways.'
She was disturbed, but could not resist quizzing him. 'Flying from a scent, Iver? You?'
He smiled, but absently, and remained for some moments in frowning silence. He said suddenly: 'If the line was crossed in Stamford – Good God, why didn't I think of that before? He has taken the girl to Grantley, of course!' He saw that Miss Tresilian was bewildered, and added impatiently: 'Windlesham's place, beyond Market Deeping! You've met Arthur's sister, haven't you?'
'Lady Windlesham! Yes, but what could he hope to achieve by that?'
'Depend upon it, he has a special licence in his pocket, and means to be married under Caroline's ægis.'
'But she has no authority to sanction Lucy's marriage!'
'Much she would care for that! Arthur can bring her round his thumb any time he chooses to do it: she dotes on him! She's of a romantic disposition, what's more, and to judge by the impassioned entreaties she addressed to me on this subject has confused that precious pair with Romeo and Juliet.'
'Iver, she could not be so unprincipled as to –'
'Nothing of the sort!' he interrupted. 'She knows that Arthur is his own master, and if she doesn't know already that you liked the connection well enough until you discovered that I was Arthur's guardian, it wouldn't, I assure you, take Arthur more than five minutes to convince her that if only the knot could be tied without your knowledge you would be more likely to fall on her neck than to try to overset the marriage!'
He climbed into his seat again as he spoke, and took the reins from her. She relinquished them unheedingly. 'If that is indeed so, I can't deny that it is a great deal better than a flight to the Border, but a marriage performed in such circumstances must give rise to the most odious gossip! I cannot allow it!'
'There's no need to fly into high fidgets,' said his lordship, possibly to soothe alarm, but with a sad lack of sensibility. 'Caroline is a pretty ninnyhammer, but Windlesham is a man of excellent good sense, and can be depended on to put his foot down on such a scheme.'
'Yes, but –'
'Oh, for God's sake – !' he exclaimed. 'Can't you think of anything but that addle-brained pair? For my part, they may go to the devil! I'm sick and tired of both, and have been thinking them a dead bore for the last three hours!'
Jerked by this sudden violence from her preoccupation, she realized that the horses had been set in motion. 'Pray, where are we off to?' she demanded. 'If Arthur has taken Lucy to his sister's house we have no need to proceed farther north! How can you be so idiotish, Iver?'
'I'm not idiotish,' he replied, with an odd laugh. 'We set out for Gretna Green, and to Gretna Green we'll go! Our immediate destination, however, is Coltersworth. We shall spend the night at the Angel, and tomorrow, unless you should very much dislike it, we will resume our journey to the Border.'
'I should dislike it excessively,' said Miss Tresilian, after a little pause.
He halted his team and turned, laying his hand on one of hers, and strongly grasping it. 'Nell!' he said, in quite another voice. 'So many years wasted – so much bitterness – ! Nell, my dear love, don't say it's too late! You must marry me – you shall!'
Her fingers clung to his, and there was the sparkle of tears in her smiling eyes, but she replied with great dignity: 'I have every intention of marrying you, but not, I promise you, in such a clandestine fashion as that! Iver, for heaven's sake – ! There's an Accommodation coach coming towards us – George!'
But as his lordship, with his usual top-lofty disregard of appearances, paid no heed whatsoever to this warning, and Miss Tresilian was powerless (even had she made the attempt) to free herself from his embrace, the roof passengers on the coach were afforded a shocking example of the decay of modern manners, one moralist going so far as to express his desire to see such shameless persons set in the stocks. 'Kissing and hugging on the public highway!' he said, craning his neck to obtain the last possible glimpse of the disgusting spectacle. 'Calling themselves Quality, too!'
But in this he was wrong. With her cheek against his lordship's, Miss Tresilian said, on a choke of laughter: 'What a vulgar couple we are, love!'
'Well, who cares a rush for that?' he demanded. 'Oh, my darling, what fools we have been!'
# Bath Miss
## 1
Papa,' said Miss Massingham, 'is persuaded you would have not the least objection, or you may be sure I should not have ventured to ask you, dear Charles, for perhaps you might not quite wish to oblige him in this way.'
She paused, and glanced doubtfully up at dear Charles. It could not have been said that his handsome countenance bore the expression of one delighted to oblige his Mama's old friend, but he bowed politely. Miss Massingham reminded herself that this elegant gentleman, with his great shoulders setting off a coat of blue superfine, and his shapely leg encased in a skin-tight pantaloon and a Hessian boot of dazzling gloss, was the bouncing baby on whom, thirty years before, she had bestowed a coral rattle. She said archly: 'You are grown so grand that I declare I stand quite in awe of you!'
The expression of boredom on Sir Charles Wainfleet's countenance became more pronounced.
'I am sure, a most notable dandy!' said Miss Massingham, hopeful of giving pleasure.
'Believe me, ma'am, you flatter me!' said Sir Charles.
The third person present here came, as her duty was, to his rescue. 'No, Louisa!' she said. 'Not a dandy! They only care for their clothes, and Charles cares for a great deal besides, such as prize-fighting, and cocking, and all the horridest things! He is a Corinthian!'
'Thank you, Mama, but shall we leave this subject, and discover instead just what it is that the General feels I shall have not the least objection to doing?'
Encouraged by this speech, Miss Massingham plunged into a tangle of words. 'It is so very obliging of you! The notion came into Papa's head when I mentioned the circumstance of your Mama's going to Bath next week, and that you mean to escort her! "Well, then," he said, "if that is so, Charles may bring Anne home!" I instantly demurred, but, "Balderdash!" exclaimed Papa – you know his soldierly way! – "If he fancies himself to have become too great a man to escort my granddaughter home from school, let him come and tell me so!" Which, however, I do beg you will not do, Charles, for Papa's gout has been very troublesome lately!'
'Have no fear, ma'am! I should not dare!' said Sir Charles, his weary boredom suddenly dissipated by a smile of singular charm.
'Oh, Charles, you are so very – ! The thing is, you see, that ever since the Mail was held up in that shocking way at Hounslow last month we have not known how to bring Nan home in safety! You must know that she has been a parlour boarder this year past at the Misses Titterstone's seminary in Queen's Square, and we have promised that she shall come home at Christmas. But for the circumstance of Papa's illness last winter, we had intended – but it was not to be! And now we find ourselves at a stand, and how we may entrust my poor brother's only child, left to our care when he was killed in that dreadful Peninsula – how we may entrust her, as I say, to the perils of the road, without some gentleman to escort her, we know not! And I am confident,' added Miss Massingham earnestly, 'that she would not tease you, Charles, for we shall send her old nurse down to Bath, and you need do no more than drive your curricle within sight of the chaise, and so we may be easy!'
If Sir Charles wondered why General Sir James Massingham should consider that his presence, within sight of his granddaughter's chaise, would afford a better protection against highwaymen than an armed escort, he did not betray this. Nor did he betray the reluctance of a Nonpareil to assume charge of a Bath miss. It was Lady Wainfleet who raised an objection. 'Oh, but I depend on having Charles with me for Christmas!' she said. 'Dearest Almeria has been to visit me today, expressly to tell me that she will be in Bath herself for several weeks. She is to stay with her aunt, in Camden Place, and her brother, Stourbridge, is to bring her to town only a few days after we ourselves shall have left.'
Miss Massingham's face fell. The notice that Sir Charles Wainfleet, wealthiest of baronets, had at last fulfilled the expectations of the impoverished Earl of Alford, by offering for the hand of the Lady Almeria Spalding, eldest daughter of this improvident peer, had appeared some weeks previously in the Gazette, and she recognized that Lady Almeria's claims must take precedence of her niece's.
It was at this point that Sir Charles shook off his air of detachment. 'Almeria is going to Bath?' he said.
'Yes, is it not a happy chance? I was about to tell you of it when Louisa was announced.'
'On the contrary!' he returned. 'It is unfortunate that I should not have been apprized of this circumstance earlier. It so happens that I have engagements in town which I must not break. It will not be in my power, ma'am, to remain in Bath above a couple of nights.'
'You cannot mean to do such an uncivil thing as to leave Bath before Almeria arrives!' cried his mother. 'Good God, you would very likely meet her on the road!'
'Were I to delay my departure until after her arrival,' said Sir Charles glibly, 'I dare say I should find it impossible to tear myself away. I could not reconcile it with my conscience to disoblige so old a friend as the General. I shall be happy, Miss Massingham, to afford your niece all the protection of which I am capable.'
It was impossible for Lady Wainfleet to say more. Miss Massingham was already overwhelming Sir Charles with her gratitude. She said that she could not thank him enough, and she was still thanking him when he escorted her out to her carriage. But when he strolled back to the drawing-room, Lady Wainfleet begged him to consider before deciding to leave Bath so soon. 'Now that Almeria is to go there –'
'That circumstance, Mama, did decide me,' interrupted Sir Charles. 'Within a few months I shall be obliged to spend the rest of my life in Almeria's company. Allow me to enjoy what is left to me of my liberty!'
'Charles!' she faltered. 'Oh, dear! if I had thought that you would dislike it so much I would never – Not that I have the least power to force you into a marriage you don't like, only it has been an understood thing for so many years, and it is not as though you had ever a tendre for another eligible lady, and you are past thirty now, so that –'
'Oh yes, yes, ma'am!' he said impatiently. 'It is high time that I settled down! I have no doubt that Almeria will do me great credit. We were clearly made for one another – but I shall not spend Christmas in Bath!'
## 2
Eight days later, having sustained an interview with two genteel spinsters in mittens and mob-caps, who were much flustered to find their parlour invaded by a large and disturbingly handsome gentleman, wearing a drab driving-coat with no fewer than sixteen shoulder-capes, Sir Charles made the acquaintance of his youthful charge. He beheld a demure schoolgirl, attired in a plain pelisse, and with a close bonnet almost entirely concealing her braided locks. She stood in meek silence while Miss Titterstone assured Sir Charles that dear Anne would be no trouble to him. Miss Maria, endorsing this statement, added, with rather odd anxiety, that she knew Anne would behave just as she ought. Both ladies seemed to derive consolation from the presence of Mrs Fitton, who all the while stood beaming fondly upon her nurseling.
Sir Charles, amused, wondered whether the good ladies suspected him of cherishing improper designs towards a chit of a schoolgirl in the most unbecoming hat and pelisse he had ever seen. Their evident uneasiness seemed to him absurd.
Farewells having been spoken, the travellers went out into the Square, where two vehicles stood waiting. One was a post-chaise and pair; the other a sporting curricle. Miss Massingham's large grey eyes took due note of this equipage, but she made no remark. Only, as Sir Charles handed her up into the chaise, she said: 'If you please, sir, would you be so very obliging as to permit me to stop for a few minutes at Madame Lucille's, in Milsom Street?'
'Certainly. I will direct your post-boy to drive there,' he replied.
Upon arrival in Milsom Street, one glance at Madame Lucille's establishment was enough to inform Sir Charles that Miss Massingham proposed to visit a mantua-maker. Assuring him that she would not keep him waiting for very long, she disappeared into the shop, followed by Mrs Fitton, whose smile, Sir Charles noticed, had given place to a look of decided anxiety.
Time passed. Sir Charles drew out his watch, and frowned. Speenhamland, where rooms for the night had been bespoken, was fully fifty-five miles distant, and the start of the journey had already been delayed by the chattiness of the Misses Titterstone. The horses were on the fret. Sir Charles walked them to the top of the street, and back again. When he had repeated this exercise some half a dozen times, there was a sparkle in his eye which made his groom thankful that it was the young lady and not himself who was keeping Sir Charles waiting.
At the end of another twenty minutes there erupted from the shop a vision in whom Sir Charles with difficulty recognized Miss Anne Massingham. Not only was she now arrayed in a crimson velvet pelisse, but she had set upon her head an all-too dashing hat, whose huge, upstanding poke-front was lined with gathered silk, and whose high crown was embellished with a plume of curled ostrich feathers. This confection was secured by broad satin ribbons, tied in a jaunty bow under one ear; and it displayed to advantage Miss Massingham's dark curls, now released from bondage, and rioting frivolously. A tippet and muff completed this modish toilet; and she carried, with its forepaws drooping over the muff, a curly-tailed puppy of mixed parentage. This circumstance did not immediately strike Sir Charles, for his gaze was riveted to that preposterous hat.
'Good God!' he ejaculated. 'My good child, you are not, I trust, proposing to travel to London in that bonnet?'
'Yes, I am,' asserted Miss Massingham. 'It is the high kick of fashion!'
'It is quite unsuited to a journey, and still more so to your years,' said Sir Charles crushingly.
'Fiddle!' said Miss Massingham. 'I am not a schoolgirl now, and if it had not been for Grandpapa's illness I should have ceased to be one a year ago! I am nineteen, you know, and I have been saving all my money for months to buy just such a hat as this! You could not be so unkind as to forbid me to wear it!'
Sir Charles looked down into the pleading, upturned face; Sir Charles's groom stared woodenly ahead. 'What,' demanded Sir Charles, turning upon the unhappy Mrs Fitton, 'possessed you to let your mistress buy such a hat?'
'Oh, don't scold poor Fitton!' begged Miss Massingham. 'Indeed, she implored me not to!'
Sir Charles found himself quite unable to withstand the look of entreaty in those big eyes. A whimper from the creature in Miss Massingham's arms provided him with a diversion. 'How did you come by that animal?' he asked sternly.
'Is he not the dearest little dog? He came running into the shop, and Madame Lucille told me that her pug has had six puppies just like him! She let me buy this one very cheaply, because she is very desirous of disposing of them all.'
'I imagine she might be,' said Sir Charles, viewing the pup with disfavour. 'However, it is no concern of mine, and we have wasted too much time already. If we are to reach Speenhamland in time for dinner we must make haste.'
'Oh, yes!' said Miss Massingham blithely. 'And may I ride with you in your curricle, Sir Charles?' She read prohibition in his eye, and added coaxingly: 'Just for a little way, may I? For your groom, you know, may easily go with Fitton in the chaise.'
Again Sir Charles found it impossible to withstand the entreaty in those eyes. 'Very well,' he said. 'If you think you won't be cold, you may jump up beside me.'
## 3
By the time the curricle had reached Bath Easton, Miss Massingham had begged Sir Charles to call her Nan, because, she said, everyone did so; and Sir Charles had reprimanded her for saying that her friends in Queen's Square had greatly envied her her good fortune in being escorted to London by one who was well-known to be a buck of the first head.
'A what?' said Sir Charles.
'Well, it is what Priscilla Gretton's brother said, when she rallied him on the way he tied his neckcloth,' explained Nan. 'He said it was just how you tie yours, and that you were a buck of the first head.'
'I am obliged to Mr Gretton for his approval,' said Sir Charles, 'and I dare say that when he has learnt to refrain alike from trying to copy my way with a neckcloth and from teaching cant phrases to schoolgirls he may do tolerably well.'
'I can see that it is an expression I should not have used,' said Nan knowledgeably. 'Must I not call you a Nonpareil either, sir?'
He laughed. 'If you wish! But why should you talk about me at all? Tell me about yourself!'
She was doubtful whether so limited a subject could interest him, but since she was of a confiding nature it was not long before she was chatting happily to him. When the horses were changed, there was very little about Miss Massingham that he did not know; and since he found her curious mixture of innocence and worldly wisdom something quite out of the common way he was not sorry that she spurned a suggestion that she should continue the journey in the chaise. She was not, she said, at all chilly; she had been wondering, on the contrary, whether she might perhaps be allowed to take the ribbons.
'Certainly not!' said Sir Charles.
'You are such a famous whip yourself, sir, that you could very easily teach me to drive,' argued Miss Massingham, in persuasive accents.
'No doubt I could, but I shall not. I dislike being driven.'
'Oh!' said Miss Massingham, damped. 'I don't mean to tease you, only it would be such a thing to boast of!'
He could not help laughing. 'Absurd brat! Well – for half an hour, then, but no longer!'
'Thank you!' said Miss Massingham, her air of gentle melancholy vanishing.
When she was at last induced to give the reins back to her instructor, the Beckhampton Inn had been passed, and the chaise had long been out of sight. Sir Charles put his pair along at a spanking pace, and would no doubt have overtaken the chaise had his companion not announced suddenly that she was hungry. A glance at his watch showed him that it was past one o'clock. He said ruefully: 'I should have stopped to give you a nuncheon rather than have let you take the ribbons.'
'We could stop now, could we not, sir?' said Miss Massingham hopefully.
'If we do it must only be for a few minutes,' he warned her.
She agreed readily to this; and as they were approaching Marlborough he drove to the Castle Inn, and commanded the waiter to bring some cold meat and fruit as speedily as possible. Miss Massingham and her puppy, whom she had christened Duke, in doubtful compliment to his Grace of Wellington, both made hearty meals, after which Miss Massingham, while Sir Charles settled the reckoning, took her pet for a run on the end of a blind-cord, which she abstracted from the coffee-room, and for which Sir Charles was called upon to pay. She said that she would walk along the broad village street, and that he might pick her up in the curricle. Ten minutes later he ran her to earth outside a bird-fancier's shop, the centre of a small crowd of partisans and critics. Upon demand, he learned that Miss Massingham, discovering a number of songbirds cooped inside small wicker-cages, which were piled up outside the shop, had not only released the wretched prisoners, but had hotly harangued the fancier on the cruelty of his trade. It cost Sir Charles a sum grossly in excess of the birds' worth, and the exercise of his prestige as an obvious member of the Quality, to extricate his charge from this imbroglio, and she was not in the least grateful to him for having done it. She censured his conduct in having given the man money instead of knocking him down. 'Which I am persuaded you might have done, because Priscilla's brother told us that you are a Pink of the Fancy,' she said severely.
'I shall be obliged to you,' said Sir Charles, with asperity, 'if you will refrain from repeating the extremely improper remarks made to you by Priscilla's cub of a brother!'
'Now you are vexed with me!' said Nan.
'Yes, for your conduct is disgraceful!' said Sir Charles sternly.
'I did not mean to do what you would not like,' said Miss Massingham, in a small voice.
Sir Charles preserved an unbending silence for several minutes. It was then borne in upon him that Nan, having apparently lost her handkerchief, was wiping away large teardrops with a gloved finger. The result was not happy. Sir Charles, pulling up, produced his own handkerchief, took Nan's chin in one hand, and with the other removed the disfiguring smudges. 'There! Don't cry, my child! Come, smile at me!'
She managed to obey this behest. He knew an impulse to kiss the face he had upturned, but he repressed it, released her chin, and drove on. By the time Froxfield was reached, he had succeeded in diverting her mind, and the rest of the way to Speenhamland might have been accomplished without incident had not Duke, who had been sleeping off his meal, awakened, and signified, in no uncertain manner, his wish to leave the curricle.
## 4
Pulling up beside a spinney, Sir Charles set down his passengers, adjuring Miss Massingham not to allow her disreputable pet to stray. Unfortunately, she had neglected to tie the cord round his neck again, and no sooner did he find himself on the ground than he dashed into the spinney, yapping joyfully. She ran after him, and was soon lost to sight. Sir Charles was left to study the sky, which was developing a leaden look which he did not like. When a quarter of an hour had passed, he alighted, patience at an end, led his horses into the spinney, tied the reins round a sapling, and strode off in search of the truants.
For several moments there was no response to his irate shouts, but suddenly he was checked by a hail. It came from quite near at hand, but it was disturbingly faint. Alarmed, he followed the direction of the cry, rounded a thicket, and came upon Miss Massingham, trying to raise herself from the ground. Beside her sat Duke, with his tongue lolling out.
'Now what have you done?' said Sir Charles, exasperated. Then he saw that Miss Massingham's face was paper-white, and he went quickly up to her, and dropped on to one knee, saying in quite another voice: 'My child! Are you hurt?'
Miss Massingham, leaning thankfully against his supporting arm, said: 'I am so very sorry, sir! I didn't perceive the rabbit-hole, and I tripped, and I think I must have d-done something to my ankle, because when I tried to stand up it hurt me so much that I f-fainted. Indeed, I did not mean to be troublesome again!'
'No, of course you did not!' he said soothingly. 'Put your arm round my neck! I am going to carry you to the curricle, and then we'll see what can be done.'
But although, when he had set her gently in her place, one glance at her ankle was enough to inform him that the first thing to be done was to remove her boot, a second glance, at her face, equally certainly informed him that to subject her to this added pain would cause her to faint again. He untethered the horses, and led them back on to the road, telling Nan curtly that he was going to drive her to Hungerford.
'Duke!' she uttered imploringly.
Sir Charles looked round impatiently, found Duke at his feet, and, grasping him by the scruff of his neck, handed him up to his mistress.
The short distance that separated them from Hungerford was covered in record time. Miss Massingham endured the anguish of the journey with a fortitude that touched her protector, even contriving to utter a small, gallant jest. Sir Charles, lifting her down, and carrying her into the Bear Inn, said: 'There, my poor child! You will soon be easier, I promise! You are a good, brave girl!'
He then bore her in to the empty coffee-room, laid her on a settle, and, while the waiter hurried to summon the landlady, removed the boot from a fast-swelling foot. As he had feared, Nan fainted. By the time she had recovered from this swoon, she had been established in a private parlour. She came round to find herself lying on a sofa, with a stout woman holding burnt feathers under her nose, and two chambermaids applying wet cloths to her ankle.
'Ah!' said Sir Charles bracingly. 'That's better! Come now, my child!'
Miss Massingham then felt herself raised, was commanded to open her mouth, and underwent the unpleasant experience of having a measure of neat brandy tilted down her throat. She choked, and burst into tears.
'There, there!' said Sir Charles, patting her in a comforting way. 'Don't cry! You will soon feel very much more the thing!'
Miss Massingham, a resilient girl, began to revive. The visit of the local surgeon, fetched by one of the ostlers after prolonged search, tried her endurance high, but as he pronounced that, although she had badly sprained her ankle, she had broken no bones, she soon took a more hopeful view of her situation, and was even able to think that she might very well be driven on to Speenhamland.
But this was now impossible. Not only was she in no state to be conveyed thirteen miles in an open curricle, but the short winter's day had ended, and the snow had begun to fall. Sir Charles was obliged to disclose to his charge that she must remain at the Bear until the following morning.
'To own the truth,' confided Nan, 'I am excessively glad of it. I am a great deal better, I assure you, but I would as lief not drive any farther for a little while.'
'Just so,' agreed Sir Charles, with a wry smile. 'But as I can place not the slightest dependence upon Mrs Fitton's feeling alarm until it will be too late for her to return in quest of you, I have thought it advisable to inform them here that you are my young sister.'
'Now, that,' said Miss Massingham, betraying at once her innocence and her sophistication, 'is a truly splendid thing, sir, for it shows that at last I am a grown-up lady!'
'Let me tell you,' said Sir Charles severely, 'that if you had refrained from buying that outrageous hat I should have had no need to employ this subterfuge! Never in my life have I encountered such an abominably behaved brat as you are, Nan!'
'I have been very troublesome to you, sir,' said Nan penitently. 'Are you very much vexed with me?'
He laughed. 'No. But you will ruin all if you call me "sir" in this inn! Remember that I am your brother, and say "Charles"!'
## 5
A night's rest did much to restore Miss Massingham to the enjoyment of her usual spirits. She partook of an excellent breakfast; hoped that Duke, in whose company Sir Charles had endured a disturbed night, had not discommoded her protector; and demonstrated the ease with which she could, with the aid of a stick, hop about on one foot. Sir Charles, who had been relieved to find, on pulling back his blinds, that only a light powdering of snow lay upon the road, recommended her to sit quietly on the sofa, and went out to see a pair of horses put-to. It was upon his return to the inn that, entering from a door at the back of the house, he was halted in his tracks by the sight of a handsome young woman, who had just come in through the front door.
This lady, catching sight of him, exclaimed: 'Charles! You here?'
'Almeria!' returned her betrothed, in hollow accents.
'But how comes this about?' demanded her ladyship, advancing towards him with her hand held out. 'Is it possible you can have come to meet me? We spent the night at the Pelican, you know. A broken trace has made this halt necessary, or we must have missed you. There was not the least occasion for you to have come all this way, my dear Charles!'
'I am ashamed to say,' replied Sir Charles, dutifully kissing the hand extended to him, 'that such was not my intention. I am bound for London – to keep an engagement I must not break!'
She did not look to be very well pleased with this response, but just as she was about to demand the nature of his engagement, the landlady came down the stairs, with a large bolster in her arm. 'This will be just the thing, sir!' she announced. 'It has been laying in the loft these years past, and I'm sure Miss is welcome to take it, the sweet, pretty young lady that she is! I'll carry it out directly, and see if it can't be arranged so as to make her comfortable!'
With this kindly speech, she disappeared through the door opening on to the stable-yard. Sir Charles, closing his eyes for an anguished moment, opened them again to find that his betrothed was regarding him through unpleasantly narrowed eyes.
'Miss?' said the Lady Almeria icily.
'Why, yes!' he returned. 'I am escorting the granddaughter of an old friend home from her school in Bath.'
'Indeed?' said Lady Almeria, her brows rising.
'Oh, good God, Almeria!' he said impatiently. 'There is no occasion for you to assume the air of a Siddons! It's only a child!'
'A new come-out for you, Charles, to be taking care of children! May I know why a bolster is necessary to her comfort? An infant in arms, I collect?'
'Nothing but a romp of a schoolgirl, who had the misfortune to sprain her ankle yesterday!'
It was at this inopportune moment that Nan, dressed for the road, hopped out of the parlour, Duke frisking beside her, and announced brightly that she was ready to set forward on the journey. Duke, perceiving that the door to a larger freedom stood open, made a dash for it.
'Charles! Stop him!' shrieked Nan.
The voice in which Sir Charles commanded Duke to come to heel startled that animal into cowering instinctively. Before he could recover his assurance, he had been picked up, and tucked under Sir Charles's arm.
'You frightened him!' said Nan reproachfully. She found that she was being surveyed from head to foot by a lady with an arctic eye and contemptuously smiling lips, and glanced enquiringly at Sir Charles.
'So this,' said Lady Almeria, 'is your schoolgirl!'
Sir Charles, only too well aware of the impression likely to be created by Miss Massingham's hat, sighed, and prepared to embark on what was (as he ruefully admitted to himself) an improbable explanation of his circumstances.
'Sir Charles is my brother, ma'am!' said Miss Massingham, coming helpfully to the rescue.
Lady Almeria's lip curled. 'My good girl, I am well acquainted with Sir Charles's sister, and I imagine I need be in no doubt of the relationship which exists between you and him!'
'Be silent!' Sir Charles snapped. He put Duke into Nan's free arm. 'Go back into the parlour, Nan! I will be with you directly,' he said, smiling reassuringly down at her.
He closed the parlour door upon her, and turned to confront his betrothed. That he was very angry could be seen by the glint in his eyes, but he spoke with studied amiability. 'Do you know, Almeria, I never knew until today how very vulgar you can be?' he said.
The Lady Almeria then lost her temper. In the middle of the scene which followed, her brother walked into the inn and stood goggling. His intellect was not quick, and it was several minutes before he could understand anything beyond the appalling fact that his sister, whose uncertain temper had chased away many a promising suitor, was engaged in whistling down the wind a bridegroom rich beyond the dreams of avarice. He looked utterly aghast, and seemed not to know what to say. Sir Charles, who had been refreshing himself with a pinch of snuff, shut his box, and said: 'The lady in question, Stourbridge, as I have already informed Almeria, is a schoolgirl, whom I am escorting to London.'
'Well, then, Almeria – !' said his lordship, relieved.
'Don't be a fool!' said Almeria. 'I have seen the creature!'
'I should be loth to offer you violence, Almeria,' said Sir Charles, 'but if you again refer to that child in such terms I shall soundly box your ears!'
'You forget, I think, that I am not unprotected!'
'Stourbridge?' said Sir Charles. 'Oh, no, I don't forget him! If he cares to call me to book I shall be happy to answer him!'
At this point, Lord Stourbridge, who wished to come to fisticuffs with Sir Charles as little as he wished to expose his portly person to that gentleman's deadly accuracy with a pistol, attempted to remonstrate with his sister. A glance silenced him; she said furiously: 'Understand, Sir Charles, that our engagement is at an end! I shall be obliged to you if you will send the necessary notice to the Gazette!'
He bowed. 'It is always a happiness to me to obey you, Almeria!' he said outrageously.
## 6
Rejoining Miss Massingham in the parlour, he found her conscience-stricken. 'Who was that lady, sir?' she asked anxiously. 'Why was she so very angry?'
'That, my child, was the Lady Almeria Spalding. If you are ready to go –'
'Lady Almeria! Are – are you not engaged to her?'
'I was engaged to her!'
'Oh!' she cried. 'What have I done? Did she cry off because of me?'
'She did, but as we are not at all suited to one another I shall not reproach you for that. Foisting a repellant mongrel on me, however, which whined the better part of the night, is another matter; while as for your conduct in Marlborough –'
'But – but don't you care that your engagement is broken?' she interrupted.
'Not a bit!'
'Perhaps she will think better of it, and forgive you,' suggested Nan, in a somewhat wistful tone.
'I am obliged to you for the warning, and shall insert into the Gazette the notice that my marriage will not take place the instant I reach London,' he said cheerfully.
'It is very dreadful, but, do you know, sir, I find I cannot be sorry for it!'
'I am glad of that,' he said, smiling.
'She did not seem to me the kind of female you would like to be married to.'
'I can imagine none more unlike that female!'
She looked enquiringly up at him, but he only laughed, and said: 'Come, we must finish this journey of yours, if your grandfather is not to think that we have perished by the wayside!'
'Do you think he will be angry when he hears all that has happened?' she asked uneasily.
'I fear that his anger will fall upon my head. He will say – and with truth! – that I have made a poor hand at looking after you. However, I trust that when he has heard the full tale of your atrocious conduct he will realize that it was experience, and not goodwill, that was lacking in me, and give me leave to study how to do better in future.'
'I know you are quizzing me,' said Nan, 'but I don't precisely understand what you mean, sir!'
'I will tell you one day,' promised Sir Charles. 'But now we are going to drive to London! Come along!'
She went obediently with him to where the curricle waited, but when he lifted her into it, and disposed her injured foot upon the folded bolster, she sighed, and said shyly: 'Shall I ever see you again, once I am fixed in Brook Street?'
'Frequently!' said Sir Charles, mounting into the curricle, and feeling his horses' mouths.
Miss Massingham heaved a relieved sigh. 'I am so glad!' she said simply. 'For I don't feel that I could ever like anyone half as well!'
'That,' said Sir Charles, flicking a coin to the expectant ostler, 'is what I mean to make very sure of, my dear and abominable brat!'
# Pink Domino
## 1
It was a silken domino, of a shade of rose-pink admirably becoming to a brunette. One of the footmen had carried up the bandbox to the Blue Saloon in the great house in Grosvenor Square, where Miss Wrexham was engaged in solving a complimentary charade, sent to her by one of her admirers. This was abandoned; Miss Wrexham pounced on the bandbox, and lifted the lid. The domino was packed in sheet upon sheet of tissue-paper, and as Miss Wrexham lifted it from the box these fluttered to the ground, and lay there in drifts. Miss Wrexham gave a coo of delight, and held the cloak up against herself, looking in one of the long mirrors to see how it became her. It became her very well indeed: trust the most expensive modiste in London for that! Somewhere, on the floor, there was a rather staggering bill, but Miss Wrexham cared nothing for that. Bills were of no consequence to a Wrexham of Lyonshall. Being under age, one existed upon an allowance, and frequently outran the constable. But that was of no consequence either, since there was always Mama to come to one's rescue, or even, at a pinch, Giles. But only at a pinch. A brother who was eight years one's senior, and one's legal guardian into the bargain, could not be thought an ideal banker. He had never yet refused to pay one's debts, but there had been several distressing scenes, and one in particular, when she had lost a considerable sum of money playing loo for high stakes, which she preferred not to remember. For several quaking hours she had expected to be banished to Lyonshall, in charge of her old governess; and Mama, who seemed to have incurred more blame even than herself, had had one of her worst spasms. She had been forgiven, but she still thought it astonishingly mean of Giles to grudge her a few paltry hundreds out of his thirty thousand pounds a year.
All this, however, was forgotten, for she had a new and absorbing interest to distract her. Still holding up the pink domino, she wondered how the new interest would like it; and came to the conclusion that he must be hard indeed to please if he did not.
She was so lost in these agreeable speculations that she did not hear the door open behind her, and had no notion that she was not alone until a dry voice, which made her jump nearly out of her skin, said: 'Charming!'
She spun about, instinctively bundling the domino into a heap. 'Oh! I thought you was gone out!' she gasped.
Mr Wrexham shut the door, and walked forward. He was a tall man, with raven-black hair, and uncomfortably penetrating grey eyes. His air of distinction owed nothing to his dress, for this was careless. Stultz certainly made his coats, but he was never permitted to give his genius full rein. Mr Wrexham preferred to enter his coats without the assistance of his valet; and was so indifferent to the exigencies of the mode that when every Pink of the Ton was to be seen abroad in pantaloons and Hessians it was the Bank of England to a Charley's shelter that he would emerge from Jackson's Boxing Saloon attired in riding-breeches and top-boots, and with a Belcher handkerchief negligently knotted about his neck. In a lesser man such conduct would have occasioned severe censure; but, as his mama pointed out to his sister, if you were Wrexham of Lyonshall there was nothing you might not do with the approval of Society.
'It – it is a gown I chose yesterday!' said Letty.
'Do you take me for a flat?' replied her brother. 'It is a domino.' He picked up from the floor Madame Celestine's bill, and his brows rose. 'Quite an expensive domino, in fact!'
'I am sure there is no reason why I should not buy expensive things!' said Letty, trying to turn the issue.
'None at all, but this seems an extortionate price to pay for something you will not wear.'
Colour rushed up into her exquisite little face. 'I shall! I shall wear it!' she declared.
'I have already told you, my dear sister, that I will not permit you to go to a Pantheon masquerade, least of all in the company of a military fortune-hunter!'
Her eyes blazed with wrath. 'How dare you say such a thing? You have never so much as set eyes on Edwin!'
'He would appear to have taken good care of that,' said Mr Wrexham, with a curl of his lip.
'It is untrue! He would have been very glad to have met you! It was I who forbade it, because I knew how horrid you would be!'
At this moment, the door opened, and a faded lady came in, saying in a voice that matched her ethereal mien: 'Oh, here you are, my love! If we are to visit the Exhibition – Oh, is that you, Giles?'
'As you see, Mama. Pray postpone your visit to the Exhibition, and look at this!' He twitched the domino out of Letty's hands as he spoke, and shook it out before his mother's eyes.
Lady Albinia Wrexham, realizing that a scene highly prejudicial to her enfeebled constitution was about to take place, sank into a chair, and groped in her reticule for her vinaigrette. 'Oh, dear!' she sighed. 'Dearest child, if your brother dislikes it so very much, don't you think – ?'
'No!' said Letty. 'Giles dislikes everything I wish to do, and – and every gentleman who admires me!'
'With reason!' said Giles. 'You have now been on the town for less than a year, my girl, and I have been obliged to repulse no fewer than eight gazetted fortune-hunters!'
'Edwin is not a fortune-hunter!'
'Indeed, Giles, I think him an unexceptionable young man!' interpolated Lady Albinia.
'Let me remind you, ma'am, that you said the same of Winforton!'
'To be sure, I could wish that he were not serving in a Line regiment,' said her ladyship feebly. 'But his birth is perfectly respectable! I own, I should wish dear Letty to make a far more brilliant match, but –'
'Not I! I am going to marry Edwin, and follow the drum!' announced Letty.
Her brother threw her a glance half of amusement, half of exasperation. 'I should be sorry for any penniless lieutenant of Foot who was saddled with you for a wife, my dear!'
'But if he married Letty,' pointed out her ladyship, not entirely felicitously, 'he would not be penniless, Giles!'
'Exactly so!' he said sardonically.
'You are unjust!' Letty cried. 'All you care for is that I should make a splendid marriage, and nothing for my happiness!'
'At present,' he returned, 'I am not anxious to see you make any marriage at all. When you have ceased to imagine yourself to be in love with every man who dangles after you – why, yes! I should wish you to make a good match!'
'Then I wonder you don't make one yourself!' she flashed. 'I dare say there must be a score of eligible females casting out lures to you!'
'You flatter me,' he replied, unmoved.
'Oh, no, it is very true, Giles!' his mother assured him. 'And I wish very much that I could see you creditably established! There is Rothwell's daughter, or –'
'Oh, no, Mama!' Letty struck in, with an angry little titter. 'Giles does not make Earls' daughters the objects of his gallantry! When he marries, he will choose a dab of a girl in an outmoded bonnet, and a black pelisse!'
## 2
A tinge of colour stole into her brother's lean cheeks, but he said nothing. Lady Albinia, looking very much shocked, exclaimed: 'Dear child, I do not know what you can possibly mean!'
'It is wickedly unjust!' Letty declared, a sob in her throat. 'Giles will have nothing to say to my dearest Edwin because he has neither title nor fortune, but I know very well that if he could but have discovered where she lived he would have offered for a Nobody that was never at Almack's or – or anywhere one would look for a lady of quality!'
'Your imagination is as unbridled as your tongue,' Mr Wrexham said curtly.
'But what is this?' demanded Lady Albinia, greatly bewildered.
'You may well ask!' he replied. 'I hope you mean to enlighten us, Letty: who is the Nobody your fancy has marked down as my bride?'
'You know very well that I mean the girl who was knocked down in Bond Street, that day you and I were going to Hookham's Library! You may try to hoax me, but I know why you have been so obliging as to escort me to Almack's three times this month, and why you have taken to driving your phaeton in the Park every afternoon! You are trying to find her, because you were so much struck by the sweetest face you ever beheld that you lost your wits, and never even discovered what was her name!'
Lady Albinia turned astonished eyes towards her son. He uttered a short laugh. 'One of Letty's high flights, ma'am! The truth is merely that some girl had the misfortune to be knocked down by a curricle and pair, and I rendered her such assistance as lay within my power. Had she come by her deserts, she must have suffered serious injury. Happily, she was merely stunned for a minute. I trust that the incident has served to convince her of the folly of stepping into the road before ascertaining that no vehicle is at that moment approaching.'
Letty, who had listened to this speech with growing indignation, exclaimed: 'How can you, Giles? When you carried her into the Library, and sent me running to a chemist's shop, and told the man in the curricle, in the rudest way, that he was unfit even to drive a donkey! Yes, and if the girl would have permitted it you would have conveyed her to her home, and abandoned me in the middle of Bond Street!'
'Had the girl not been accompanied by a servant, I dare say I should have done so,' he replied coolly. 'I collect that this rodomontade is designed to divert my attention from your evident purpose. Understand me, Letty, I will not permit you to go to a Pantheon masquerade under any circumstances whatsoever, least of all in the company of an unknown officer of Foot!' He glanced down at his parent, and added: 'I must say, ma'am, I am amazed that you could sanction so improper a scheme!'
Lady Albinia had recourse to her vinaigrette. 'But, indeed, Giles, you do not perfectly understand how it was to be! The thing is that Mr Ledbury's married sister was to have escorted Letty. She was so civil as to write a letter to me, just as she ought, assuring me that she would take every care of her. There is to be a little party, and Letty is invited to dine at this Mrs Crewe's house before going to the Pantheon. But, of course, if you do not quite like it, I am persuaded she will give up the project!'
'No! No!' said Letty hotly.
'If you have a grain of common-sense, you will!' said her brother. 'Recollect that for two years to come you are in my wardship! Banish this new swain of yours from your thoughts, for if you do not I give you fair warning I shall find the means to compel you!' He paused, looking rather grimly at the stormy countenance upraised to his. After a moment, his own face softened, and he said: 'Come, Letty, don't be a goosecap! Indeed, these masquerades are not at all the thing! Be a good girl, and I will take you instead to the play!'
## 3
Mr Wrexham, withdrawing, left his sister mutinous, and his mother in a flutter of apprehension. To Letty's diatribe she could find nothing better to say than: 'Yes, indeed, my love, but you know how it is with Giles! I told you how it would be! He will never suffer you to marry a Nobody!'
'I will not be browbeaten by Giles!' said Letty. 'I know very well he means me to marry to oblige him – Rothbury, I daresay! – but I won't do it! I know that I shall never love anyone but Edwin!'
Lady Albinia uttered distressful sounds. 'My love, do not say so! He will never let you throw yourself away like that! And I must say I think it was most imprudent of you, Letty, to set up his back with that nonsensical story!'
'Mama, I vow to you that he was so much struck by the girl that I scarce knew him for my own brother! And he did say that she had the sweetest face he ever beheld!'
'Very likely, my love, but you must know that such fancies are common amongst gentlemen, and they do not lead to marriage! If you imagine that was in his head, you are a great goose! He has more pride even than his sainted papa, and he, you know – Well, never mind that! But the Wrexhams always make good marriages. It has grown to be quite a habit with them!'
Letty said no more, but went away, carrying the domino over her arm.
Mr Wrexham, meanwhile, had left the house. He did not return to it until shortly before seven o'clock, when he was greeted by the staggering tidings that Miss Letty, so far from being in her dressing-room, had driven away in a hackney a few minutes earlier.
'To what address?' asked Mr Wrexham, in a voice of dangerous calm.
Never had the butler been more thankful to be able to disclaim all responsibility for his young mistress's actions. None of the servants had been employed to summon the hackney; and but for the accident of one of the abigails looking out of a window just as Miss Letty was stepping up into the vehicle, no one would have known that she had gone out.
Mr Wrexham went up to Lady Albinia's dressing-room two steps at a time. He found her resting upon a sofa, and, with a total disregard for her nerves, demanded to be told whether she was aware that her daughter had left the house in a manner which he did not scruple to call clandestine.
Her face of shocked dismay was answer enough. Curbing a strong inclination to animadvert severely upon the negligence that had made it possible for Letty to steal from the house, Mr Wrexham curtly requested his parent to furnish him with Mrs Crewe's direction.
'Giles!' protested her ladyship. 'You cannot wrest your sister away from a dinner-party!'
'Oh, yes, I can!' retorted Mr Wrexham.
Lady Albinia, perceiving that he was in a towering rage, sank back against her cushions, and said in a dying voice: 'I can feel a spasm coming on!'
'Furnish me with Mrs Crewe's direction, ma'am, and I will leave you to enjoy it in private!'
'But I don't know it!' wailed her ladyship, almost beyond human aid. 'I never kept her letter, for why should I? And I don't recall the direction, though I am sure it was perfectly respectable, for if it had not been I must have noticed it!'
Controlling himself with a visible effort, Mr Wrexham strode from the room.
He dined alone, the butler informing him that her ladyship had bespoken a bowl of broth in her dressing-room. Since this was his mother's invariable custom, whenever she was confronted by a disagreeable situation, Mr Wrexham was neither surprised nor alarmed. He ate his dinner in frowning silence, and then went upstairs to his room, and rang for his valet. Less than an hour later, clad in the satin knee-breeches and black coat that betokened a gentleman of fashion on his way to an evening party, he left the house, a half-mask in his pocket, and an old black domino, unearthed from the recesses of his wardrobe, over his arm.
## 4
The Pantheon, which was on the south side of Oxford Street, was a magnificent structure, decorated in a style which rendered it obnoxious to the eye of the fastidious. It comprised a large suite of saloons, and a ballroom, which was a huge rectangular hall, with a painted ceiling, a raised platform for the musicians, and numerous boxes and alcoves. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, and from every Gothic arch which lined the room; all was gilding and glitter. Originally, it had been patronized by members of the haut ton, but when the first building was burnt to the ground, and a new structure erected, the company became so far from select that Mr Wrexham had every excuse for forbidding his sister to be seen there.
Although the hour was early when he arrived there, the ballroom was already full of a motley crowd of persons, some in dominoes, some in historical costume, all masked, and many behaving with the license encouraged by the wearing of disguises. After watching a quadrille for a few minutes, Mr Wrexham decided that his sister had not yet arrived, for although he could see two ladies in pink dominoes one was by far too tall, and the other had pushed back the hood of her domino to show a head of yellow curls. He began to stroll through the saloons, successfully resisting the efforts of two ladies of Covent Garden notoriety to beguile him into dalliance.
It was nearly an hour later, when the revelry was becoming a trifle indecorous, that he suddenly saw Letty. She had her hood drawn over her head, but he caught a glimpse of dusky curls, and recognized her little trim figure. She was waltzing with a large man in a purple domino, and the only circumstance which afforded her brother some slight degree of satisfaction was her obvious lack of pleasure in the exercise. Leaning his broad shoulders against one of the decorated pillars, and folding his arms across his chest, he watched her circle round the room, and very soon realized that her partner (whom he suspected of being slightly foxed) was subjecting her to a form of gallantry which was extremely unwelcome. He thought it would be a salutory lesson to her, and had almost made up his mind not to intervene for a little while, when she suddenly broke away from her partner, and hurried off the floor, hotly pursued. Mr Wrexham, shouldering his way through the loungers at the side of the hall, reached her just as Purple Domino caught her round the waist, saying with a laugh: 'You shan't escape me thus, pretty prude!'
Mr Wrexham, setting a hand on his shoulder, swung him aside. A glance at his sister showed him that she was shaking like a leaf; he was afraid that she might be going to faint, and pushed her into the alcove behind her, saying briefly: 'Sit down!'
At the sound of his voice she jumped under his hand, and gave a gasp.
'Yes, my girl, it is I!' said Mr Wrexham very dryly indeed, and turned to confront Purple Domino.
In a voice which bore out Mr Wrexham's previous estimate of his condition, Purple Domino demanded to know what the devil he meant by it.
'I mean,' said Mr Wrexham, 'that unless you remove yourself within one minute, my fine buck, I shall have the greatest pleasure in supplying you with a little of the home-brewed!'
Purple Domino recoiled instinctively, but recovered, and said in a blustering tone: 'Damme, what right have you to spoil sport?'
'Let me inform you,' said Mr Wrexham, 'that I am this lady's brother!'
'B-brother?' echoed Purple Domino, in a dazed voice. 'But I didn't – Curse you, how was I to know?'
He stood staring through the slits of his mask for a moment, in an undecided way, and then, muttering something indistinguishable, took himself off.
Mr Wrexham felt a hand touch his sleeve. He drew it through his arm. It was trembling so much that instead of uttering the blistering words hovering on his tongue, he merely said: 'You see, Letty, I am not quite so gothic as you think me. Come, I am going to take you home now, and we will forget this military suitor of yours!'
She did not answer, but went meekly with him to the entrance-hall. It was deserted, save for the porter. Mr Wrexham said: 'I sent the carriage home, so I must procure a hack. Go and put on your cloak! There is no need to be in a quake: I am not an ogre!'
## 5
'No,' said the Pink Domino, in a shaken voice. 'But I – I am not your sister, sir!'
He had turned away, but at this he wheeled about, startled, staring at her. With an impatient movement he ripped off his mask, and it was to be seen that he was suddenly very pale, his eyes fiercely intent upon her face. 'Take off your mask!' he commanded imperatively. 'I know your voice! Surely I know your voice?'
She put up her hands to untie the strings of her mask. 'I knew yours,' she said simply. 'You – you are always rescuing me from the consequences of my folly, sir!'
He found himself gazing into the sweetest face he had ever beheld. It was heart-shaped, possessed of a pair of smiling grey eyes, which met his shyly yet frankly, and of a tender, generous mouth. Oblivious of the porter's bored presence, he grasped her hands, ejaculating: 'You! Oh, my little love, where have you been hiding yourself? I have searched everywhere for you! Such a zany as I was never to have discovered even your name!'
She blushed, and her gaze fell. 'I don't know yours either, sir,' she said, trying to speak lightly.
'I am Giles Wrexham. And you?'
It meant nothing to her; she replied: 'Ruth Welborne. I have not been in hiding, only, when I met you before I was still in mourning for my father, and so, you see, I have not till now gone into society. Did you indeed look for me?'
'Everywhere!' he declared, still grasping her hands. 'I had abandoned hope! Where do you live? Let me not lose you again!'
She gave a little laugh. 'How absurd you are! In Harley Street, with my uncle, who was kind enough to take me into his family when my father died.'
He had never encountered a Welborne; from the direction it seemed probable that her uncle might be a banker, or a merchant, or an Indian nabob. His brain fleetingly acknowledged the possibility, and discarded it as a matter of no consequence. 'But what, in God's name, are you doing at a Pantheon masquerade?' he demanded. 'In such company, too! Do you tell me that your uncle brought you here?'
'Oh, no, no!' she said quickly. 'Indeed, I do not think that he or my aunt knew just how it would be, for they do not go into society much.'
'Then how comes it about that you are here?'
She did not seem to resent the question, but it was a moment before she answered it. She said then, with a little difficulty: 'It was a party of Sir Godfrey Claines's contriving. He is the man in the purple domino. A cousin of his, a Mrs Worksop, invited me, and my aunt wished me not to refuse. You see, sir, I – I have not the advantage of fortune, and my aunt has three daughters of her own, the eldest of whom she will bring out next year. It would not be reasonable to suppose that she would desire to be saddled with me under such circumstances.'
'I understand you!' he said, tightly holding her hands.
She had lowered her eyes, but she raised them at that, and said: 'Ah, you are not to be thinking that I have met with unkindness! It is not so! I was bred in the country, and perhaps I am missish in not liking – But I was never more thankful in my life, sir, than when you came to my rescue just now!'
He released her hands at last. 'Go and put on your cloak!' he said, smiling down at her. 'I will take you back to your uncle's house.'
'Mrs Worksop!' she faltered. 'Ought I not –'
'No. She did not take such care of you that you owe her a particle of civility.'
'Your sister! I collect that she too is present. I must not –'
'It is of no consequence,' he interrupted. 'If she is here, it is not under my protection! Come, do as I bid you! Do you think I mean to let you slip through my fingers again?'
## 6
'Surely I must be dreaming!' Ruth said, as the hack drew to a standstill. 'I thought I should never see you again, and now – ! But how can it be? You do not know me!'
'I am very sure that I do. As for my own mind, I knew that the instant you opened your dear eyes, that day in Bond Street, and looked up into my face.'
'It was so with you too!' she said wonderingly.
He kissed her hand, and let it go. 'It was so. Come, we must get out of this musty coach, and brave your uncle and aunt!'
'Good heavens, you will not tell them – ? They must think you mad! Pray do not – !'
'No, not tonight,' he said reassuringly, assisting her to alight.
'I fear my aunt may be much displeased with me,' she said. 'Should you perhaps leave me now?'
'No. Nor, I fancy, will your aunt be displeased,' he replied.
The master of the house, they were informed by the servant who admitted them, was still at his club, but Mrs Welborne was at home, and in the drawing-room.
They found her deep in the pages of the newest marble-backed novel from the Circulating Library. Taken unawares, she looked up in surprise, and exclaimed: 'Good God, Ruth, what in the world brings you home so soon? I declare, you are the most vexatious –' She stopped short, her gaze travelling past Ruth to Mr Wrexham. One instant she sat with her jaw dropping, then she cast aside her novel and sprang up, a look compound of amazement and delight transfiguring her sharp countenance. 'Oh – ! Surely I cannot be mistaken? Is it not – Mr Wrexham?'
He bowed. 'Yes, I am Wrexham, ma'am,' he said. 'I made the acquaintance of Miss Welborne a month and more ago, in Bond Street, as she may have told you.'
Her face was a study. 'In Bond Street! You were the gentleman who – ? Good God, Ruth, why did you not inform me? I am sure, sir, that had we but known my husband would have called on you to convey the sense of his obligation!'
Mr Wrexham, inured to flattery, and never famed for his social graces, cut her short, saying in his incisive way: 'It is of no consequence, ma'am. What is of consequence is that I have brought Miss Welborne home this evening because I found her where no young lady of quality should be, and being subjected to such embarrassment as, I am persuaded, you would not wish her to be obliged to endure.'
'No, indeed! I am sure, if I had had the least notion –'
'Just so, ma'am. I am sure that I need not enlarge upon this topic. May I beg that you will give me leave to call tomorrow to see how Miss Welborne does?'
She was wreathed in smiles. 'We shall be most happy, sir!'
'Thank you. I shall hope to have the felicity of finding Mr Welborne at home, for there is something I wish to say to him.'
'He shall be at home!' declared Mrs Welborne.
He bowed again, and turned from her to Ruth, who had been listening in bewilderment to her aunt's affability. He held out his hand, and she put hers into it, as though compelled. He raised it to his lips. 'Have I your permission to visit you tomorrow?' he asked, smiling into her wondering eyes.
The smile was reflected in them. 'If you please, sir!' Ruth said, blushing adorably.
Mrs Welborne, much affected, rang for the servant to show Mr Wrexham out of the house. When he had gone, Ruth, looking doubtfully at her aunt, said in her soft voice: 'I hope you are not vexed with me, ma'am? Indeed, I –'
'Vexed with you?' cried Mrs Welborne, embracing her with unaccustomed fervour. 'Dearest Ruth, what nonsensical notions you do take into your head! Dear, dear child, I know that when you are rich and fashionable you will not forget your cousins! They say he has never yet attached himself to any female, and you may imagine the caps that have been set at him! Ruth, is it possible – ? Why, you innocent puss, that was Wrexham of Lyonshall!'
## 7
Mr Wrexham, returning to Grosvenor Square just before midnight, learned, with vague surprise, that he was awaited by her ladyship in the drawing-room. He found, in fact, that he was awaited not only by her ladyship, but by his sister, and a well set-up young man in scarlet regimentals, who had a crop of fair, curly hair, a pair of serious blue eyes, set in an open countenance, and a general air of one about to engage in a Forlorn Hope. Both he and Letty rose at Mr Wrexham's entrance. The gentleman eased his black cravat, and was seen to draw a deep breath; the lady burst into tempestuous speech.
'Good heavens, Giles, where can you have been this age? We have been waiting for you these two hours! Giles, this is Edwin!'
'How do you do?' said Mr Wrexham, holding out his hand.
Mr Ledbury's orbs showed a tendency to start from their sockets. He coloured richly, and grasped the outstretched hand. 'How – how do you do?' he stammered. 'I have long been wishful of meeting you, sir!'
'Have you?' said Mr Wrexham abstractedly. He opened his snuff-box, and offered it to his guest. His eyes took in the facings to that scarlet jacket. 'In the 40th are you?'
Mr Ledbury acknowledged it. Almost stunned by the honour done him in being invited to help himself to snuff from Mr Wrexham's own box, he took too large a pinch, and fell into a fit of sneezing. This left the field open to Letty, and she at once said: 'You must know, Giles, that but for my entreaties this visit would have been paid you more than a month ago! No sooner did I divulge to Edwin what had passed between you and me this morning than he declared his unshakeable resolve to wait upon you immediately! We stayed only to dine with his sister.'
'Did you?' said Mr Wrexham. 'I can only offer my apologies for having been absent from home. What do you want with me?'
Letty stared at him. 'Giles, are you quite well?' she gasped.
'I was thinking of something else,' he apologized, a tinge of colour mounting to his cheek. 'Did you say you had been awaiting me for two hours? Were you not at the masquerade, then?'
Mr Ledbury, mastering his paroxysm, said: 'Sir, it is on that head that I was resolved to have speech with you this very night! When I learned that you had taken the scheme in such aversion, nothing, believe me, would have prevailed with me to continue with it! In this determination my sister was steadfast in upholding me. It was only in response to my earnest representations that she was induced, at the outset, to take part in the scheme.'
'These masquerades are not at all the thing, you know,' said Mr Wrexham.
Mr Ledbury blushed more vividly still. 'Sir, from the circumstance of my having been employed since the age of fifteen, first in the Peninsula, and later in America, returning thence only just in time to take part in the late conflict at Waterloo, I have never been on the town, as the saying is. Had I suspected that any impropriety would attach to my escorting Miss Wrexham to such a function, I must have been resolute in refusing to lend myself to the project.'
'Letty's notion, was it?' said Mr Wrexham, with what none of his listeners could feel to be more than tepid interest.
His mother and sister gazed at him in uneasy astonishment. Mr Ledbury, emboldened by his mild aspect, plunged into a recital of his ambitions, his present circumstances, and his future expectations. Mr Wrexham, lost in dreams of his own, caught such phrases as 'eldest son', – 'my father's estate in Somerset', and soon interrupted the flow, saying: 'I wish you will not talk so much! It is time you had your company: you had a great deal better exchange into another regiment, but I cannot discuss that with you at this hour!'
Mr Ledbury, transported to find his Letty's brother so much less formidable than he had been led to expect, delivered himself of a rehearsed peroration. In the maximum number of words he conveyed to Mr Wrexham the intelligence that, if it were possible, he would prefer Letty to renounce all claim to her inheritance. This noble speech at last jerked Mr Wrexham out of his abstraction, and caused him to retort with considerable acerbity: 'Happily, it is not possible! I wish you will go away, for I am in no mood for these heroics! Come and talk to me tomorrow morning! You wish to marry my sister: very well, but you must transfer! She will make you the devil of a wife, but that, I thank God, is no concern of mine!'
With these words of encouragement, he inexorably ushered his guest off the premises, barely allowing him time to take a punctilious leave of Lady Albinia, and a fond one of Letty. When he returned to the drawing-room, he found his mother and sister with their heads together, but whatever they were so earnestly discussing remained undisclosed. 'Giles,' said Letty anxiously, 'did you perfectly understand? Edwin has offered for me!'
'I dare say an estimable young man, but he uses too many words,' commented Mr Wrexham. 'Do you think he would like to transfer into a cavalry regiment?'
Alarmed, she laid her hand on his arm. 'Giles, are you sure you are well?'
'Perfectly!' he said, lifting her hand, and gripping it. 'I was never better!'
She cried sharply: 'Giles! You have found her!'
'I have found her! The sweetest face I ever beheld, Letty! Mama, I hope you do not mean to succumb to the vapours, for I wish you to make a call of ceremony in Harley Street tomorrow!'
# A Husband for Fanny
## 1
His attentions,' said the widow, fixing a pair of large, rather anxious brown eyes on her cousin's face, 'are becoming most marked, I assure you, Honoria!'
'Fiddle!' said Lady Pednor.
The widow, who had just raised a delicate cup to her lips, started, and spilled some of the morning chocolate into the saucer. A drop fell on her dress. She set the cup and saucer down, and began to rub the mark with her handkerchief, saying despairingly: 'There! Only see what you have made me do! I dare say it will never come out!'
'Very likely it will not,' agreed her hostess, in no way repentant. 'You will be obliged to buy a new dress, and that, let me tell you, Clarissa, will be an excellent thing!'
'I cannot afford a new dress!' said the widow indignantly. 'All very well for you, as rich as you are, to talk in that unfeeling way, but you know –'
'I am not rich,' said Lady Pednor composedly, 'but I can afford a new dress, because I do not squander every penny I possess upon my daughter.'
Mrs Wingham blushed, but replied with spirit: 'You have no daughter!'
'What is more,' continued her ladyship, unheeding, 'I will accompany you to buy the dress, or I dare say you will choose just such another dowdy colour!'
'Purple-bloom, and very suitable!' said Mrs Wingham defiantly.
'Extremely so – for dowagers!'
'I am a dowager.'
'You are a goose,' replied her cousin calmly. 'It would be interesting to know what you spent on that spangled gauze gown Fanny wore at Almack's last night!' She paused, but Mrs Wingham only looked guilty. 'Pray, what is to be the end of all this extravagance, Clarissa? You will be ruined!'
'No, no! I have saved every penny I could spare ever since Fanny was a baby, just for this one season! If only I can see her creditably established, it will have been worth it! And although you may say "fiddle!" if you choose to be so uncivil, it is true about Harleston! From the moment of your bringing him up to me at Almack's that night, I could see that he was instantly struck by my darling's beauty. And never can I be sufficiently obliged to you, Honoria!'
'If I had thought that you would be so foolish, my dear, I never would have presented him,' said Lady Pednor. 'Harleston and Fanny! Good God, he must be forty if he is a day! How old is she? Seventeen? You are out of your senses!'
The widow shook her head. 'I don't wish her to be poor, and –' She broke off, and looked away from her cousin. 'Or to marry a very young man. It doesn't endure, the sort of attachment one forms when one is young, and young men don't make comfortable husbands, Honoria. With such a man as Lord Harleston – in every way so exactly what one would desire for one's child! – she would be very happy and never know care, and – and the disagreeable effects of poverty!'
'My love,' said Lady Pednor, 'because your mama made a bad bargain for you when she married you to Tom Wingham, is not to say that every young man must prove to be a monster of selfishness!'
'I was in love with Tom: it was not all Mama's doing!'
'I dare say. An excessively handsome creature, and he could be perfectly amiable, if events fell out according to his wishes.'
'I have sometimes thought,' said Mrs Wingham wistfully, 'that if only his Uncle Horsham had not married again and had a son, after all those years, and poor Tom had succeeded to the title, as he always expected to do, he would have been quite different!'
'Well, he would have had more money to fling away,' said Lady Pednor dryly. 'That might, of course, have made him more amiable.'
'But that is exactly what I have been saying,' said the widow eagerly. 'It was the poverty that made him often so cross and so disobliging! Heaven knows I do not wish to say unkind things of Tom, but can you wonder at me for – yes, for scheming, like the most odious match-maker alive, to provide my Fanny with everything that will make her life all that mine was not?'
'I wish you will stop talking as though you were in your dotage!' said her ladyship irascibly. 'Let me remind you that you are not yet thirty-seven years old! If you would not drape yourself in purple you might well pass for Fanny's sister! As for these precious schemes of yours, Fanny should rather be falling in love with an ineligible young man. In fact, I thought that that was what she had done. Didn't you tell me of some boy in the –th Foot?'
'No, no!' cried the widow. 'At least, I did, but it was only a childish fancy. He has no expectations, and I am persuaded that it was nothing more than the circumstance of his being a neighbour of ours in Buckinghamshire. Why, he cannot afford even to buy his promotion! And since I have brought Fanny to town, and she has met so many gentlemen of far greater address than Richard Kenton, I am persuaded she has forgotten all about him. Fanny marry into a Line regiment, pinching and scraping, living in garrison towns, and – No, a thousand times, no!'
'I dare say she would enjoy it very much,' said Lady Pednor.
'I won't have it!' declared the widow. 'Call me worldly, if you will, but only consider! What comparison can there be between Richard Kenton and the Marquis of Harleston? Mind, if Harleston were not the man he is, I would not for one moment countenance his suit. But have you ever, Honoria – tell me candidly – have you ever, I say, met any gentleman more likely to make a female happy? Setting aside his position and his wealth, where will you find such delightful manners, such engaging solicitude, and, oh, such smiling eyes? What could Fanny find in Richard to rival these attributes?'
'His youth,' replied Lady Pednor, with a wry smile. 'Indeed, I hope she may find a dozen things, for I tell you, Clarissa, if she is setting her cap at Harleston –'
'Never! I have not uttered a word to her on this subject, and to suppose that she could do anything so vulgar –'
'So much the better! Not, however, that she would be the first to do so, my love. No man has been more pursued than Harleston; no man has more frequently confounded expectation. They say that he suffered a severe disappointment in youth: be that as it may, it is certain that he has now no thought of marriage. If you had not buried yourself in the country these fifteen years, Clara, you would know that not even such a hardened match-maker as Augusta Daventry would waste one moment's speculation on Harleston.'
The widow began to pull on her gloves. 'Very likely she might not. She has a bevy of daughters, but I fancy there is not one amongst them who would not be cast into the shade by my Fanny.'
'That, I own, is true,' said Lady Pednor fairly. 'Fanny casts them all into the shade.'
Mrs Wingham turned quite pink. Her brown eyes sparkled through a sudden mist of tears. She said, in her pretty, imploring way: 'Oh, Honoria, she is beautiful, is she not?'
'She is beautiful; her manners are engaging – and to suppose that you will catch Harleston for her is the greatest piece of nonsense ever I heard,' said her ladyship.
## 2
Since Lady Pednor's mansion was in Berkeley Square, and the furnished house, hired by Mrs Wingham for the season at shocking cost, in Albemarle Street, the widow had not far to go to reach her own door when she parted from her cousin. Disregarding the solicitations of several chairmen, she stepped out briskly, one hand holding up her demi-train, the other plunged into a feather muff. Her face, framed by the brim of a bonnet with a high crown and three curled ostrich plumes, still wore its faintly anxious expression, for her cousin's words had a little ruffled her spirits. Lady Pednor spoke with all the authority of one who moved habitually in the circle Mrs Wingham had reentered only at the start of the season; and although her kind offices, as much as the Wingham connection (headed by the youthful Lord Horsham, whose birth had put an end to Tom Wingham's expectations), had thrust an almost forgotten widow and her lovely daughter into the heart of the ton, there could be no doubt that she was in a better position to pronounce on the Marquis of Harleston's probable intentions than one who had met him for the first time barely two months previously.
This reflection deepened the frown between Mrs Wingham's brows. She had for some time been conscious of a depression on her spirits, which might, she thought, be due to fatigue, or to the prospect of losing the companionship of her child. Her morning visit had done nothing to lift the cloud. Not content with trying to damp her hopes of a brilliant marriage for Fanny, Lady Pednor had, most unnecessarily, recalled Richard Kenton to her mind.
Not that the thought of Richard disturbed her very much. There had certainly been some boy-and-girl nonsense between him and Fanny, but both had behaved very well. Indeed, Richard seemed to realize that he could not support a wife on a lieutenant's pay; and he had manfully agreed with Mrs Wingham that it would be wrong to permit Fanny to enter upon an engagement until she had seen rather more of the world. Nor had Fanny raised more than a faint demur at her mama's plans for a London season. She had always been a biddable daughter, and if she had a will of her own it did not find expression in tantrums or odd humours. Launched into society, she behaved just as she ought, neither losing her head at so much unaccustomed gaiety, nor grieving her mama by appearing not to enjoy herself. She had many admirers, but not quite as many suitors, her want of fortune making her an ineligible choice for those who looked for more than birth and beauty in a bride. Mrs Wingham had foreseen that this would be so. She had been hopeful of achieving a good match for her; not until Lord Harleston had shown how strongly he was attracted towards Albemarle Street had she dreamed of a brilliant one. But his lordship, upon first setting eyes on Fanny, had requested Lady Pednor to present him to Fanny's mama, and, during that evening, at Almack's Assembly Rooms, when he had civilly devoted himself to Mrs Wingham, conversing with her while Fanny went down a country dance with young Mr Bute, she had known that he was the very man who could be depended on to make Fanny happy. When Fanny had joined them, he had solicited her to dance; later, he had called in Albemarle Street, and had begged Mrs Wingham to bring her daughter to a party of his contriving at Vauxhall Gardens. Since that day they had seemed always to be in his company; and if Mrs Wingham had at first doubted the serious nature of his intentions, such doubts were banished by a morning visit from his sister, a gentle lady who certainly called at her brother's desire, and who not only treated the widow with distinguishing kindness, but complimented her on Fanny's beauty, saying, with a smile: 'My brother has told me, ma'am, that you have a very lovely daughter.'
Lady Pednor had not known that when she tried to depress her cousin's hopes, reflected Mrs Wingham, mounting the steps to her own front door.
Fanny was going on a picnic expedition to Richmond Park, but her hostess's carriage had not yet arrived in Albemarle Street. Mrs Wingham found her trying to decide whether to wear a green spencer over her muslin dress, or a shawl of Norwich silk. Mrs Wingham thought that the spencer would be the more suitable wear, and enquired who was to be of the party. Fanny, tying a straw bonnet over her dark curls, replied: 'I don't know, Mama, but there are to be two carriages, besides Mr Whitby's curricle, and Eliza said that most of the other gentlemen would ride, so that it must be quite a large party. I think it was very obliging of Mrs Stratton to have invited me, don't you?'
Mrs Wingham agreed to it, but added: 'I hope you will be home in good time, dearest, for I should like you to rest before our own party. And I think you should wear the figured lace. I will lend you my pearls.'
'And I think you will wear the pearls yourself, and on no account that horrid turban, which makes you look like some dreadful dowager, and not in the least like my own, pretty Mama!' retorted Fanny, bestowing a butterfly's kiss on the widow's cheek. She then turned away and began to hunt for a pair of gloves. 'We sent out a great many cards, didn't we?' she said. 'I quite forget how many guests are coming!'
'About fifty,' said Mrs Wingham, with a touch of pride.
'Gracious, it will be a regular squeeze! I suppose all our particular friends? The Shanklins, and the Yeovils, and Lord Harleston?'
This was airily said. Mrs Wingham, unable to see her daughter's face, replied calmly: 'Oh yes!'
'Of course!' Fanny said, considering the rival claims of one pair of silk mittens and one pair of French kid gloves. 'Mama?'
'My love!'
'Mama, do you – do you like Lord Harleston?' Fanny asked shyly.
Whatever ambitious schemes Mrs Wingham had in mind, she would have relinquished them all rather than have encouraged her unspoiled daughter to share them. She replied, therefore, in a cool tone: 'Why, yes, very much! Do you?'
A glowing face was turned towards her. 'Oh, Mama, indeed I do! I think him quite the nicest person we have met in London. One could tell him almost anything, and be sure that he would understand just how it was,' Fanny said impulsively. She bestowed a brief hug upon the widow. 'Dearest Mama, I am so glad you like him!'
Mrs Wingham, returning the embrace, felt tears – thankful tears – sting her eyelids, but was spared the necessity of answering by a scratch on the door, which heralded the entrance of the page-boy, come to inform Miss Wingham that Mrs Stratton's barouche awaited her.
## 3
Fanny did not return from her picnic in time to indulge in rest, but she was in her best looks that evening. Several persons commented on her radiance; and Lord Harleston, obliging his hostess to recruit her energies with a glass of champagne, said, with his attractive smile: 'You are to be congratulated, ma'am! I do not know when I have seen so engaging a creature as your daughter. Such a bloom of health! Such frank, open manners! I think, too, that she has a disposition that matches her face.'
'Indeed, my lord, she is the dearest girl!' Mrs Wingham said, blushing with gratification and raising her eyes to his. 'I do think – but I might be partial – that she is very pretty. She favours her papa, you know.'
'Does she?' said his lordship, seating himself beside her on the sofa. 'I own that it is her mama I perceive in her countenance.'
'Oh no!' the widow assured him earnestly. 'My husband was an excessively handsome man.'
He bowed. 'Indeed? I think I had not the pleasure of the late Mr Wingham's acquaintance. He would certainly be proud of his daughter, were he alive today.' His eyes had been resting on Fanny, as she chatted, not many paces distant, to a gentleman with very high points to his shirt-collar, but he brought them back to Mrs Wingham's face, adding: 'And also of her mama. It is seldom that one discovers a well-informed mind behind a lovely face, ma'am; and Fanny has told me that she owes her education to you.'
'Why, yes!' admitted Mrs Wingham frankly. 'It has not been within my power to provide Fanny with the governesses and the professors I should have desired for her. If you do not find her deficient in attainments, I think myself complimented indeed!'
'May I say that I believe no governess or professor could have achieved so admirable a result?'
'You are too flattering, my lord!' was all she could find to say, and that in faltering accents.
'No, I never flatter,' he responded, taking the empty glass from her hand. 'I perceive that we are about to be interrupted by Lady Luton. I have something of a very particular nature to say to you, but this is neither the time nor the occasion for it. May I beg of you to indulge me with the favour of a private interview with you, at whatever time may be most agreeable to you?'
Such a tumult of emotion swelled in the widow's breast that she could scarcely find voice enough to utter the words: 'Whenever you wish, my lord! I shall be happy to receive you!'
He rose, as Lady Luton surged down upon them. 'Then, shall we say, at three o'clock tomorrow?'
She inclined her head; he bowed and moved away; and a moment later she had the felicity of seeing his tall, well-knit frame beside Fanny. Fanny was looking up at him, with her sweet smile, and putting out her hand, which he took in his and held for an instant, while he addressed some quizzing remark to her that made her laugh and blush. A queer little pang shot through the widow, seeing them on such comfortable terms. She reflected that her absorption in Fanny had made her stupidly jealous, and resolutely turned her attention to Lady Luton.
## 4
Having ascertained that her daughter had no engagement on the following afternoon, Mrs Wingham was surprised, when she returned from a shopping expedition in Bond Street, to find that only one cover had been laid for a luncheon of cold meat and fruit. She enquired of the butler, hired, like the house, for the season, whether Miss Fanny had gone out with her maid.
'No, madam, with a military gentleman.'
These fell words caused the widow to feel so strong a presentiment of disaster that she turned pale, and repeated numbly: 'A military gentleman!'
'A Mr Kenton, madam. Miss Fanny appeared to be well acquainted with him. Extremely well acquainted with him, if I may say so, madam!'
Making a creditable effort to maintain her composure, Mrs Wingham said: 'Oh, Mr Kenton is an old friend! I had no notion he was in town. He and Miss Fanny went out together, I think you said?'
'Yes, madam, in a hackney carriage. I understand, to the City, Mr Kenton desiring the coachman to set them down at the Temple.'
This very respectable address did nothing to soothe Mrs Wingham's agitated nerves. The whole locality, from Temple Bar to St Paul's Cathedral, appeared to her to be sinister in the extreme. Amongst the thoughts which jostled one another in her head, the most prominent were Fleet Marriages, Doctors' Commons and Special Licences. She was obliged to sit down, for her knees were trembling. Her butler then proffered a tray on which lay a note, twisted into a little cocked hat.
It was scribbled in pencil, and it was brief:
Dearest Mama, – Forgive me, but I have gone with Richard. You shall know it all, but I have no time now. Pray do not be vexed with me! I am so happy I am sure you cannot be.
Mrs Wingham became aware that she was being asked if she would partake of luncheon or wait for Miss Fanny, and heard her own voice replying with surprising calm: 'I don't think Miss Fanny will be home to luncheon.'
She then drew her chair to the table and managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of chicken, and to sip a glass of wine. A period of quiet reflection, if it did not lighten her heart, at least assuaged the worst of her fears. She could not believe that either Fanny or Richard would for a moment contemplate the impropriety of a clandestine marriage. But that the sight of Richard had revived all Fanny's tenderness for him she could not, in the face of Fanny's note, doubt. What to do she could not think, and in a state of wretched indecision presently went up to her bedroom. After removing her hat, setting a becoming lace cap on her head and tying it under her chin, there seemed to be nothing to do but to await further news of the truants, so she went to sit in the drawing-room, and tried to occupy herself with her needle.
Fortunately, she had not long to wait. Shortly after two o'clock an impetuous step on the stair smote her listening ears, and Fanny herself came into the room, out of breath, her cheeks in a glow, and her eyes sparkling. 'Mama? Oh, Mama, Mama, it is true, and you will give your consent now, won't you?'
She came running across the room as she spoke and cast herself at her mother's feet, flinging her arms round her, and seeming not to know whether to laugh or cry. Behind her Mr Kenton, very smart in his regimentals, shut the door and remained at a little distance, as though doubtful of his reception. He was a well-set-up young man, with a pleasant countenance and an air of considerable resolution. At the moment, however, he was looking a trifle anxious, and he seemed to find his neckcloth rather too tight.
'Fanny, my dear, pray – !' remonstrated Mrs Wingham. 'I don't know what you are talking about! How do you do, Richard? I am very pleased to see you. Are you on furlough?'
'Mama, we have such news for you! Richard's godmother has died!' interrupted Fanny ecstatically. 'And she has left Richard a great deal of money so that he can support a wife after all! He came to tell me at once, and I went with him to the lawyer, and it is true!'
Mrs Wingham turned her bewildered eyes towards Mr Kenton. He said bluntly: 'No, it is not a great deal of money, ma'am, but it will enable me to buy my exchange, for you must know that I have been offered the chance of a company in the –th, only I never thought I should be able – . However, I can now afford the purchase money, and once I am in the –th, I hope I shan't be obliged to wait upon the chance of Boney's escaping a second time, and starting another kick-up, for my promotion. And I thought, if you would give your consent to our marriage, I would settle what will be left of the legacy on Fanny. It won't be a fortune, but – but it will be something!'
'Mama, you will consent?' Fanny said imploringly. 'You said I must see something of the world before I made up my mind, but I have now seen a great deal of the world, and I haven't met anyone I like better than Richard, and I know I never shall. And although it is very amusing to lead a fashionable life, and, indeed, I have enjoyed all the parties, I would much prefer to follow the drum with Richard! You will consent?'
Mrs Wingham stared down into the radiant face upturned to hers. A dozen objections died on her lips. She said, with a wavering smile:
'Yes, Fanny. If you are quite, quite sure, I suppose I must consent!'
Her daughter's lips were pressed to her cheek, Mr Kenton's to her hand. Seated amongst the ruins of her ambition, with that weight of depression upon her heart, she said: 'And Lord Harleston is coming to visit me at three o'clock!'
'Lord Harleston!' exclaimed Fanny. 'Oh, will you tell him, Mama, that I am going to marry Richard? I should have wished to have told him myself, but the thing is that Richard has leave of absence only for one day, and he must rejoin the regiment immediately. Mama, if I take Maria with me, may I go with him to the coach office? Pray, Mama!'
'Yes – oh yes!' said Mrs Wingham. 'I will tell Lord Harleston.'
## 5
Thus it was that when one of the biggest but most unobtainable prizes of the Matrimonial Mart was ushered into Mrs Wingham's drawing-room, he found the widow alone and sunk in melancholy. The depression, of which she had been conscious for so many weeks, threatened now to overcome her, and was in no way alleviated by her inability to decide which of the various evils confronting her was at the root of her strong desire to indulge in a hearty bout of tears. The years of economy had been wasted; yet she could not regret the weeks spent in London. Her maternal ambition was utterly dashed; but when she saw the happiness in Fanny's face she could not be sorry. She must soon lose the daughter on whom her every thought had been centred for years; but if by the lifting of a finger she could have kept Fanny, she would have held her hands tightly folded in her lap, as they were when the Marquis walked into the room.
He paused upon the threshold. The one glance she permitted herself to cast at his face showed her that there was an arrested expression in his eyes, a look of swift concern. The pain she was about to inflict on him most poignantly affected her; for a startling moment she found herself blaming Fanny for having wounded one of whom she was all unworthy. She was unable to sustain his steady regard; her eyes fell to the contemplation of the little gold tassels on his Hessian boots. They moved, swinging jauntily as he came towards her. 'Mrs Wingham! Something has occurred to distress you. May I know what it is? If there is anything I may do –'
He was bending solicitously over her, one shapely hand lifting one of hers, and holding it in a sustaining clasp. She said disjointedly: 'Yes – no! It is nothing, my lord! I beg you will not – ! Indeed, it is nothing!'
She drew her hand away as she spoke. He said: 'Shall I leave you? I have come, I believe, at an unfortunate time. Tell me what you wish! I would not for the world add to your distress!'
'Oh no! Do not go! This interview ought not to be – must not be – postponed!'
He looked intently at her, as much anxiety in his eyes as there was in hers. 'I came – I believe you must know for what purpose.'
She bowed her head. 'I do know. I wish – oh, how deeply I wish that you had not come!'
'You wish that I had not come!'
'Because it is useless!' said the widow tragically. 'I can give you no hope, my lord!'
There was a moment's silence. He was looking at once astonished and chagrined, but, after a pause, he said quietly: 'Forgive me! But when I spoke to you last night I was encouraged to think that you would not be averse from hearing me! You have said that you guessed the object of my visit – am I a coxcomb to imagine that my suit was not then disagreeable to you?'
'Oh no, no, no!' she uttered, raising her swimming eyes to his face. 'I should have been most happy – I may say that I most sincerely desired it! But all is now changed! I can only beg of you to say no more!'
'You desired it! In heaven's name, what can possibly have occurred to alter this?' he exclaimed. Trying for a lighter note, he said: 'Has someone traduced my character to you? Or is it that –'
'Oh no, how could anyone – ? My lord, I must tell you that there is Another Man! When I agreed last night to receive you today, I did not know – that is, I thought –' Her voice became suspended; she was obliged to wipe teardrops from her face.
He had stiffened. Another silence fell, broken only by the widow's unhappy sniffs into her handkerchief. At last he said, in a constrained tone: 'I collect – a prior attachment, ma'am?'
She nodded; a sob shook her. He said gently: 'I will say no more. Pray do not cry, ma'am! You have been very frank, and I thank you for it. Will you accept my best wishes for your future happiness, and believe that –'
'Happiness!' she interrupted. 'I am sure I am the wretchedest creature alive! You are all kindness, my lord: no one could be more sensible than I am of the exquisite forbearance you have shown me! You have every right to blame me for having encouraged you to suppose that your suit might be successful.' Again her voice failed.
'I have no blame for you at all, ma'am. Let us say no more! I will take my leave of you, but before I go will you permit me to discharge an obligation? I may not have the opportunity of speaking to you alone again. It concerns Fanny.'
'Fanny?' she repeated. 'An obligation?'
He smiled with a slight effort. 'Why, yes, ma'am! I had hoped to have won the right to speak to you on this subject. Well – I have not won that right, and you may deem it an impertinence that I should still venture, but since Fanny has honoured me with her confidence, and I promised her that I would do what I might, perhaps you will forgive me, and hear me with patience?'
She looked wonderingly at him. 'Of course! That is – What can you possibly mean, my lord?'
'She is, I collect, deeply attached to a young man whom she has known since her childhood. She has told me that you are opposed to the match, ma'am. Perhaps there exists some reason beyond his want of fortune to render his suit ineligible, but if it is not so – if your dislike of it arises only from a very natural desire that Fanny should contract some more brilliant alliance – may I beg of you, with all the earnestness at my command, not to stand between her and what may be her future happiness? Believe me, I do not speak without experience! In my youth I was the victim of such an ambition. I shall not say that one does not recover from an early disappointment – indeed, you know that I at least have done so! – but I am most sincerely fond of Fanny, and I would do much to save her from what I suffered. I have some little influence: I should be glad to exert it in this young man's favour.'
The damp handkerchief had dropped from the widow's clutch to the floor; she sat gazing up at his lordship with so odd an expression in her face that he added quickly: 'You find it strange that Fanny should have confided in me. Do not be hurt by it! I believe it is often the case that a girl will more easily give her confidence to her father than to a most beloved mother. When she spoke, it was in the belief that I might become – But I will say no more on that head!'
The widow found her voice at last. 'My lord,' she said, 'do I – do I understand that you are desirous of becoming Fanny's father?'
'That is not quite as I should phrase it, perhaps,' he said, with a wry smile.
'Not,' asked the widow anxiously, 'not – you are quite sure? – Fanny's husband?'
He looked thunderstruck. 'Fanny's husband?' he echoed. 'I? Good God, no! Why – is it possible that you can have supposed – ?'
'I have never fainted in all my life,' stated Mrs Wingham, in an uncertain voice. 'I very much fear, however –'
'No, no, this is no time for swoons!' he said, seizing her hands. 'You cannot have thought that it was Fanny I loved! Yes, yes, I know what Fanny has been to you, but you cannot have been so absurd!'
'Yes, I was,' averred the widow. 'I could even be so absurd as not to have the remotest guess why I have felt so low ever since I met you, and thought you wished to marry her!'
He knelt beside her chair, still clasping her hands. 'What a fool I was! But I thought my only hope of being in any way acceptable to you was to praise Fanny to you! And, indeed, she is a delightful girl! But all you have said to me today – you were not speaking of yourself?'
'Oh no, no! Of Fanny! You see, she and Richard –'
'Never mind Fanny and Richard!' he interrupted. 'Is it still useless for me to persist in my errand to you?'
'Quite ridiculous!' she said, clinging to his hands. 'You have not the least need to persist in it! That is, if you do indeed wish to marry such a blind goose as I have been!'
His lordship disengaged his hands, but only that he might take her in his arms. 'I wish it more than for anything else on this earth!' he assured her.
# To Have the Honour
## 1
Young Lord Allerton, a little pale under his tan, glanced from his mother to his man of business. 'But – good God, why was I never told in what case I stood?'
Mr Thimbleby did not attempt to answer this home question. He perceived that young Lord Allerton's facial resemblance to his deceased father was misleading. There was nothing the late Viscount had desired less than to be told in what case he stood. Three years of campaigning in the Peninsula had apparently engendered in the Fifth Viscount a sense of responsibility which, however welcome it might be in the future to his man of business, seemed at the moment likely to lead to unpleasantness. Mr Thimbleby directed an appealing look towards the widow.
She did not fail him. Regarding her handsome eldest born with an eye of fond pride, she said: 'But when poor Papa died, you had been wounded, dearest! I would not for the world have distressed you!'
The Viscount said impatiently: 'A scratch! I was back in the saddle within a week! Mama, how could you keep me in ignorance of our circumstances? Had I had the least notion of the truth I must have returned to England immediately!'
'Exactly so!' nodded his parent. 'And that, dearest Alan, I was determined you should not be obliged to do! Everyone said the war would so soon be over, and I knew how mortified you would be to be forced to sell out before the glorious end! To be sure, I did hope that directly after Toulouse you might have been released, but it was not to be, and it is of no consequence, except that here we are, with all the foreign notables upon us, and I have the greatest dread that your tailor may not have your evening dress ready for you to wear at my ball next week!'
'That, Mama, believe me, is the least of our problems!'
'Very true, my love,' agreed her ladyship. 'Trix has been in despair, but "Depend upon it", I have said from the outset, "even though your brother may patronize Scott, instead of Weston, who always did so well by poor Papa, you may be confident that no tailor would fail at such a juncture!"' Her gaze dwelled appreciatively upon his lordship's new coat of olive-green, upon the pantaloons of delicate yellow which clung to his shapely legs, upon the Hessian boots which shone so bravely, and upon the neckcloth which was tied with such nicety, and she heaved a satisfied sigh.
The Viscount turned in desperation to his man of business. 'Thimbleby!' he uttered. 'Be so good as to explain to me why you did not think it proper to inform me that my father had left me encumbered with debt.'
Mr Thimbleby cast another imploring glance at the widow. 'Her ladyship having done me the honour to admit me into her confidence, my lord, it seemed to me – that is, I was encouraged to hope...'
'To hope what?'
'My dear son, you must not blame our good Thimbleby!' intervened Lady Allerton. 'Indeed, no one is to be blamed, for if you will but consider you will perceive that our case is not desperate!'
'Desperate! I trust not! But that there is the most urgent need of the strictest economy – even, I fear, of measures as repugnant to me as they must be to you, ma'am, I cannot doubt! I dare not think what my own charges upon the estate have been during these months, when I should have been doing what lies within my power to repair what I do not scruple to call a shockingly wasted fortune!'
'No, no, it is not as bad as that!' she assured him. 'My dear Alan, there is one circumstance you are forgetting!'
He stared at her with knitted brows. 'Pray, what am I forgetting, ma'am?'
'Hetty!' she said, opening her eyes at him.
'I certainly do not forget my cousin, Mama, but in what way my embarrassments can be thought to concern her I have not the remotest conjecture!' said his lordship. A dreadful thought flashed into his mind; he said quickly: 'You are not trying to tell me, ma'am, that my cousin's fortune has been used to – No, no, impossible! She is still under age, and cannot have been allowed – There was another trustee besides my father, after all! Old Ossett could never have countenanced such a thing!'
'Nothing of the sort!' said her ladyship. 'And I must say, Alan, that I wonder at your supposing that I would entertain such a notion, except, of course, under such circumstances as must render it entirely proper! My own niece! I might almost say my daughter, for I am sure she is as dear to me as Trix!'
Mr Thimbleby, who had been unobtrusively engaged in putting up his papers, now judged it to be time to withdraw from a discussion which was not progressing according to hopeful expectation. The Viscount, beyond reminding him rather sharply that he should require his attendance upon the morrow, made no objection to his bowing himself out of the room, but began to pace about the floor, his brow furrowed, and his lips compressed as though to force back unwise speech.
His parent said sympathetically: 'I was afraid you would be a trifle shocked, dearest. It was hazard, of course. I knew no good would come of it when poor Papa forsook faro, at which he had always been so fortunate!'
The Viscount halted, and said with careful self-control: 'Mama, have you realized that to win free from this mountain of debt I must sell some – perhaps all! – of the unentailed property? When I learned that my father had left everything to me, making not the least provision for Timothy or for Trix, I own I was astonished! I see now why he did so, but how I am to provide for them I know not! Ma'am, you have been talking ever since my arrival of the ball you are giving in honour of this Grandduchess of yours, of the drawing-room at which you mean to present my sister, but have you realized that there is no money to pay for these things?'
'Good gracious, Alan, you should realize that if I do not!' exclaimed her ladyship. 'I declare I can scarcely recall when I was last able to pay a bill, and the tiresome thing is that there are now so many of them in that drawer in my desk that I can't open it!'
'For God's sake, Mama, how have you contrived to continue living in this style?' demanded the Viscount.
'Oh, well, my love, upon credit! Everyone has been most obliging!'
'Merciful heavens!' muttered the Viscount. 'What credit, ma'am?'
'But, Alan, they all guess that you are going to marry dear Hetty, and they know her fortune to be immense!'
'O my God!' said the Viscount, and strode over to the window. 'So that's it, is it?'
Lady Allerton regarded his straight back in some dismay. 'It has always been an understood thing!' she faltered.
'Nonsense!'
'But it was my dear brother's wish!'
'It can scarcely have been his wish that his daughter should be married to an impoverished – fortune-hunter!' said the Viscount bitterly. 'And it must be very far from Sir John Ossett's wish!'
'Now there you are out!' said her ladyship triumphantly. 'Sir John will raise not the smallest objection to the match, for he has told me so! He knows it is what my brother intended, and, what is more, he has a great regard for you, my love!'
'I am obliged to him!'
'Alan!' ejaculated her ladyship. 'You – you have not formed an attachment for another?'
'No!'
'No, I was persuaded – Dearest, I thought – Of course, she was very young when you went away, but it did seem to me –'
'Mama,' he interrupted, 'whatever my sentiments, you cannot have supposed it possible that I would offer for my cousin in my present circumstances!'
'But it seems just the moment!' protested his mother. 'Besides, she expects it!'
He wheeled about. 'Expects it?'
'Yes, I assure you she does! Dearest Hetty! If she could have done it, she would have bestowed her entire fortune on me! I never knew a better-hearted girl, never!'
'Oh, good God, then that is why she is now so shy of me!' said the Viscount. 'My poor little cousin! How could you let her think it was her duty to marry me, Mama? It is infamous! Have you kept her shut away from the world in case she should meet a more eligible suitor than ever I can be?'
'No, I have not!' replied Lady Allerton, affronted. 'I brought her out two years ago, and she has had a great many suitors, and has refused them all! She is a very well-behaved girl, and would never dream of marrying to disoblige me!'
'She has been shamefully used!' he said.
## 2
The object of the Viscount's pity, Miss Henrietta Clitheroe, was at the moment seated in a small saloon at the back of the house, studying, with her young cousin, the latest issue of La Belle Assemblée, and endeavouring to convince Miss Allerton that a dress of gauze worn over a damped and transparent petticoat was a toilette scarcely designed to advance her in the good graces of those august members of the ton who were pledged to appear at her mama's party given in honour of the Grandduchess Catherine of Oldenburg. This was not a circumstance which weighed with Miss Allerton, who, at seventeen, was thought by the censorious to have been born for the express purpose of driving her mother into her grave by the outrageous nature of her pranks; but she knew that she would never be permitted to wear such a dress, and so allowed herself to be distracted by the picture of a damsel arrayed in white satin embellished with rosebuds and love-knots.
She was just saying, though disconsolately, that she supposed it was quite a pretty dress, when the Viscount came into the room, and, still holding the door, said: 'The latest fashions? Am I very much in the way, or may I have a word with you, cousin?'
The colour flooded Henrietta's cheeks; she stammered: 'Oh no! I mean, to be sure you may, Alan!'
Miss Allerton, unwontedly meek, obeyed the command contained in the jerk of his lordship's head, and tripped out of the room. The Viscount shut the door, and turned to look across the saloon at his cousin. Her colour rose higher still, and she pretended to search for something in the litter of objects on the table.
'Henry...' the Viscount said.
She looked up at that, a little shy smile on her lips. 'Oh, Alan, no one has called me that since you went away! How nice it sounds!'
He returned the smile, although with an effort. 'Does it? You will always be Henry to me, you know.' He paused; and then said with a good deal of constraint: 'I have been with my mother and with Thimbleby for the past hour. What I have learnt from them has made me feel that I must speak to you immediately.'
'Oh – oh, yes?' said Henrietta.
'Yes. I think I was never more shocked in my life than when I realized –' He broke off, conscious of the awkwardness of his situation. His own colour rose; he said with a rueful laugh: 'The devil! I'm as tongue-tied as a schoolboy! Henry, I only wanted to say – I'm not going to offer for you!'
The flush in Henrietta's cheeks began to ebb. 'Oh!' she said. 'N-not going to offer for me?'
He came towards her, and took her hands, giving them a reassuring squeeze. 'Of course I am not! How could you think I would do so, you foolish Henry? You have been made to believe that you were in some way promised to me, haven't you? Some absurd talk of what your father desired – of what you owed to my family. Well, you owe us nothing, my dearest cousin! It is rather we who owe you a great debt. You have been our – most beloved sister – ever since you came to live with us. I am ashamed that it should ever have been suggested to you that it is your duty to marry me: it is no such thing! You are free to marry whom you please.'
This did not, at the moment, appear likely to the heiress. She disengaged her hands. 'Am – am I?'
'Indeed you are!' With an attempt at lightness, he added: 'Unless you choose someone quite ineligible! I warn you, I should do what I could to prevent that, Henry!'
She managed to smile. 'I should be obliged to elope, then, should I not? I – I am glad you have been so frank with me. Now we can be comfortable again!'
'My poor girl!' he said quickly. 'If only you had told me what was in the wind – ! There was never a hint in any of your letters. I would have set your mind at rest months ago! No: you could not, of course!'
She turned away, and began to tidy the litter on the table. She said, in a voice that did not sound to her ears quite like her own: 'I own, I had as lief not be married for my fortune!' He returned no answer; after a pause, she added: 'Are your affairs in very bad case, Alan?'
'Not so bad that I shall not be able, with time and good management, to set them to rights, I hope,' he replied. 'I could wish that my mother had not chosen, at this moment, to entertain upon so lavish a scale. I suppose nothing can be done about this party for the Russian woman, but for the rest – the White's Ball, Trix's presentation –'
'Good God, do not tell my aunt she must postpone that!' exclaimed Henrietta. 'If she is obliged to wait another year, Trix will very likely run off with a handsome Ensign!' She saw the startled look on his face, and added: 'You don't yet know her, Alan!'
'My dear Henry, at seventeen she can hardly be thinking of marriage, surely!'
'The last man she fell in love with was young Stillington,' said Henrietta thoughtfully. 'To be sure, he was better than that actor she saw in Cheltenham, but still quite ineligible of course. Fortunately, her mind was diverted by the plans for her first season.'
'It is time Trix was broke to bridle!' said his lordship roundly. He then favoured his cousin with a few animadversions upon the conduct of his lively young sister, and left her to her reflections.
These were not for many moments concerned with the almost inevitable clash between brother and sister. They led Henrietta to the mirror, and caused her to stare long at her own image.
It should have comforted her. Dark ringlets framed a charming countenance in which two speaking eyes of blue became gradually filled with tears that obscured her vision of a short, straight nose, a provocative upper lip, and an elusive dimple. These attributes had apparently failed to captivate the Viscount. The heiress uttered a strangled sob, and dabbed resolutely at her eyes, realizing that she would shortly be obliged to confront Miss Allerton, agog to know whether the date of her wedding had been fixed.
Nor was she mistaken. In a very few minutes, Trix peeped into the room, and, finding her cousin alone, at once demanded to be told what Alan had said to her.
Henrietta replied in the most cheerful of accents: 'I am so much relieved! He does not wish to marry me at all!'
Trix, shocked by these tidings, could only stare at her.
'You may imagine how happy he has made me!' continued Henrietta glibly. 'Had he desired it, I must have thought it my duty to marry him, but he has set my mind at rest on this head, and now I can be easy again!'
'But you have loved him for years!' Trix blurted out.
'Indeed I have!' said Henrietta cordially. 'I am sure I always shall!'
'Hetty! When you have been writing to him for ever!'
'Pray, what has that to say to anything? To me, he is the elder brother I never had.'
'Hetty, what a hum! He is my brother, and I never wrote to him above twice in my life!'
Before Henrietta could reply suitably to this, they were joined by a willowy young gentleman in whom only the very stupid could have failed to recognize a Pink of the Ton. From the tip of his pomaded head to the soles of his dazzling Hessians, the Honourable Timothy Allerton was beautiful to behold. He was generally supposed to care for nothing but the fashion of his neckcloth, but he showed unmistakable signs of caring for the news which his sister broke to him. 'Not going to offer for Hetty?' he repeated, aghast. 'Well, upon my soul! Well, what I mean is, might think what's due to the rest of us! Mind, I don't say I'm surprised he don't like it above half, but the thing is he's the head of the family, and he dashed well ought to do it! What's more,' he said, his amiable countenance darkening, 'if he thinks he can make me offer for her he'll find he's devilish mistaken! It ain't that I don't like you, Hetty,' he added kindly, 'because I do, but that's coming it a trifle too strong!'
## 3
If the Viscount had harboured doubts of his mother's veracity, these were speedily dispelled. His cousin, far from having been kept in seclusion, seemed to him to be acquainted with all the eligible bachelors upon the town, and with far too many of those whom he did not hesitate to stigmatize as gazetted fortune-hunters. She dispensed her favours impartially amongst these gentlemen, whirled about town under the chaperonage of various not wholly disinterested matrons, and in general conducted herself with such frivolity that her perturbed aunt said that she had never known her to be in such a flow of spirits. She raised hopes in a dozen breasts, but the only suitor for whom she betrayed the smallest partiality was Sir Matthew Kirkham; and it was absurd to suppose (as Lady Allerton assured Alan) that a girl with as much good sense as Hetty would for an instant entertain the pretensions of a penniless roué, past his first youth, and with at least two unsavoury scandals attached to his name.
Alan could place no such dependence on his cousin's good sense. It was rarely that he took a dislike to anyone, but he took a quite violent dislike to Sir Matthew, and warned Henrietta to give the fellow no encouragement: an exercise of cousinly privilege which had no other effect than to cause her to wear Sir Matthew's flowers at the Opera House that very evening.
He was brought to realize that however obnoxious Kirkham might appear in the eyes of his fellow-men he possessed considerable charm for the ladies: Trix told him so. Trix listened with interest to his trenchantly expressed opinion of Sir Matthew, and then disgusted him by talking of the fellow's polished manners, and of the distinguishing attentions he had for so long bestowed upon Hetty.
Sir Matthew was not one of the two hundred guests invited to have the honour of being presented to the Tsar's sister. This lady had arrived in England some time before the various Kings, Princes, Generals, and Diplomats who were coming to take part in the grand Peace celebrations, and was putting up at the Pulteney Hotel. She was neither beautiful nor particularly amiable, but she was being much courted, and had already created a mild sensation by being rude to the Prince Regent, and by parading the town in enormous coal-scuttle bonnets, which instantly became the rage. Trix, giggling over the story of her having abruptly left the party at Carlton House just as soon as the expensive orchestra provided for her entertainment had struck up, because (she said) music made her want to vomit, prophesied that her departure from Lady Allerton's ball would be equally speedy; but Lady Allerton, well-acquainted with the Grandduchess, said, No: she only behaved like that when she wished to be disagreeable.
Trix was not to appear at the ball either. The Viscount had told her that with all the will in the world to do so he was unable at present to find the funds which would enable his mama to launch her into society; and Lady Allerton's sense of propriety was too nice to allow of her consenting to let her daughter attend a ball of such importance before she was out.
Trix bore her disappointment surprisingly well, neither arguing with Alan nor reproaching him. Touched by her restraint, he promised her a magnificent début the following spring, if he had to sell every available acre to achieve it. She thanked him, and said that she had made up her mind to help him in his difficulties.
Such unprecedented docility ought to have alarmed Henrietta, but Henrietta was too much occupied with her own affairs to notice it. It was not until the very evening of the ball, when Trix helped her, in the most selfless way, to array herself in all the elegance of primrose satin and pale green gauze, that it occurred to her that this saintly conduct was as suspicious as it was unusual. But Trix, looking the picture of hurt innocence, assured her that she had no intention of perpetrating some shocking practical joke, and she was obliged to be satisfied. Trix embraced her with great fondness, and she went away to join Lady Allerton feeling that she had misjudged her wayward cousin.
In this belief she continued until midnight, when she suffered a rude disillusionment.
## 4
Mr Allerton, seizing a respite from his conscientious labours on the floor, stood in the doorway of the ballroom, and delicately wiped his brow. The May night was very warm, and although the long windows stood open scarcely a breath of wind stirred the curtains which masked them, and the heat from the hundreds of wax candles burning in the wall-sconces and in the huge crystal chandelier which hung from the ceiling was making not only the flowers wilt, but every gentleman's starched shirt-points as well. But this was a small matter. Mr Allerton, a captious critic, was well-satisfied with the success of the ball. Every domestic detail had been perfectly arranged; his mother did him the greatest credit in a robe of sapphire satin lavishly trimmed with broad lace; his cousin was in quite her best looks; and even his brother, although dressed by a military tailor, did not disgrace him. The Grandduchess was in high good humour; besides the flower of the ton, two of the Royal Dukes were lending lustre to the evening; and, to set the final cachet upon a brilliant function, the great Mr Brummell himself was present.
These agreeable reflections were interrupted. A hand grasped Mr Allerton's wrist, and his cousin's voice said urgently in his ear: 'Timothy, come quickly to my aunt's dressing-room! I must speak to you alone!'
A horrible premonition that the champagne had run out and the ice melted away seized Mr Allerton. But the news which Henrietta had to impart to him had nothing to do with domestic arrangements. She was clutching in one hand a sheet of writingpaper, with part of the wafer that had sealed it still sticking to its edge, and this she dumbly proffered. Mr Allerton took it, and mechanically lifted his quizzing-glass to his eye. 'What the deuce – ?' he demanded. 'Lord, I can't read this scrawl! What is it?'
'Trix!' she uttered, in a strangled voice.
'Well, that settles it,' he said, giving the letter back to her. 'Never been able to make head or tail of her writing! You'd better tell me what it is.'
'Timothy, it is the most terrible thing! She has eloped with Jack Boynton!'
'What?' gasped Timothy. 'No, hang it, Hetty! Must be bamming you!'
'No, no, it is the truth! She is not in the house, and she left this note for me. Dawson has this instant given it to me!'
'Well, I'm dashed!' said Timothy. 'Jack Boynton? Y'know, Hetty, I wouldn't have thought it of him!'
Too well accustomed to Mr Allerton's mental processes to be exasperated, Henrietta replied: 'No, indeed! She must have persuaded him to do it: he is so very young! I never dreamed – Good God, I thought that affair had ended months ago! How could she have been so sly? But I might have guessed how it would be! If I had not been so selfishly taken up with my own troub – I mean, pleasures! – it could never have happened! Timothy, I must act immediately, and you must help me!'
He blinked at her. 'Dash it, can't do anything in the middle of m'mother's party!'
'We can, and we must! They have fled to Gretna Green, and they must be overtaken!'
'Gretna Green?' echoed Mr Allerton, revolted. 'No, really, Hetty! Can't have!'
'She makes no secret of it. Besides, where else could they be married, two children under age? She supposed, of course, that I should not receive her letter until too late, but Dawson, good, faithful soul, thought it right to give it to me as soon as she might, and it is not too late! You and I may slip away, and it can't signify to anyone if our absence is noticed. I have thought it all out, and I have the greatest hope of overtaking them before morning! I am persuaded that boy cannot have scraped together enough money to pay for the hire of more than a pair of horses. You and I may hire four, and change them at every stage. The moon is at the full; we shall come up with them before they have gone thirty miles beyond London! Then we may bring Trix home, and no one need know what happened, not even my poor aunt, for I can trust Dawson to keep the secret, and ten to one my aunt won't leave her room until noon tomorrow!'
'Seems to me we'd do better to tell Alan,' objected Timothy.
'Upon no consideration! The Grandduchess is still here, and Sussex too! He at least cannot leave the house! Besides, Trix trusts me not to betray her to him, and however dreadfully she may have behaved I could not do so! He would be so angry! Oh, dear, it is all his fault for having postponed her coming-out! I warned him how it would be! Timothy, you must know where we can hire a post-chaise and four good horses!'
He admitted it, but entered a caveat. 'Thing is, dare say you're right about Boynton, but I ain't got the ready to pay for a chaise and four either!'
'No, but I have! I drew quite a large sum only yesterday, and I will give it to you,' said Henrietta. 'I will fetch my cloak, and instruct Dawson in what she must say if she should be questioned, and then we may be off. Do not tell Helmsley to call up a hackney! We will creep out by the door into the yard, and find one for ourselves directly!'
'But, Hetty!' protested Mr Allerton. 'Can't go driving about the countryside in evening-dress! Must change!'
But long acquaintance with her cousin had made Henrietta too familiar with the exigencies of his toilet to allow him this indulgence. Assuring him that his swallow-tailed coat and satin knee-breeches would be hidden by a driving-cloak, she so admonished and hustled him that within a very few minutes he found himself being smuggled out of the house by way of the back stairs and a door leading from the nether regions into the stable-yard.
## 5
'No,' said Mr Allerton, some five hours later. 'I won't tell 'em to drive on to the Norman Cross inn! And it ain't a bit of use arguing with me, Hetty, because I'm not going to go another mile on a dashed wild-goose chase, and so I tell you! If you want to go on jolting over a devilish bad road, asking questions at every pike of a set of gapeseeds who wouldn't be able to tell you whether Cinderella had driven by in a dashed great pumpkin, let alone Trix in a chaise, you do it! We've come a cool seventy miles, and never had so much as a whiff of Trix, and I want my breakfast! What's more, when I've had it I'm going back to town! She's hoaxing you; told you so at the outset!'
Miss Clitheroe, who had been ushered by an astonished waiter into one of the private parlours of the Talbot Inn, in Stilton, untied the strings of her cloak and pushed back its hood from her dishevelled curls. Pressing her hands to her tired eyes, she said wretchedly: 'She would not do such a thing! I know she plays shocking pranks, but she would never do this, only for mischief!'
'If I know Trix,' said Timothy, 'very likely told you she was off to Gretna Green to set you on a false scent!'
Henrietta stared at him in dismay. 'You mean she may have fled in quite another direction? Timothy, that would be worse than anything! It may be days before we can discover her whereabouts, and where, in heaven's name, will they find a clergyman to marry them?'
'Exactly so!' said Timothy. He added ghoulishly: 'Won't be a case of taking her home. Have to get 'em married in a hurry to save scandal.'
'No, no, I will not believe it!' cried Henrietta. 'They are ahead of us still! We must go on!'
Mr Allerton's reply was brief and unequivocal, but when he perceived the real distress in his cousin's face he relented sufficiently to promise that when he had eaten breakfast he would make enquiries at each of the other three posting-houses in the town. With this Henrietta was obliged to be content. The waiter set breakfast before them, listened with polite incredulity to the story, hastily manufactured by Timothy, to account for their appearance in Stilton at eight o'clock in the morning in full dress, of the moribund relative to whose bedside they had been summoned, and withdrew, shaking his head over the reprehensible habits of the Quality.
Mr Allerton then applied himself to a substantial repast. Henrietta, unable to do more than drink a cup of coffee, and nibble a slice of bread and butter, eyed him in growing impatience, but knew better than to expostulate. He finished at last, and, with a kindly recommendation to her not to expect any good outcome, went off to call at the Bell, the Angel, and the Woolpack.
She was left to await his return with what patience she could muster. The time lagged unbearably; when half an hour had passed she could no longer sit still, but got up, and began to pace about the room, trying to think what were best to be done if he failed to obtain news of the fugitives in Stilton.
The sound of a vehicle approaching at a smart pace, and pulling up outside the inn, made her run to the window. The sight that met her eyes was so unexpected and so unwelcome that she caught her breath on a gasp of dismay. Leaning from his own sporting curricle to interrogate one of the ostlers was her cousin Alan, and one glance at his face was enough to inform her that he was quite as angry as she had known he must be, if ever his sister's escapade came to his ears. As she stared out at him, he sprang down from the curricle, and came striding to the door into the inn.
She retreated from the window, wondering how much Dawson had disclosed to him, and what she should say to mollify him. She could almost wish now that the eloping couple had fled beyond recall, for it seemed to her that young Mr Boynton would be fortunate to escape with his bare life if the Viscount caught him.
The Viscount came in, and cast a swift, searching look round the room. Unlike his brother, he had found time to change his ball-dress for a riding-habit, over which he wore a caped greatcoat with large buttons of mother-of-pearl. He was looking extremely handsome, and singularly unyielding. After that one glance round the parlour, his attention became fixed on his cousin, his pleasant gray eyes so full of wrath that she took an involuntary step backward. Stripping off his gloves, he said furiously: 'How dared you do this, Henry? How could you?'
It had not occurred to her that any part of his anger would be directed against her. She said pleadingly: 'I suppose it was improper, but it seemed to be the only thing I could do!'
'Improper?' he exclaimed. 'So that's what you call it, is it? The most damnable escapade!'
'Alan! No, no! Imprudent I may have been, but what other course was open to me? I would not for the world tell my aunt, and I dared not say a word of it to you, because –'
'That at least I believe!' he interrupted. 'You knew well I would never permit it! You were right, my girl, very right! Where is the fellow?'
'I don't know. Oh, Alan, pray don't be so out of reason cross with me! Indeed I meant it for the best! Alan!'
The Viscount, who had most ungently grasped her shoulders, shook her. 'Don't lie to me! Where is he?'
'I tell you I don't know! And if I did I would not tell you while you are in such a rage!' said Henrietta, with spirit.
'We'll see that!' said the Viscount grimly. 'I'll settle with him when I've settled with you! Had you chosen an honest man I would have stood aside, whatever it cost me, but this fellow – ! No, by God! If you are determined to marry a fortune-hunter, Henry, let him be me! At least I love you!'
Shock bereft her of the power of speech; she could only gaze up into his face. He dragged her into his arms, and kissed her with such savagery that she uttered an inarticulate protest. To this he paid no heed at all, but demanded sternly: 'Do you understand me, Henry? Give you up to Kirkham I will not!'
'Oh, Alan, don't give me up to anyone!' begged Henrietta, laughing and crying together. 'Oh, dear, how odious you are! Of all the infamous notions to – Alan, let me go! Someone is coming!'
The door opened. 'Told you no good would come of it,' said Mr Allerton, with gloomy satisfaction. 'Not a trace of 'em to be –' He broke off, staring at his brother. 'Well, upon my word!' he said, mildly surprised.
'What the devil are you doing here?' exclaimed the Viscount.
'Came with Hetty,' explained Timothy. 'Said it was a stupid thing to do, but she would have it we should overtake 'em.'
'Came with Hetty? Overtake – ?' repeated the Viscount. 'In heaven's name, what are you talking about?'
Mr Allerton raised his quizzing-glass. 'You been in the sun, old fellow?' he asked solicitously.
'Timothy, he doesn't know!' Henrietta said. 'That is not what brought him here! Alan, a dreadful thing has happened. Trix has eloped! I can't think what made you suppose that I had! Timothy and I came in pursuit, and oh, I was so hopeful of catching them, but we can discover no trace of them!'
'Quite true,' corroborated Timothy, observing that the tidings had apparently stunned his brother. 'Eloped with Jack Boynton. At least, that's what she said.'
'Are you mad?' demanded the Viscount. 'Trix is at home!'
'Alas, Alan, she is not!' said Henrietta. 'She slipped out in the middle of the party, leaving a letter, which her maid gave me at midnight. She wrote that she had gone with Boynton to Gretna Green, but I very much fear that she was deceiving me, and that is not her destination.'
The Viscount, who had listened to this with an arrested expression on his face, drew an audible breath. 'Most certainly she was deceiving you!' he said, in an odd tone. 'I see! The – little – cunning – devil!'
'He is cut, Hetty!' said Timothy.
A rueful smile was quivering at the corners of the Viscount's mouth. He paid no heed to this brotherly remark, but said: 'Let me tell you, my love, that an hour after you had left Grosvenor Square, I also received a billet from Trix!'
'You?' said Henrietta incredulously.
'Yes, I! It summoned me with the utmost urgency to join her in Mama's dressing-room. There she disclosed to me that you had slipped out of the house, to elope to the Border with Kirkham. She said that you had bound her to secrecy, but that her conscience misgave her, and she felt it to be her duty to betray you to me.'
'Oh!' gasped Henrietta. 'The little wretch! She – she deserves to be flogged!'
'Well, yes, I suppose she does,' admitted the Viscount. 'You cannot, however, expect me to flog her, for she has put me deep in her debt! Besides, you must own her strategy has been masterly!'
'Abominable!' scolded Henrietta, trying not to laugh.
'Told you she was hoaxing you,' said Timothy. 'Good notion, as it chances. What I mean is, if you are going to marry Hetty, Alan, we shall be all right and tight. The thing that's worrying me is that you must have left home before the ball was over. Dashed improper, y'know! That dishfaced Grandduchess! Half the ton invited to have the honour of meeting her, and you walk off in the middle of the party!'
'Well,' said the Viscount impenitently, 'they had the honour of meeting her, and I have the honour of asking Henry to be my wife, and so we may all be satisfied!' He held out his hands as he spoke, and Henrietta put hers into them.
'Yes, I dare say,' said Mr Allerton, 'but it ain't the thing. What's more,' he added severely, 'it ain't the thing to kiss Hetty in a dashed inn parlour, and with me watching you, either!'
# Night at the Inn
## 1
There were only three persons partaking of dinner at the inn, for it was neither a posting-house, nor a hostelry much patronized by stage-coaches. The man in the moleskin waistcoat, who sat on one of the settles flanking the fireplace in the coffee-room, gave no information about himself; the young lady and gentleman on the other side were more forthcoming.
The lady had been set down at the Pelican after dusk by a cross-country coach. Her baggage was as modest as her appearance, the one consisting of a bandbox and a corded trunk; the other of brown curls smoothed neatly under a bonnet, a round cashmere gown made high to the neck and boasting neither frills nor lace, serviceable half-boots, and tan gloves, and a drab pelisse. Only two things belied the air of primness she seemed so carefully to cultivate: the jaunty bow which tied her bonnet under one ear, and the twinkle in her eye, which was as sudden as it was refreshing.
The gentleman was her senior by several years: an open-faced, pleasant young man whose habit proclaimed the man of business. He wore a decent suit of clothes, with a waistcoat that betrayed slight sartorial ambition; his linen was well-laundered, and the points of his shirt-collar starched; but he had tied his neckcloth with more regard for propriety than fashion, and he displayed none of the trinkets that proclaimed the dandy. However, the watch he consulted was a handsome gold repeater, and he wore upon one finger a signet-ring, with his monogram engraved, so that it was reasonable to suppose him to be a man of some substance.
He was fresh from Lisbon, he told the landlord, as he set down his two valises in the tap-room, and had landed at Portsmouth that very day. Tomorrow he was going to board a coach which would carry him within walking-distance of his paternal home: a rare surprise for his parents that would be, for they had not the least expectation of seeing him! He had been out of England for three years: it seemed like a dream to be back again.
The landlord, a burly, rubicund man with a smiling countenance, entered into the exile's excitement with indulgent good humour. Young master was no doubt come home on leave from the Peninsula? Not wounded, he did hope? No, oh, no! Young master had not the good fortune to be a soldier. He was employed in a counting-house, and had no expectation of getting his transfer from Lisbon for years. But – with offhand pride – he had suddenly been informed that there was a place for him at headquarters in the City, and had jumped aboard the first packet. No time to warn his parents: he would take them by surprise, and wouldn't they gape and bless themselves at the sight of him, by Jupiter! He had meant to have put up at the Swan, in the centre of the town, but such a press of custom had they that they had been obliged to turn him away. The same at the George: he hoped he was going to be more fortunate at the Pelican?
The landlord, gently edging him into the coffee-room, reassured him: he should have a good bedchamber, and the sheets well aired, a hot brick placed in the bed, and a fire lit in the grate. The gentleman from Lisbon said: 'Thank the Lord for that! I have had my fill of tramping from inn to inn, I can tell you! What's more, I'm devilish sharp-set! What's for dinner?'
He was promised a dish of mutton and haricot beans, with soup to go before it, and a dish of broccoli to accompany it. He rubbed his hands together, saying boyishly: 'Mutton! Real English mutton! That's the dandy! That's what I've been longing for any time these three years! Bustle about, man! – I could eat the whole carcase!'
By this time he had been coaxed into the coffee-room, a low-pitched apartment, with shuttered windows, one long table, and an old-fashioned hearth flanked by high-backed settles. On one of these, toasting her feet, sat the young lady; on the other, his countenance obscured by the journal he was perusing, was the man in the moleskin waistcoat. He paid no heed to the newcomer; but the lady tucked her toes under the settle, and assumed an attitude of stiff propriety.
The gentleman from Lisbon trod over to the fire, and stood before it, warming his hands. After a slight pause he observed with a shy smile that these November evenings were chilly.
The lady agreed to it, but volunteered no further remark. The gentleman, anxious that all the world should have a share in his joy, said that he was quite a stranger to England. He added hopefully that his name was John Cranbrook.
The lady subjected him to a speculative, if slightly surreptitious, scrutiny. Apparently she was satisfied, for she relaxed her decorous pose, and said that hers was Mary Gateshead.
He seemed much gratified by this confidence, and bowed politely, and said how do you do? This civility encouraged Miss Gateshead to invite him to sit down, which he instantly did, noticing as he did so that a pair of narrow eyes had appeared above the sheets of the journal on the opposite settle, and were fixed upon him. But as soon as his own encountered them they disappeared again, and all he could see, in fat black print, was an advertisement for Pears' Soap, and another adjuring him to consider the benefits to be derived from using Russia Oil regularly on the hair.
Searching his mind for something with which to inaugurate a conversation, Mr Cranbrook asked Miss Gateshead whether she too had found the Swan and the George full.
She replied simply: 'Oh, no! I could not afford the prices they charge at the big inns! I am a governess.'
'Are you?' said Mr Cranbrook, with equal simplicity. 'I am a clerk in Nathan Spennymore's Counting-house. In the ordinary way I can't afford 'em either, but I'm very plump in the pocket just now!' He patted his breast as he spoke, and laughed, his eyes dancing with such pride and pleasure that Miss Gateshead warmed to him, and invited him to tell her how this delightful state of affairs had come about.
He was nothing loth, and while the man in the moleskin waistcoat read his paper, and the landlord laid the covers on the table, he told her how he had been sent out to Lisbon three years ago, and what it was like there – very well in its way, but a man would rather choose to be at home! – and how an unexpected stroke of good fortune had befallen him, and he was to occupy a superior place in the London house. He didn't know why he should have been chosen, but Miss Gateshead might imagine how he had jumped at the chance!
Miss Gateshead suggested that the promotion might be a reward for good service, which made Mr Cranbrook blush vividly, and say that he was sure it was no such thing. In haste to change the subject, he enquired after her prospects and destination. Miss Gateshead was the eldest daughter of a curate with a numerous progeny, and she was bound for her first situation. Very eligible, she assured him! A large house, not ten miles from this place; and Mrs Stockton, her employer, had graciously promised to send the gig to the Pelican to fetch her in the morning.
'I should have thought she might have sent a closed carriage in this weather,' said John bluntly.
'Oh, no! Not for the governess!' Miss Gateshead said, shocked.
'It may rain!' he pointed out.
She laughed. 'Pooh, I shan't melt in a shower of rain!'
'You might take a chill,' insisted John severely. 'I don't think Mrs Stockton can be at all an amiable person!'
'Oh, do not say so! I am in such a quake already, in case I do not give satisfaction!' said Miss Gateshead. 'And there are nine children – only fancy! – so that I might be employed there for years!'
She seemed to regard this prospect with satisfaction, but Mr Cranbrook had no hesitation in favouring her with his own quite contrary views on such a fate.
The landlord came in, bearing the leg of mutton, which he set down on a massive sideboard. His wife, a decent-looking, stout woman in a mob-cap, arranged various removes on the table, bobbed a curtsy to Miss Gateshead, and asked if she would care for a glass of porter, or some tea.
Miss Gateshead accepted the offer of tea, and, after a moment's hesitation, untied the strings of her bonnet, and laid this demure creation down on the settle. Her curls, unconfined, showed a tendency to become a trifle wayward, but, rather to John's disappointment, she rigorously smoothed them into decorum.
The man in the moleskin waistcoat folded his journal, and bore it to the table, propping it up against a tarnished cruet, and continuing laboriously to peruse it. His attitude indicated that he preferred his own company, so his fellow-guests abandoned any ideas they might have had of including him in their chat, and took their places at the other end of the board. The landlady dumped a pot of tea at Miss Gateshead's elbow, flanking it with a chipped jug of milk, and a cup and saucer; and John bespoke a pint of ale, informing Miss Gateshead, with his ingenuous grin, that home-brewed was one of the things he had chiefly missed in Portugal.
'And what for you, sir?' asked Mrs Fyton, addressing herself to the man at the bottom of the table.
'Mr Waggleswick'll take a heavy-wet as usual,' said her spouse, sharpening the carving-knife.
It was at this point that John, suppressing an involuntary chuckle, discovered the twinkle in Miss Gateshead's eye. They exchanged looks brimful of merriment, each perfectly understanding that the other found the name of Waggleswick exquisitely humorous.
The soup, ladled from a large tureen, was nameless and savourless, but Miss Gateshead and Mr Cranbrook, busily engaged in disclosing to one another their circumstances, family histories, tastes, dislikes, and aspirations, drank it without complaint. Mr Waggleswick seemed even to like it, for he called for a second helping. The mutton which followed the soup was underdone and tough, and the side-dish of broccoli would have been improved by straining. Mr Cranbrook grimaced at Miss Gateshead, and remarked during one of the landlord's absences from the room that the quality of the dinner made him fearful of the condition of the bedchambers.
'I don't think they can enjoy much custom here,' said Miss Gateshead wisely. 'It is the most rambling old place, but no one seems to be staying here but ourselves, and you can lose yourself in the passages! In fact, I did,' she added, sawing her way through the meat on her plate. 'I have not dared to look at the sheets, but I have the most old-fashioned bed, and I asked them not to make up the fire again because it was smoking so dreadfully. And what is more I haven't seen a chambermaid, and you can see there is no waiter, so I am sure they don't expect guests.'
'Well, I don't think you should be putting up at a place little better than a hedge-tavern!' said John.
'Mrs Stockton wrote that it was cheap, and the landlady would take care of me,' she explained. 'Indeed, both she and the landlord have been most obliging, and if only the sheets are clean I am sure I shall have nothing to regret.'
Some cheese succeeded the mutton, but as it looked more than a little fly-blown the two young persons left Mr Waggleswick to the sole enjoyment of it, and retired again to the settle by the fire. The room being indifferently lit by a single lamp suspended above the table Mr Waggleswick elected to remain in his place with his absorbing journal. When he had finished his repast he noisily picked his teeth for some time, but at last pushed back his chair, and took himself off.
Miss Gateshead, who had been covertly observing him, whispered: 'What a strange-looking man! I don't like him above half, do you?'
'Well, he is not precisely handsome, I own!' John replied, grinning.
'His nose is crooked!'
'Broken. I dare say he is a pugilist.'
'How horrid! I am glad I am not alone with him here!'
That made him laugh. 'Why, we can't accuse him of forcing his attentions on us, I am sure!'
'Oh, no! But there is something about him which I cannot like. Did you notice how he watched you?'
'Watched me? He barely raised his eyes above the newspaper!'
'He did when he thought you were not looking at him. I know he was listening to every word we said, too. I have the oddest feeling that he may even be listening now!'
'I would wager a large sum he is consuming another of his heavy-wets in the tap rather!' replied John.
The door opened as he spoke, and Miss Gateshead's nervous start was infectious enough to make him look round sharply. But it was only the landlady who came into the room, with a tray, on which she began to pile the plates and cutlery. She remarked that it was a foggy night, so that she had tightly closed the shutters in the bedrooms.
'Get a lot of fog hereabouts, we do,' she said, wiping a spoon on her apron, and casting it into a drawer in the sideboard. 'Like a blanket it'll be before morning, but it'll clear off. I come from Norfolk myself, but a body gets used to anything. It's the clay.'
'Who is our fellow-guest?' asked John.
'Mr Waggleswick? He's an agent of some sort: I don't rightly know. Travels all over, by what he tells me. We've had him here two-three times before. He's not much to look at, but he don't give no trouble. I'll bring your candles in presently. Your room is at the end of the passage, sir: turn to the right at the top of the stairs, and you'll come to it. Fyton took your bags up.'
## 2
Waggleswick did not return to the coffee-room, and as no other visitors, other than the local inhabitants, who crowded into the tap-room across the passage, came to the Pelican, Miss Gateshead and Mr Cranbrook were left to sit on either side of the fire, chatting cosily together. Miss Gateshead was most interested to hear about Portugal, and as John, like so many young travellers, had filled a fat sketch-book with his impressions of an unknown countryside, it was not long before she had persuaded him to fetch down from his room this treasure.
The landlord was busy in the tap, and Mrs Fyton was nowhere to be seen, so John went upstairs unescorted, trusting to the landlady's directions.
Another of the hanging oil-lamps lit the staircase, and rather feebly cast a certain amount of light a little way along the passage above, but beyond its radius all was in darkness. For a moment John hesitated, half-inclined to go back for a candle, but as his eyes grew more accustomed to the murk he thought that he could probably grope his way along the corridor to the room at the end of it. He did this, not entirely without mishap, since he tripped down one irrelevant step in the passage, and up two others, slightly ricking his ankle in the process, and uttering an exasperated oath. However, he reached the end of the passage, and found that there was a door confronting him. He opened it, and peeped in, and saw, by the light of a fire burning in the high barred grate, his two valises, standing in the centre of the room. As he knelt before them, tugging at the strap round the larger of them, he glanced cursorily round the apartment. It was of a respectable size, and boasted a very large bed, hung with ancient curtains, and bearing upon it a quilt so thick as to present more the appearance of a feather-mattress than of a coverlet. The rest of the furniture was commonplace and old-fashioned, and comprised several chairs, a dressing-table, a wash-stand, a huge mahogany wardrobe, a table by the bed, and a wall-cupboard on the same side of the room as the fireplace. A pair of dingy blinds imperfectly concealed the warped shutters bolted across the window. Some attempt to embellish the room had been made, for a singularly hideous china group stood in the middle of the mantelpiece, and a religious engraving hung above it. Mr Cranbrook hoped that Miss Gateshead's room might be less gloomy: for himself he cared little for his surroundings, but he could imagine that a lady might find such an apartment comfortless, and even rather daunting.
The sketch-book was easily found, and he went off with it, shutting the door of the room behind him. He remembered the treacherous steps in the corridor, and went more carefully, putting out a hand to feel his way by touching the wall. It encountered not the wall, but something warm and furry.
He snatched it back, his eyes straining in the darkness, his heart suddenly hammering. Whatever he had touched was living and silent, and quite motionless. 'Who's that?' he said quickly, an absurd, nameless dread knocking in his chest.
There was a slight pause, as though of hesitation, and then a voice said in a grumbling tone: 'Why can't you take care where you're a-going, young master?'
Mr Cranbrook recognized the voice, which he had heard speaking to the landlord, and knew that what he had touched was a moleskin waistcoat. 'What are you doing here?' he demanded, relieved, yet suspicious.
'What's that to you?' retorted Waggleswick. 'I suppose a cove can go to his room without axing your leave!'
'I didn't mean – But why were you spying on me?'
'Spying on you? That's a loud one! What would I want to do that for?' said Waggleswick scornfully.
John could think of no reason, and was silent. He heard a movement, and guessed that Waggleswick was walking away from him. A moment later a door opened farther down the passage, and the glow of firelight within the room silhouetted Waggleswick's figure for a brief instant before he went in, and shut the door behind him.
John hesitated, on the brink of retracing his steps to lock his own door. Then he recollected that he carried his money on his person, and had packed nothing of value in his valises, and he shrugged, and proceeded on his way.
Miss Gateshead was seated where he had left her. She greeted him with a smile that held some relief, and confided to him that she hated foggy nights.
'There's not much fog in the house,' he replied reassuringly.
'No, but it muffles all the noises, and makes one think the world outside dead!' she said. She perceived that he did not quite appreciate this, and coloured. 'It is only a foolish fancy, of course! I don't think I like this house. A rat has been gnawing in the wainscoting in that corner, and a few minutes ago I heard the stairs creak, and quite thought it must be you. Do you believe in ghosts?'
'No, certainly not,' said John firmly, resolving to make no mention of his encounter with Mr Waggleswick.
'Well, I didn't think I did,' confessed Miss Gateshead, 'but I have the horridest feeling all the time that there is someone just behind me!'
Mr Cranbrook did not feel quite comfortable about the Pelican himself, but since it was plainly his part to comfort Miss Gateshead he adopted a bracing tone, saying that she was perhaps tired after her journey, and was suffering from an irritation of the nerves. She accepted this explanation meekly, and came to sit at the table, so that she could more clearly see Mr Cranbrook's Peninsular sketches.
Shortly after ten o'clock the landlady came in with two tallow candles, stuck into pewter holders. She offered to escort Miss Gateshead up to bed, and since John thought he might as well go to bed too as sit on a settle beside a dying fire, he said that he would also go upstairs. He and Miss Gateshead had reached an excellent understanding by this time, and although nothing so blunt had passed between them as a declaration on Mr Cranbrook's part that he meant to follow up this chance acquaintanceship with a view to extending it rather considerably, his intention was as patent as it was unavowed. Nor did Miss Gateshead make any attempt to discourage him in his resolve. She was even much inclined to think there was a good deal to be said for his vehemently expressed opinion that the life of a governess would not at all suit her.
They took up their candles, and followed Mrs Fyton upstairs. The noise had died down in the tap; Mrs Fyton said that they kept early hours in these parts, besides that folks were anxious to get home before the fog came down really thick. The light of the candle she carried threw wavering, grotesque shadows on the walls, and disclosed, upstairs, two other passages, leading off at right-angles from the one which ran the length of the house.
'You know your way, sir,' said Mrs Fyton, nodding a chaperon's dismissal to John. 'Come along, miss!'
John knew an impulse to accompany Miss Gateshead at least to her door. He thought she was looking scared, and guessed that this was probably the first time she had ever been alone in a strange inn. However, Mrs Fyton seemed a motherly woman, who might be trusted to look after a young lady, so he said good night, and contented himself with lingering at the head of the stairs until he had seen which door it was that led into Miss Gateshead's room. It lay at the far end of the house to his, with Waggleswick's between them; an arrangement John did not much like – though what evil intentions a middle-aged man of business putting up at an unfrequented inn could harbour in his breast he was unable to imagine. He went on to his own room, leaving the door ajar behind him. His valises were just as he had left them, and until he heard the landlady go down the stairs again he occupied himself in unpacking such articles as he would require for the night. When Mrs Fyton's footsteps had died away, he picked up his candle, and went softly along the passage, and scratched on Miss Gateshead's door.
'Who is it?'
Her voice sounded frightened; he said reassuringly: 'Only me – Cranbrook! I wanted to be sure you are quite comfortable: I won't come in.'
Apparently Miss Gateshead had no dread of this new acquaintance at least. There was a step within the room, the door was opened, and she stood on the threshold, whispering: 'I am so glad you have come! I have discovered that there is no key in this lock, and I know I shan't sleep a wink! Did you see that dreadful creature as we came up the stairs?'
'Waggleswick?' he said sharply, looking down the passage. 'No! Where was he?'
'In the corridor that leads to the back stairs. I caught a glimpse of him, but he stepped out of sight on the instant. I told you he was spying on us!'
'It's impossible! Why should he?' Mr Cranbrook said, in a lowered tone. 'Shall I go down and ask Mrs Fyton for a key to your door?'
'I am persuaded it would not be the least avail. I dare say it has been lost for years, for this is the most ramshackle, neglected place I ever was in! The dust under my bed – ! Oh, I do wish Mrs Stockton would have fetched me tonight!'
'So do I – at least, no, I don't, for if she had I should not have met you,' said John honestly. 'But it is very uncomfortable for you, and I don't like that! Mind, I don't believe that fellow Waggleswick means any harm: ten to one it is all curiosity! but put a chair under your door-handle, if you are afraid.'
This suggestion found favour. Miss Gateshead wondered that she should not have thought of it for herself, thanked him, and once more bade him good night.
He went back to his own room, pausing at the entrance to the corridor that led to the back stairs, and peering down it. He could see no one, nor did any sound, other than those issuing from the tap downstairs, come to his ears.
## 3
He had a book packed in his valise, which he had meant to read in the chair by his fire, but this was reduced to glowing embers, and when he would have put more coal on it he found that there was no scuttle in the room. It hardly seemed worth while to ring for it, so he undressed, and got into bed, setting the candle on the table beside him, and thrusting his watch and his pocket-book under the pillow. The bed was a feather one, and though rather smothering, not uncomfortable. He opened his book, and began to read, occasionally raising his head to listen intently. His room was situated too far from the tap for him to be able to hear the murmur of voices there. He heard nothing at all, not even the stir of a mouse.
This dense stillness began presently to make him feel uneasy. It was not very late, and it would have been natural had some sounds broken the silence. In any inn one expected to hear noises: the voices of other guests; footsteps; the slam of a door; the clatter of crockery; or the rumble of wheels in the courtyard. The Pelican, of course, had no courtyard, and obviously did not enjoy much custom; but it did seem odd that he had seen no servant in the house other than the tapster. One would have thought that there would have been at least a waiter, and a chambermaid. He wondered who would clean the boots he had put outside his door, and whether anyone would bring him any shaving-water in the morning.
The silence was so profound that when a coal dropped in the grate it made him start. He was neither a nervous nor an imaginative young man, and the realization that Miss Gateshead had communicated to him some of her alarm vexed him. More than once he found himself lowering his book to glance round the room; and the creak of the chair in which he had sat to pull off his boots actually made him sit up in bed to make sure that he was alone.
When the candle was burnt down to a stub he began to be sleepy; and after finding that the printed words before his eyes were running one into the other, he closed the book, and snuffed the candle. A faint glow showed that the fire still lived. He turned on his side, the feather-bed billowing about him, and in less than ten minutes was asleep.
He awoke he knew not how much later, but so suddenly and with such a certainty that something had roused him that he was alert on the instant, and listening intently. His first thought was that Miss Gateshead must have called to him, but not a sound reached his ears. The glow from the hearth had disappeared; the room was in darkness.
He raised himself on his elbow. As he crouched thus, his ears straining, his eyes trying unavailingly to pierce the night, the conviction that he was not alone took such strong possession of his mind that the sweat broke out on his body. He stretched out his hand, and groped cautiously on the table for the tinder-box. It brushed against the candlestick, which made a tiny sound as it was shifted on the table, and in that moment it seemed to John that something moved in the room. He said breathlessly: 'Who's there?'
As he spoke, his fingers closed over the tinder-box. He sat up with a jerk, felt the bed move as something cannoned into it, and, even as he flung up his hands to grapple his unknown visitant, was thrust roughly down again on to his pillows, a hand clamped over his mouth, and another gripping his throat in a strangling hold. He struggled madly, trying to wrench away the clutch on his windpipe. His hands brushed against something warm and furry; a voice breathed in his ear: 'Dub your mummer!'
He tore at the unyielding hands, writhing, and trying to kick his feet free of the bedclothes, the bed creaking under his frenzied efforts. The grip on his throat tightened till the blood roared in his ears, and he felt his senses slipping from him. 'Still! Still!' hissed Waggleswick. 'One squeak out of you, and I'll land you a facer as'll put you to sleep for a se'ennight! Bow Street, clodpole! – Bow Street!'
He stopped struggling, partly from surprise at these last words, partly because the breath was choked out of him. The hand on his throat slightly relaxed its grip. He drew a sobbing breath, and distinctly heard the creak of boards under a stealthy footfall. It seemed to come from the direction of the wall-cupboard beside the fireplace.
'For God's sake, lay you still!' Mr Waggleswick's breath was hot in his ear.
He was free, and heard the stir of the bed-curtains, as though Waggleswick had shrunk behind them. He lay perfectly still, rigid and sweating. If Waggleswick were indeed a Bow Street Runner, he ought undoubtedly to obey his instructions; if he were not, it did not seem as though he would have much compunction in silencing those who defied him in a manner highly unpleasant to them. The darkness seemed to press on his eyeballs; he had difficulty still in breathing, but his senses were quite acute, and he caught the sound of a key softly, slowly turning in a lock. This unquestionably came from the direction of the cupboard; a faint lightening of the gloom gradually appeared as the door of the cupboard opened, as though a very dim light had been concealed there. It was obscured by a monstrous shadow, and then dwindled, as the door was pushed to again.
A loose floor-board cracked; John's fists clenched unconsciously, but a warning hand coming from out of the curtains and pressing his shoulder kept him otherwise motionless.
Someone was coming inch by inch towards the bed: someone who knew the disposition of the furniture so exactly that he made no blunder. The heavy coverlet stirred over John's limbs, and, as his hands came up instinctively, smothering folds were over his face, pressed down and down over nose and mouth. He grabbed at this new assailant's wrists, but before his fingers could close on them the pressure abruptly left his face, and he heard a sudden scuffle, a strangled, startled oath, and the quick shifting of stockinged feet on the floor.
He flung the quilt off, groping for the tinder-box, which he had dropped on the bed.
'The glim! light the glim!' panted Waggleswick.
A chair went over with a crash; something was knocked flying from the dressing-table, as the two men swayed and struggled about the room. John's desperate fingers found the tinder-box, and as with trembling fingers he contrived to strike a light from it, a heavy thud shook the room.
The tiny flame flared up; the landlord and Waggleswick were writhing and heaving together on the floor, silent but murderous.
John lit the candle, and tumbled out of bed, hurrying to Waggleswick's aid. The treatment he had suffered during the last few minutes had considerably shaken him, and he felt rather dizzy, nor did a wild kick from one of Fyton's plunging legs do anything to improve his condition. The landlord was immensely strong, and for several minutes he made it impossible for the two other men to overpower him. He and Waggleswick rolled on the floor, locked together, but at last John managed to grab one of his arms, as he was attempting to gouge out Waggleswick's eye, and to twist it with all his might. Waggleswick, who happened at that moment to be uppermost, was thus enabled to drive home a shattering blow to the jaw. This half stunned the landlord, and before he could recover Waggleswick had vigorously banged his head on the floor. This deprived him of his wits for several minutes, and by the time he was at all able to continue the struggle a pair of handcuffs had been locked round his wrists.
'Bide, and watch him!' commanded Waggleswick, out of breath, much abraded, but still surprisingly active. 'Take my barker and don't stand no gammon!' With that, he thrust a pistol into Mr Cranbrook's hand, and dived into the cupboard, adding over his shoulder: 'Hit him over the head with the butt, if he don't stay still! I don't want him shot: he's one for the Nubbing Cheat, he is!'
John found that his knees were shaking. He sat down, and curtly bade the landlord, who seemed to be trying to get up, to stay where he was. He had only just recovered his breath when a glimmer of light shone through the cupboard door, growing brighter as footsteps approached. Mr Waggleswick came back into the room with a lamp.
'All's bowman!' he announced, taking his gun away from John. 'Caught both the bites red-handed. She's as bad as he is, and worse! Get up, hang-gallows!'
He endorsed this command with a kick, and the landlord heaved himself to his feet. A settled, dogged expression had descended on to his face; he did not speak, but when John met his eyes he saw that there was so malevolent a look in them that it was almost impossible to believe he could be the same man as the comfortable, smiling host of a few hours earlier.
John shuddered, and turned away to pick up his breeches. When he had pulled these on over his nightshirt, and had thrust his feet into a pair of shoes, Waggleswick invited him to come down and see what had awaited him in the wash-house below his room.
'Jem and me'll lock the cull and his moll in the cellar till morning,' he said. 'Taken me a rare time to snabble you, my buck, ain't it? You'll pay for it! Get down them dancers, and don't you go for to forget that this little pop o' mine is mighty liable to go off! Mighty liable it is!'
He motioned the landlord to go before him into the cupboard, grinning at John's face of horror. 'Didn't suspicion what there was behind these here doors, did you?' he said.
'I never tried to open them. Good God, a stairway?'
'Down to the wash-house. Took me three visits to get a sight of them, too! Ah, and you'd have gone down 'em feet first if I hadn't have been here, master, like a good few other young chubs! To think I been here four times, and never a blow come worth the biting until you walked in tonight, with your pocketbook full o' flimseys, and your talk of no one suspicioning you was in England! Axing your pardon, you was a regular noddy, wasn't you, sir?'
Mr Cranbrook agreed to it humbly, and brought up the rear of the little procession that wound its way down a steep, twisting stair to a stone-flagged wash-house, where a huge copper was steaming in one corner, and the tapster was standing over Mrs Fyton, loudly protesting her innocence of evil intent in a chair in the middle of the room.
'My assistant – junior, o' course, but a fly cove!' said Waggleswick, jerking a thumb at the tapster. 'All right, Jem: we'll stow 'em away under hatches now!'
John, whose revolted gaze had alighted on a chopper, lying on a stout, scrubbed table, was looking a little pale. He was left to his own reflections while the prisoners were driven down to the cellar; and his half-incredulous and wholly nauseated inspection of the wash-house made it unnecessary for Waggleswick to inform him, as he did upon his return with Jem, that it had been the Fytons' practice to chop up the bodies of their victims, and to boil down the remains in the copper. 'Though I don't rightly know what they done with the heads,' added Mr Waggleswick thoughtfully.
John had heard tales reminiscent of this gruesome disclosure, but he had imagined that they belonged to an age long past.
'Lor' no, sir!' said Waggleswick indulgently. 'There's plenty of willains alive today! We've had this ken in our eye I dunno how long, but that Fyton he was a cunning one!'
'Ah!' nodded Jem, signifying portentous assent.
'You might have told me!' John said hotly.
'Well,' said Waggleswick, scratching his chin, 'I might, o' course, but you was in the nature of a honey-fall, sir, and I wasn't so werry sure as you'd be agreeable to laying in your bed awaiting for Fyton to come an' murder you unbeknownst if I was to tell you what my lay was.'
A horrible thought crossed John's mind. 'Miss Gateshead!'
'She's all right and tight! She was knowed to be putting up here, and Fyton never ran no silly risks.'
''Adn't got no 'addock stuffed with beans neither,' interpolated Jem, somewhat incomprehensibly.
Waggleswick said severely: 'Don't talk that cant to flash coves as don't understand it, sap-head! What he means, sir, is she hadn't no full purse, like you told us all you had!'
'Not but what Fyton might ha' done a bit in the body-snatching line,' suggested Jem.
Mr Cranbrook shuddered.
'Well, he ain't snatched her body,' pointed out Mr Waggleswick.
John looked at him. 'She must not know of this! It is ghastly!'
Waggleswick scratched his chin again. 'I dunno as she need. She won't be wanted as a witness – like you will, sir!'
'Yes, of course: I know that! I am very willing. Has that monster disposed of many travellers in this frightful way?'
'There's no saying,' replied Waggleswick. 'Not above two or three since we got wind of it in Bow Street.'
'And before? It is horrible to think of!'
'Ah!' agreed Jem. 'Dear knows 'ow many went into that there copper afore us Runners come down 'ere!'
On this macabre thought, Mr Cranbrook retired again to his interrupted repose, if not to enjoy much slumber, at least to employ his time profitably in thinking out what plausible tale he would concoct for Miss Gateshead's benefit in the morning.
## 4
They met in the coffee-room, still shuttered and unaired. Miss Gateshead was unbarring the shutters when John came into the room, and her comments on the lack of orderly management in the inn were pungent and to the point.
'I tugged and tugged at the bell, and who do you think brought me a can of hot water at last?' she said. 'The tapster!'
'It is too bad! But the thing is that they were cast into a pucker by the landlady's being taken ill in the night,' explained John glibly. 'Should you mind putting on your bonnet, and stepping out with me to partake of breakfast at one of the other inns?'
'Not at all!' replied Miss Gateshead promptly. 'I am very sorry for the landlady, but she almost deserves to be taken ill for keeping her house in such a shocking state! I will fetch my bonnet and pelisse directly.' She paused, coloured slightly, and said in a shamefaced voice: 'I am afraid you must have thought me very foolish last night! Indeed, I cannot imagine what can have possessed me to be so nonsensical! I never slept better in my life! Is it not odd what absurd fancies one can take into one's head when one is a little tired?'
'Most odd!' agreed Mr Cranbrook, barely repressing a shiver.
# The Duel
## 1
It amused him, entering his house so unexpectedly early in the evening, to know that he had disconcerted Criddon, his porter. He suspected Criddon of having slipped out to dally with a serving-maid at the top of some area steps. The rogue was out of breath, as though, having perceived his master sauntering up the flag-way in the light of the oil street lamps, he had scurried back into the house more swiftly than befitted a man of his bulk. As he took the silk-lined cloak, the curly-brimmer beaver, and the tall cane, he wore a faint air of injury. No doubt he felt ill-used because his master, leaving the ball hours before his carriage had been ordered to call for him, had chosen to walk home, instead of looking in at Watier's, according to his more usual custom.
He told Criddon he might go to bed, and strolled to the side table, where a letter, delivered during the evening, awaited him. As he broke the wafer and spread open the sheet, his butler came up from the nether regions, but he waved him away, as irritated by his presence as he would have been angered by his absence. He threw the letter aside and opened the door into the dining-room. The room was in darkness, a circumstance which almost caused him to summon back the butler. It was his pleasure that lights should burn in every room which he might conceivably wish to enter in his great house, and well did his servants know it. But he did not call to Radstock, for his nostrils had caught the acrid smell of candles newly blown out, and he was indefinably aware that he was not alone in the room. Some of the boredom left his face: a turn-up with a housebreaker might relieve the monotony of his existence, and would certainly surprise the housebreaker, who would no doubt consider a seeming dandy in satin knee-breeches and a long-tailed coat easy game. He stepped back into the hall, and picked up the heavy chandelier from the side table there. Carrying this into the dining-room, he stood for a moment on the threshold, looking keenly round. The flames of half a dozen candles flickered, and showed him only the furniture, and the wavering shadows it threw. He glanced towards the windows and it seemed to him that one of the brocade curtains bulged slightly. He set the chandelier down, trod silently to the window, and flung the curtains back.
As he did so, he sprang out of range, and brought his hands up in two purposeful fists. They dropped to his sides. No housebreaker met his astonished gaze, but a girl, shrinking back against the window, the hood of her cloak fallen away from a tangle of silken curls, her frightened face, in which two dark eyes dilated, upturned to his.
For a moment he wondered if Criddon had hidden his doxy in the dining-room; then his critical glance informed him that the girl's cloak was of velvet, and her gown of sprigged muslin the demure but expensive raiment of the débutante. His astonishment grew. He was so eligible a bachelor that he was accustomed to being pursued, and could recognize and evade every snare set in his path. But this seemed to go beyond all bounds. Anger came into his eyes; he thought he must have been mistaken in his assessment of the girl's quality, and that a fair Cyprian had invaded his house.
Then she spoke, and her words confirmed him in his first impression. 'Oh, I beg your pardon! P-pray forgive me, sir!' she said, in a pretty, conscience-stricken voice.
Anger gave way to amusement. 'What, ma'am, may I ask, are you doing in my house?' he demanded.
She hung her head. 'Indeed, you must think it most odd in me!'
'I do.'
'The door was open, so – so I ran in,' she explained. 'You see, there – there was a man following me!'
'If you must walk through the streets of London at this hour, I should hope your footman was following you!'
'Oh no! No one knows I am not in my bed! My mission is most secret! And I never meant to walk, but the hackney carried me to the wrong house – at least, I fear I gave the coachman the wrong direction, and he had driven away before I was made aware of my mistake. The servant told me that it was only a step, so I thought I might walk, only there was an odious man – ! I ran as fast as I could into this street, and – and your door stood open. Indeed, I meant only to hide in the hall until that creature was gone, but then your porter came in, and I was obliged to run into this room, because how could I explain? When I told that other servant where I wished to go, he – he –' She broke off, lifting her hand to a burning cheek. 'And then you came in, so I slipped behind the curtain.'
It occurred to him, while she offered this explanation of her presence in his house, that although she was agitated she was not at all shy, and seemed not to be much afraid of him. He said: 'You intrigue me greatly. Where, in fact, do you wish to go?'
'I wish – I have a particular desire – to go to Lord Rotherfield's house,' she replied.
The amusement left his face. He looked frowningly at her, a hint of contempt in his rather hard eyes. He said in a dry tone: 'No doubt to call upon his lordship?'
She put up her chin. 'If you will be so obliging as to direct me to Lord Rotherfield's house, which I believe to be in this street, sir, I need no longer trespass upon your hospitality!'
'It is the last house in London to which I would direct you. I will rather escort you back to your own house, wherever that may be.'
'No, no, I must see Lord Rotherfield!' she cried.
'He is not a proper person for you to visit, my good girl. Moreover, it is unlikely that you would find him at home at this hour.'
'Then I must wait for him,' she declared. 'I am persuaded he will not be so very late tonight, for he is going to fight a duel in the morning!'
He stared at her, his eyes narrowed. 'Indeed?'
'Yes! – with my brother!' she said, a catch in her voice. 'I must – I must prevent him!'
'Is it possible,' he demanded, 'that you imagine you can persuade Rotherfield to draw back from an engagement? You do not know him! Who sent you on this fantastic errand? Who can have exposed you to such a risk?'
'Oh, no one, no one! I discovered what Charlie meant to do by the luckiest accident, and surely Lord Rotherfield cannot be so very bad? I know he is said to be heartless and excessively dangerous, but he cannot be such a monster as to shoot poor Charlie when I have explained to him how young Charlie is, and how it would utterly prostrate Mama, who is an invalid, and suffers from the most shocking palpitations!'
He moved away from the window, and pulled a chair out from the table. 'Come and sit down!' he said curtly.
'But, sir –'
'Do as I bid you!'
She came reluctantly to the chair and sat down on the edge of it, looking up at him in a little trepidation.
He drew his snuff-box from his pocket and flicked it open. 'You, I apprehend, are Miss Saltwood,' he stated.
'Well, I am Dorothea Saltwood,' she amended. 'My sister Augusta is Miss Saltwood, because no one has offered for her yet. And that is why I am not yet out, though I am turned nineteen! But how did you know my name is Saltwood?'
He raised a pinch of snuff to one nostril. 'I was present, ma'am, when your brother insulted Rotherfield.'
She seemed grieved. 'At that horrid gaming-hell?'
'On the contrary! At an exclusive club, to which few of us, I fancy, know how Lord Saltwood gained admission.'
She flushed. 'He prevailed upon that stupid creature, Torryburn, to take him there. I dare say he should not have done so, but Lord Rotherfield need not have give him such a set-down! You will own it was the unkindest thing!'
'Certainly,' he said. 'Pray do not think that I have the smallest desire to defend Rotherfield! But in justice to his lordship I must tell you that your brother offered him an insupportable insult. His lordship has many faults – indeed, I sometimes think I dislike him more than anyone of my acquaintance! – but I assure you that in all matters of play he is scrupulous. Forgive me if I venture to suggest, ma'am, that your brother will be the better for a sharp lesson, to teach him, in future, not to accuse a gentleman of using loaded dice!'
'Indeed, I know it was very bad, but if he meets Lord Rotherfield he won't have a future!'
'This is high Cheltenham tragedy with a vengeance!' he replied, amused. 'Rotherfield will scarcely proceed to such extremes as you dread, my dear child!'
'They say he never misses!' she uttered, her cheeks blanched.
'Then he will hit Saltwood precisely where he means to.'
'They must not, and they shall not meet!' she said earnestly. 'I am persuaded that if I can only tell Lord Rotherfield how it is with Charlie, he cannot be so cruel as to persist in this affair!'
'You would be better advised to prevail upon your brother to apologize for his conduct.'
'Yes,' she agreed mournfully. 'That is what Bernard said, but the thing is that Lord Rotherfield is so deadly a shot that Charlie would never, never do that, because everyone would think he was afraid to meet him!'
'And who, may I ask, is Bernard?'
'Mr Wadworth. We have known him for ever, and he is one of Charlie's seconds. It was he who told me about it. I made him do so. I promised I would not disclose to Charlie that he had breathed a word to me, so what can I do but throw myself upon Lord Rotherfield's mercy?'
'Lord Rotherfield, as you are aware, has no mercy. You would, moreover, be doing Mr Wadworth a vast disservice if you were to betray to anyone the impropriety of his conduct in speaking one word to you on this subject.'
'Oh, dear, I would not injure him for the world, poor Bernard! But I have told you already, sir!'
'Your confidence is quite safe in my keeping.'
She smiled engagingly up at him. 'Indeed, I know it must be! You are so very kind! But I am determined to see Lord Rotherfield.'
'And I am determined that you shall return to your home. Rotherfield's is no house for you to visit in this style. Good God, if it should become known that you had done so – !'
She got up, clasping her hands. 'Yes, but it is desperate! If anything were to happen to Charlie, it would kill Mama! I assure you, it is of no consequence what becomes of me! Augusta says I am bound to ruin myself, because I have no notion how I should go on, so I might as well ruin myself now as later, don't you think?'
'I do not!' he replied, laughing. 'Oh, don't look so much distressed, you absurd child! Will you trust me to see that no harm comes to your tiresome brother?'
She stared at him, sudden hope in her eyes. 'You, sir? Oh, will you see Lord Rotherfield, and explain to him that it was only that poor Charlie has been so sadly indulged, because my father died when he was a little boy, and Mama would not let him go to school, or permit anyone to cross him, and he has only just come to town, and he does not know how to guard his temper, or –'
He interrupted this tumbled speech, possessing himself of one agitated little hand, and kissing it lightly. 'Rest assured I will not allow Lord Rotherfield to hurt poor Charlie at all!'
'Will he listen to you?' she asked doubtfully. 'Augusta's particular friend, Miss Stanstead, says he is a very proud, disagreeable man, and cares nothing for anyone's opinion.'
'Very true, but I have it in my power to compel him to do what I wish. You may safely trust in me.'
She heaved a relieved sigh, and again the enchanting smile trembled on her lips. 'Oh yes! I do, sir! It is the oddest thing, for, to own the truth, I was a little afraid when you pulled back the curtain. You looked at me in such a way! But that was quite my own fault, and I saw in a trice that there was not the smallest need for me to be afraid. You are so very kind! I don't know how I may thank you.'
'Forget that I looked at you in such a way, and I shall be satisfied. I am going to take you home now. I think you said that no one knew you had left the house. Have you the means to enter it again without being seen by the servants?' She nodded, a gleam of mischief in her big eyes. The amusement in his deepened. 'Abominable girl! Lady Saltwood has my sincere sympathy!'
'I know I have behaved shockingly,' she said contritely. 'But what was I to do? And you must own that it has come about for the best, sir! For I have saved Charlie, and I know you will never tell anyone what a scrape I have been in. I hope – I hope you don't truthfully think me abominable?'
'If I were to tell you what I truthfully think, I should be abominable. Come! I must convey you home, my little one.'
## 2
Never did a young gentleman embarking on his first affair of honour receive less encouragement from his seconds than Lord Saltwood received from Sir Francis Upchurch and Mr Wadworth. Sir Francis, being inarticulate, did little more than shake his head, but Mr Wadworth, presuming upon an acquaintance with his principal which dated from the cradle, did not hesitate to speak his mind. 'Made a dashed cake of yourself!' he said.
'Worse!' said Sir Francis, contributing his mite.
'Much worse!' corroborated Mr Wadworth. 'Devilish bad ton, Charlie! You were foxed, of course.'
'I wasn't. At least, not very much.'
'Drunk as a wheelbarrow. I don't say you showed it, but you must have been!'
'Stands to reason!' said Sir Francis.
'No right to bully Torryburn into taking you to the Corinthian Club in the first place. Above your touch, my boy! Told you so, when you asked me to take you. No right to have stayed there after Rotherfield gave you that set-down.'
Lord Saltwood ground his teeth. 'He need not have said that!'
'No, I dare say he need not. Got a nasty tongue. But that don't signify. You'd no right to accuse him of using Fulhams!'
Sir Francis shuddered, and closed his eyes for an anguished moment.
'Ought to have begged his pardon then and there,' pursued Mr Wadworth relentlessly. 'Instead of that, dashed well forced a quarrel on him!'
'If he hadn't told a waiter – a waiter! – to show me out – !'
'Ought to have called for the porter,' agreed Sir Francis. He then perceived that this amiable response had failed to please his fiery young friend, and begged pardon. A powerful thought assailed him. He turned his eyes towards Mr Wadworth, and said suddenly: 'You know what, Bernie? He shouldn't have accepted Charlie's challenge. Must know he ain't been on the town above six months!'
'The point is he did accept it,' said Mr Wadworth. 'But it ain't too late. Charlie dashed well ought to apologize.'
'I will not!' said Lord Saltwood tensely.
'You were in the wrong,' insisted Mr Wadworth.
'I know it, and I mean to fire in the air. That will show that I acknowledge my fault, but was not afraid to meet Rotherfield!'
This noble utterance caused Sir Francis to drop with a clatter the cane whose amber knob he had been meditatively sucking, and Mr Wadworth to stare at his principal as though he feared for his reason. 'Delope?' he gasped. 'Against Rotherfield? You must be queer in your attic! Why, man, you'd be cold meat! Now, you listen to me, Charlie! If you won't beg the fellow's pardon, you'll come up the instant you see the handkerchief drop, and shoot to kill, or I'm dashed if I'll have anything more to do with it!'
'Awkward business, if he killed him,' objected Sir Francis. 'Might have to leave the country.'
'He won't kill him,' said Mr Wadworth shortly.
He said no more, but it was plain to Saltwood that his seconds thought poorly of his chances of being able to hit his opponent at a range of twenty-five yards. He was by no means a contemptible shot, but he suspected that it might be easier to hit a small wafer at Manton's Galleries than a large man at Paddington Green.
Mr Wadworth called for him in a tilbury very early in the morning. He did not find it necessary to throw stones up at his lordship's window, for his lordship had not slept well, and was already dressed. He stole downstairs, and let himself out of the house, bidding Mr Wadworth good morning with very creditable composure. Mr Wadworth nodded, and cast a knowledgeable eye over him. 'No bright buttons on your coat?' he asked.
The question did nothing to allay the slightly sick feeling at the pit of Saltwood's stomach. Mr Wadworth followed it up with a reminder to him to turn up his collar, and to be careful to present the narrowest possible target to his adversary. Lord Saltwood, climbing into the tilbury, answered with spurious cheerfulness: 'I must suppose it can make little difference to such a shot as they say Rotherfield is.'
'Oh, well – ! No sense in taking needless risks,' said Mr Wadworth awkwardly.
After that, conversation became desultory. They were the first to arrive on the ground, but they were soon joined by Sir Francis, and a man in a sober-hued coat, who chatted about the weather. Saltwood realized that this insensate person must be the doctor, gritted his teeth, and hoped that Rotherfield would not be late. It seemed to him that he had strayed into nightmare. He felt cold, sick, and ashamed; and it said much for the underlying steel in his spoilt and wayward nature that it did not enter his head that he might even now escape from a terrifying encounter by apologizing to Rotherfield for conduct which he knew to have been disgraceful.
Rotherfield arrived even as the church clocks were striking the hour. He was driving himself in his sporting curricle, one of his friends seated beside him, the other following him in a high-perch phaeton. He appeared to be quite nonchalant, and it was obvious that he had dressed with all his usual care. The points of his shirt stood up stiffly above an intricate neckcloth; his dark locks were arranged with casual nicety; there was not a speck upon the gleaming black leather of his Hessian boots. He sprang down from the curricle and cast his drab driving-coat into it. The seconds met, and conferred, and presently led their principals to their positions, and gave into their hands the long-barrelled duelling-pistols, primed and cocked.
Across what seemed to be an immeasureable stretch of turf, Saltwood stared at Rotherfield. That cold, handsome face might have been carved in stone; it looked merciless, faintly mocking.
The doctor turned his back; Saltwood drew in his breath, and grasped his pistol firmly. One of Rotherfield's seconds was holding the handkerchief high in the air. It fell, and Saltwood jerked up his arm and fired.
He had been so sure that Rotherfield would hit him that it seemed to him that he must have been hit. He recalled having been told that the bullet had a numbing effect, and cast an instinctive glance down his person. But there did not seem to be any blood, and he was certainly still standing on his feet. Then he heard someone ejaculate: 'Good God! Rotherfield!' and, looking in bewilderment across the grass, he saw that Mr Mayfield was beside Rotherfield, an arm flung round him, and that the doctor was hurrying towards them. Then Mr Wadworth removed his own pistol from his hand, and said in a stupefied voice: 'He missed!'
Young Lord Saltwood, realizing that he had hit the finest pistol-shot in town and was himself untouched, was for a moment in danger of collapsing in a swoon. Recovering, he pushed Mr Wadworth away, and strode impetuously up to the group gathered round Rotherfield. He reached it in time to hear that detested voice say: 'The cub shoots better than I bargained for! Oh, go to the devil, Ned! It's nothing – a graze!'
'My lord!' uttered Saltwood. 'I wish to offer you my apology for –'
'Not now, not now!' interrupted the doctor testily.
Saltwood found himself waved aside. He tried once more to present Rotherfield with an apology, and was then led firmly away by his seconds.
## 3
'Most extraordinary thing I ever saw!' Mr Wadworth told Dorothea, when dragged by her into the small saloon, and bidden disclose the whole to her. 'Mind, now! Not a word to Charlie! Rotherfield missed!'
Her eyes widened. 'Fired in the air?'
'No, no! Couldn't expect him to do that! Dash it, Dolly, when a man does that he's owning he was at fault! Don't mind telling you I felt as sick as a horse. He was looking devilish grim. Queer smile on his face, too. I didn't like it above half. I'll swear he took careful aim. Fired a good second before Charlie did. Couldn't have missed him by more than a hair's breadth! Charlie got him in the shoulder: don't think it's serious. Thing is, shouldn't be surprised if it's done Charlie good. Tried to beg Rotherfield's pardon on the ground, and he's called once in Mount Street since then. Not admitted: butler said his lordship was not receiving visitors. Given Charlie a fright: he'll be more the thing now. But don't you breathe a word, Dolly!'
She assured him she would not mention the matter. An attempt to discover from him who, besides Lord Rotherfield, resided in Mount Street could not have been said to have advanced the object she had in mind. Mr Wadworth was able to recite the names of several persons living in that street; but when asked to identify a gentleman who apparently resembled a demigod rather than an ordinary mortal, he said without hesitation that he had never beheld anyone remotely corresponding to Miss Saltwood's description. He began then to show signs of suspicion, so Dorothea was obliged to abandon her enquiries and to cast round in her mind for some other means of discovering the name of her brother's unknown preserver. None presented itself; nor, when she walked down Mount Street with her maid, was she able to recognize the house in which she had taken refuge. A wistful fancy that the unknown gentleman might perhaps write to tell her that he had kept his word was never very strong, and by the end of the week had vanished entirely. She could only hope that she would one day meet him, and be able to thank him for his kind offices. In the meantime, she found herself to be sadly out of spirits, and behaved with such listless propriety that even Augusta, who had frequently expressed the wish that something should occur to tame her sister's wildness, asked her if she were feeling well. Lady Saltwood feared that she was going into a decline, and herself succumbed immediately to a severe nervous spasm.
Before any such extreme measures for the restoration to health of the younger Miss Saltwood as bringing her out that very season had been more than fleetingly contemplated by her mama and angrily vetoed by her sister, her disorder was happily arrested. Eight days after Saltwood's duel, on an afternoon in June, the butler sought out Dorothea, who was reading aloud to her afflicted parent, and contrived to get her out of the drawing-room without arousing any suspicion in Lady Saltwood's mind that she was wanted by anyone more dangerous than the dressmaker. But once outside the drawing-room Porlock placed a sealed billet in Dorothea's hand, saying with the air of a conspirator that the gentleman was in the Red Saloon.
The billet was quite short, and it was written in the third person. 'One who had the pleasure of rendering a trifling service to Miss Dorothea Saltwood begs the honour of a few words with her.'
'Oh!' gasped Dorothea, all her listlessness vanished. 'Porlock, pray do not tell Mama or my sister! Pray do not!'
'Certainly not, miss!' he responded, with a readiness not wholly due to the very handsome sum already bestowed upon him downstairs. He watched his young mistress speed down the stairs, and thought with pleasure that when Miss Augusta discovered what kind of an out-and-outer was courting her sister she would very likely go off in an apoplexy. The gentleman in the Red Saloon, to his experienced eye, was a bang-up Corinthian, a Nonpareil, a very Tulip of Fashion.
Dorothea, coming impetuously into the saloon, exclaimed on the threshold: 'Oh, I am so very glad to see you, sir! I have wished so much to thank you, and I have not known how to do so, for I never asked you your name! I don't know how I came to be such a goose!'
He came towards her, and took her outstretched hand in his left one, bowing over it. She perceived that he was quite as handsome as she had remembered, and that his right arm lay in a sling. She said in quick concern: 'How comes this about? Have you broke your arm, sir?'
'No, no!' he replied, retaining her hand. 'A slight accident to my shoulder merely! It is of no consequence. I trust that all went well that evening, and that your absence had not been discovered?'
'No, and I have not mentioned it to anyone!' she assured him. 'I am so very much obliged to you! I cannot imagine how you contrived to prevail upon that man not to hit Charlie! Bernard told me that Charlie hit him, and I must say I am sorry, because it was quite my fault, and although he is so odious I did not wish him to be hurt precisely!'
'To own the truth, he had little expectation of being hurt,' he said, with a smile. He released her hand, and seemed to hesitate. 'Lord Rotherfield, Miss Saltwood, does not wish to appear odious in your eyes, believe me!'
'Is he a friend of yours?' she asked. 'Pray forgive me! I am sure he cannot be so very bad if that is so!'
'I fear he has been quite my worst friend,' he said ruefully. 'Forgive me, my child! I am Lord Rotherfield!'
She stood quite still, staring at him, at first pale, and then with a flush in her cheeks and tears sparkling in her eyes. 'You are Lord Rotherfield?' she repeated. 'And I said such things about you, and you let me, and were so very kind, and allowed yourself to be wounded – Oh, I am sure you must be the best person in the world!'
'I am certainly not that, though I hope I am not the worst. Will you forgive me for having deceived you?'
She put out her hand, and again he took it, and held it. 'How can you talk so? I am quite ashamed! I wonder you did not turn me out of doors! How good you are! How truly noble!'
'Ah, how can you talk so?' he said quickly. 'Do not! I do not think I had ever, before that evening, wished to please anyone but myself. You came to me – enchanting and abominable child that you are! – and I wanted more than anything in life to please you. I am neither good nor noble – though I am not as black as I was painted to you. I assure you, I had never the least intention of wounding your brother mortally.'
'Oh no! Had I known it was you I should never have thought that!'
He raised her hand to his lips. The slight fingers seemed to tremble, and then to clasp his. He looked up, but before he could speak Lord Saltwood walked into the room.
Lord Saltwood stopped dead on the threshold, his eyes starting from their sockets. He stared in a dazed way, opened his mouth, shut it again, and swallowed convulsively.
'How do you do?' said Rotherfield, with cool civility. 'You must forgive me for having been unable to receive you when you called at my house the other day.'
'I came – I wished – I wrote you a letter!' stammered Saltwood, acutely uncomfortable.
'Certainly you did, and I have come to acknowledge it. I am much obliged to you, and beg you will think no more of the incident.'
'C-came to see me?' gasped Saltwood.
'Yes, for I understand you to be the head of your family, and I have a request to make of you. I trust that our late unfortunate contretemps may not have made the granting of it wholly repugnant to you.'
'No, no! I mean – anything in my power, of course! I shall be very happy – ! If you would care to step into the book-room, my lord – ?'
'Thank you.' Rotherfield turned, and smiled down into Dorothea's anxious eyes. 'I must take my leave of you now, but I trust Lady Saltwood will permit me to call on her tomorrow.'
'Yes, indeed, I am persuaded – that is, I do hope she will!' said Dorothea naïvely.
There was a laugh in his eye, but he bowed formally and went out with Saltwood, leaving her beset by a great many agitating emotions, foremost amongst which was a dread that Lady Saltwood would, in the failing state of her health, feel herself to be unequal to the strain of receiving his lordship. When, presently, Saltwood went up to the drawing-room, looking as though he had sustained a severe shock, Dorothea was seized by a conviction that her escapade had been disclosed to him, and she fled to the sanctuary of her bedchamber, and indulged in a hearty bout of tears. From this abyss of woe she was jerked by the unmistakable sounds of Augusta in strong hysterics. Hastily drying her cheeks, she ran down the stairs to render whatever assistance might be needed, and to support her parent through this ordeal. To her amazement, she found Lady Saltwood, whom she had left languishing on the sofa, not only upon her feet, but looking remarkably well. To her still greater amazement, the invalid folded her in the fondest of embraces, and said: 'Dearest, dearest child! I declare I don't know if I am on my head or my heels! Rotherfield! A countess! You sly little puss, never to have told me that you had met him! And not even out yet! You must be presented at once: that I am determined upon! He is coming to visit me tomorrow. Thank heaven you are just Augusta's size! You must wear the pomona silk dress Celestine has just made for her: I knew how it would be, the instant I brought you out! I was never so happy in my life!'
Quite bewildered, Dorothea said: 'Presented? Wear Augusta's new dress? Mama, why?'
'My innocent treasure!' exclaimed Lady Saltwood. 'Tell me, my love, for you must know I am scarcely acquainted with him, do you – do you like Lord Rotherfield?'
'Oh, Mama!' said Dorothea impulsively. 'He is exactly like Sir Charles Grandison, and Lord Orville, only far, far better!'
'Dearest Dorothea!' sighed her ladyship ecstatically. 'Charlie, do not stand there staring! Go and throw a jug of water over Augusta this instant! This is not the moment for hysterics!'
# Hazard
The girl stood under the light of the guttering candles, still as a statue, her hands clasped in front of her, and no colour in her cheeks. She was dressed in a simple muslin gown with blue ribbons, and wore no ornament save the fillet threaded through her gold hair. She did not look at her half-brother, nor at any one of the five other men who were gathered round the table in the centre of the over-heated room. But she knew who was present; she had seen them all in the one swift glance she had cast at them under her lashes as she had entered the room. There was Lord Amberfield, sprawling over the table with his head pillowed on his arm; Mr Marmaduke Shapley, not so drunk as Amberfield, leaning on his chair and giggling; Sir Thomas Fort, a little blear-eyed, very purple in the face; Mr Lionel Winter, idiotically smiling; and Carlington Carlington with his black curls in disorder, and his exquisite cravat crumpled, his lean cheeks hectically flushed, and a reckless look in his bright eyes.
And there was Half-brother Ralph, in answer to whose peremptory summons she had got up out of her bed, and dressed herself, and come down to this stuffy room in the chill small hours. He was lounging back in his chair, still grasping the dice-box in one hand, while the other sought to refill his empty glass. Some of the wine slopped over on to the baize cloth that covered the table; Sir Ralph cursed it, and thrust the bottle on towards his left-hand neighbour. 'Fill up, Lionel! Fill up!' he said, hiccuping. 'Now, my lord – now Carlington! You want to play on, hey? But I'm done-up, d'ye see? Only one thing left to stake, and that's m'sister!' A fit of insane laughter shook him; he made a gesture towards the girl, who stood motionless still, her gaze fixed on a point above Carlington's handsome head. 'I'll set her for my last stake, gen'lemen. Who'll cover?'
Mr Winter said: 'Tha's – tha's Miss Helen,' and nodded wisely.
'Damme, Morland, this – this is not right!' said Sir Thomas, getting on to his feet. 'Miss Morland – very obedient servant, ma'am! Amberfield – my lord! ladies present!'
He lurched towards the sleeping Viscount, and shook him by one shoulder. Lord Amberfield moaned, and muttered: 'Pockets to let: all my vowels in – in Carlington's hands.'
'Freddy, my boy, I'm saying it's not right. Can't stake a lady.'
Lord Amberfield said: 'Can't stake anything. Nothing to stake. Going to sleep.'
Mr Marmaduke Shapley clasped his head in his hands, as though to steady it, and said rather indistinctly: 'It's the wine. Confound you, Ralph, you're drunk!'
Sir Ralph gave a boisterous laugh, and rattled the dice in the box. 'Who'll cover?' he demanded. 'What d'ye say, Lionel? Will you have my jade of a sister to wife?'
Mr Winter rose to his feet, and stood precariously balancing on his heels. 'Sir,' he said, looking owlishly at his host, 'shall take leave to tell you – no one will cover prepost'rous stake!'
Sir Ralph's wicked eyes went past him to where Carlington sat, gazing at the girl under frowning, night-black brows. By the Marquis' left arm, stretched negligently before him on the table, scraps of paper were littered, vowels for the money he had won. There were rouleaus of guineas at his elbow, and more guineas spilled under his hand. Through Sir Ralph's blurred mind drifted a thought that he had never seen the young Marquis in so wild a humour before. He leaned forward, and said mockingly: 'Will you cover, my lord, or do you refuse the bet?'
Carlington's eyes turned slowly towards him. They were not glazed but unnaturally bright. 'I – refuse?' he said.
'There's the true elbow-shaker!' crowed Sir Ralph. 'Cover, Carlington! What's the jade worth?'
Mr Winter laid hold of his chair-back, and with difficulty enunciated four words: 'My lord, you're d-drunk!'
'Drunk or sober, no man shall set me a stake I won't cover,' Carlington answered. His long fingers closed over the heap of vowels, crushing them into a ball. He thrust them forward, and his rouleaus with them.
'Good God, Charles!' cried Sir Thomas, catching at his wrist. 'There's a matter of twenty thousand pounds there! Have sense, man, have sense!'
Carlington shook him off. 'A main, Morland, call a main!' he said.
'Seven!' Sir Ralph responded, and cast the dice on to the table.
Carlington laughed, and dived a hand into his pocket for his snuff-box, and flicked it open.
'Five to seven!' announced Mr Shapley, peering at the dice.
The girl's fixed gaze had wavered as the dice rattled in the box, and she had shot a swift glance downwards at the chance, as it lay on the table. Her brother gathered up the dice, shook them together and again threw them.
They rolled across the table, and settled into five and ace.
'Cinque-ace!' called Mr Shapley, constituting himself groomporter. 'Any bets, gentlemen? any bets?'
No one answered; the Marquis took snuff.
The dice were shaken a third time, and cast. 'Quatre-trey!' called out Mr Shapley. 'Carlington, you've – you've the d-devil's own luck!'
The girl's eyes remained fixed for a moment on the four and the three lying on the green cloth; then she raised them, and looked across the table at Carlington.
The Marquis leaped up, and achieved a bow. 'Ma'am, I have won your hand in fair play!' he said, and stretched out his own imperatively.
Sir Ralph was staring at the dice, his lower lip pouting, and some of the high colour fading from his cheeks. Without a glance at him Miss Morland walked round the table, and curtsied, and laid her hand in Carlington's.
His fingers closed on it; he swung it gently to and fro, and said recklessly: 'It's time we were going. Will you come, my golden girl?'
Miss Morland spoke for the first time, in a composed, matter-of-fact voice. 'Certainly I will come, sir,' she said.
Carlington's eyes danced. 'I'm drunk, you know,' he offered.
'Yes,' she said.
He shook with laughter. 'By God, I like your spirit! Come, then!'
Sir Thomas started forward, lurched heavily against the table, and caught at it to steady himself. 'Damme, you're mad! Ralph, this won't do – bet's off – joke's a joke – gone far enough!'
'Play or pay!' the Marquis retorted, a smile not quite pleasant curling his lips.
Sir Ralph raised his eyes, and looked sullenly towards his sister. She returned his gaze thoughtfully, dispassionately, and transferred her attention to Carlington. 'I think,' she said tranquilly, 'I had better go and fetch a cloak if we are leaving now, sir.'
The Marquis escorted her to the door, and opened it, and set a shout ringing for his carriage. Miss Morland passed out of the hot room into the hall, and went across it to the stairs.
When she came down again some minutes later, cloaked, and with a chip hat on her head, and a bandbox in her hand, her brother had joined the Marquis in the hall, and was standing leaning against the lintel of the front door, scowling. The Marquis had put on a high-waisted driving-coat of drab cloth with row upon row of capes, and buttons of mother-of-pearl as large as crown-pieces. He had a curly-brimmed beaver, and a pair of York tan gloves in one hand, and his ebony cane in the other, and he flourished another bow at Miss Morland as she trod unhurriedly across the hall towards him.
'If you go, by God, you shan't return!' Sir Ralph said.
Miss Morland laid her hand on Carlington's proffered arm. 'I shall never return,' she said.
'I mean it!' Sir Ralph threatened.
'And I,' she replied. 'I have been in your ward three years. Do you think I would not sooner die than return to this house?'
He flushed, and addressed the Marquis. 'You're crazy to take her!'
'Crazy or drunk, what odds?' said Carlington, and opened the front door.
Sir Ralph caught at his coat. 'Where are you going?' he asked.
Carlington's wild laugh broke from him. 'Gretna!' he answered, and flung his arm about Miss Morland's waist, and swept her out of the house into the misty dawn.
His post-chaise and four was waiting, drawn up by the steps of the house, with the postilions shivering in their saddles, and one of Sir Ralph's servants holding the chaise door open.
The sharp morning air had an inevitable effect on the Marquis. He reeled, and had to catch at the footman's shoulder to steady himself. He was able, however, to flourish another bow in Miss Morland's direction, and to hand her up into the chaise.
Sir Ralph's house being situated at Hadley Green, and the Marquis having driven out from London to attend his card-party, the postilions had faced the chaise southwards. Upon receiving their master's order to drive to Gretna Green they were at first a great deal too astonished to do more than blink at him, but as, assisted by the footman, he began to climb up into the chaise, the boy astride one of the leaders ventured to point out that Gretna Green was some three hundred miles off, and his lordship totally unprepared for a long journey. The Marquis, however, merely reiterated: 'Gretna!' and entered the chaise, and sank down on to the seat beside Miss Morland.
The postilions were quite aware that their master was extremely drunk, but they knew him well enough to be sure that however much he might, in the morning, regret having ordered them to drive north he would blame them less for obeying him than for disregarding his instructions, and carrying him safely home. No sooner were the steps folded up than they wheeled the chaise, and set off in the direction of the Great North Road.
The Marquis let his hat slide on to the floor, and rested his handsome head back against the blue velvet squabs. Turning it a little he smiled sweetly upon his companion, and said, still with a surprising clarity of diction: 'I've a notion I shall regret this, but I'm badly foxed, my dear – badly foxed.'
'Yes,' said Miss Morland. 'I know. It doesn't signify. I am quite accustomed to it.'
That was the sum of their discourse. The Marquis closed his eyes, and went to sleep. Miss Morland sat quite still beside him, only occasionally clasping and unclasping her hands in her lap.
Potter's Bar, Bell Bar, Hatfield were all passed. Miss Morland paid for the tickets at the turnpikes with some loose coins found in the sleeping Viscount's pockets. A little more than two miles out of Hatfield the chaise passed through the hamlet of Stanborough, and began the long rise of Digswell Hill. At the Brickwall pike the postilion mounted on one of the wheelers informed Miss Morland that if his lordship desired to press on horses must be changed at Welwyn. An attempt to rouse the Marquis was unavailing; he only groaned, and seemed to sink deeper into slumber. Miss Morland, who had had time to reflect upon the rashness of this flight, to which sheer anger had prompted her, hesitated for a moment, and then desired the postilions to drive to a respectable posting-house in Welwyn, where they might put up for what was left of the night.
In a little while the chaise had drawn up at the White Hart; the landlord had been awakened, and a couple of drowsy ostlers, still in their nightcaps, had lifted the Marquis out of the coach, and carried him up to a bedchamber on the first floor.
No one seemed to feel very much surprise at this strange arrival in the small hours of the morning. The Marquis, who was well-known to the landlord, was obviously drunk, and this circumstance provided a perfectly reasonable explanation for both his and Miss Morland's presence. 'Though I must say,' remarked the landlord, as he once more rejoined his sleepy wife, 'I didn't know he was one of them hard topers – not Carlington. Wild, of course, very wild.'
The Marquis did not wake until past nine o'clock. His first sensations were those of supreme discomfort. His head ached, and his mouth was parched. He lay for some time with closed eyes, but presently, as fuller consciousness returned to him, he became aware of being almost completely clad. He opened his eyes, stared filmily upon his strange surroundings, and with a groan sat up in bed, clasping his temples between his hands. He found that with the exception of his neckcloth and his shining Hessians he was indeed fully clad, the kind hands that had relieved him of boots and cravat having failed in their endeavour to extricate him from the perfectly fitting coat of Mr Weston's cutting.
After another dazed look round the room, the Marquis reached for the bell-pull, and tugged at it vigorously.
The summons was answered by the landlord in person. Carlington, still clasping his aching head, looked at him with acute misgiving and pronounced: 'I've seen your rascally face before. Where am I?'
The landlord smiled ingratiatingly, and replied: 'To be sure, my lord, your lordship is in the very best room at the White Hart.'
'Which White Hart?' demanded the Marquis irritably. 'I know of fifty at least!'
'Why, at Welwyn, my lord!'
'Welwyn!' ejaculated Carlington, letting his hands fall. 'What the devil am I doing in Welwyn?'
This question the landlord, who had had an illuminating conversation with the two postilions, thought it prudent to leave unanswered. He coughed, and said vaguely that he was sure he couldn't say. He waited for his noble client's memory to assert itself, but the Marquis, with another groan, merely sank back upon his pillows, and closed his eyes again. The landlord gave another cough, and said: 'The lady has ordered breakfast in a private parlour, my lord.'
The Marquis' eyes opened at that. 'Lady? What lady?' he said sharply.
'The – the lady who accompanies your lordship,' replied the landlord.
'My God!' said the Marquis, and clasped his head in his hands again. There was a pause. 'Oh, my God, what have I done?' said the Marquis. 'Where is she?'
'The lady, my lord, spent the night in the bedchamber adjacent to this, and awaits your lordship in the parlour. Your lordship – er – does not appear to have any trunk or cloak-bag.'
'I know that, curse you!' said the Marquis, casting off the coverlet, and setting his stockinged feet to the ground. 'Damnation take this head of mine! Help me out of this coat, fool!'
The landlord extricated him from it, not without difficulty, and suggested that his lordship might like to be shaved. 'For I have a very reliable lad, my lord, and should be honoured to lend your lordship my own razors.'
The Marquis had poured a jugful of hot water into the washbasin. 'Send him up, man, send him up!' he said. He dipped his head into the basin, but raised it again to say: 'My compliments to the lady, and I shall do myself the honour of joining her in half an hour.'
Downstairs in the private parlour Miss Morland had ordered breakfast for half-past nine. When the Marquis at last appeared she was drinking a cup of coffee, and looking as neat and as fresh as though she had had her maid with her, and several trunks of clothes.
The Marquis had been shaved, had had the creases pressed out of his coat, and had contrived to arrange his starched but crumpled cravat in decent folds, but he did not look very fresh. He was pale, and the reckless look had gone from his face, leaving it worried, and rather stern. He came into the parlour, and shut the door behind him, and paused with his hand still on the knob, looking across at Miss Morland with a mixture of remorse and bewilderment in his fine eyes.
Miss Morland's colour rose, but she said calmly: 'Good morning, sir. A very fine day, is it not?'
'I have not noticed whether it is fine or not,' replied Carlington. 'I have to beg your pardon, ma'am. I have no very clear recollection of what occurred last night. I was drunk.'
'Yes,' said Miss Morland, a slice of bread and butter halfway to her mouth. 'You explained that at the time. May I give you some coffee?'
He came to the table, and stood looking down at her in even greater bewilderment. 'Miss Morland, drunk I may have been, but was I so drunk that I forced you to accompany me to this place?'
'I came with you quite willingly,' she assured him.
He grasped the back of the chair before him. 'In God's name, what induced you to commit so imprudent an action?'
'You won me,' she explained. 'I was the stake set by my brother.'
'I remember,' he said. 'I must have been mad, and he –' He broke off. 'Good heavens, ma'am, that you should have been subjected to such an indignity!'
'It was not very pleasant,' she agreed. 'It seemed to me preferable to go away with you than to remain under that roof another hour.' She paused, and raised her eyes to his face. 'You have always treated me with a courtesy my brother does not accord me. Besides,' she added, 'you assured me that your intentions were honourable.'
'My intentions!' he exclaimed.
'Certainly, sir,' said Miss Morland, casting down her eyes to hide the gleam of mischief in them. 'You informed my brother that you would take me to Gretna Green. We are on our way there now.'
The Marquis pulled the chair out from the table, and sank down into it. 'Gretna Green!' he said. 'My dear girl, you don't know – This is appalling!'
Miss Morland winced a little, but said in a considering voice: 'A little irregular, perhaps. But if I do not mind that I am sure you need not. You have a reputation for doing odd things, after all.'
He brought his open hand down on the table. 'If I have, the more reason for you to have refused to come with me on this insane journey! Were you mad, Miss Morland?'
'Oh, by no means!' she replied, cutting her bread and butter into thin strips. 'Of course, it is not precisely what I should have chosen, but you offered me a way of escape from a house in which I was determined not to spend another night.'
'You must have relatives – someone to whom –'
'Unfortunately I have no one,' said Miss Morland composedly.
The Marquis leaned his head in his hand, and said: 'My poor girl, you do not appear to realize the scandal this escapade will give rise to! I must get you to some place where you will be safe from it.'
Miss Morland bit into one of her strips of bread and butter. 'As your wife, sir, I shall expect you to protect me from slanderous tongues,' she said blandly.
The Marquis raised his head, and said with a groan: 'Helen, the notice of my engagement is in today's Gazette!'
There was just a moment's silence. The faintest tremor shook Miss Morland's hand, and she grew rather white. But when she spoke it was in a voice of mild interest. 'Dear me, then what can have possessed you to accept my brother's stake?'
He looked at her with a queer hungriness in his eyes, and answered: 'I have told you that I was drunk. Drunk, I only knew what I wanted, not what I must not do.' He got up, and began to walk about the room. 'No use talking of that. We are in the devil of a fix, my girl.'
'May I ask,' enquired Miss Morland, 'who is the lady to whom you are so lately become engaged?'
'Miss Fanny Wyse,' he answered. 'It is a long-standing arrangement. I can't, with honour, draw back from it. That accursed notice in the Gazette – It is impossible for me to repudiate it.'
She regarded him rather inscrutably. 'Are you attached to Miss Wyse, sir?'
'It is not that!' he said impatiently. 'Our parents made this match for us when we were in our cradles. It has been an understood thing. Yesterday I made a formal offer for Miss Wyse's hand, and she accepted me.'
'I suppose,' remarked Miss Morland thoughtfully, 'that your excesses last night were in the nature of a celebration?'
He gave an ugly little laugh. 'My excesses, ma'am, were an all too brief escape from reality!'
Miss Morland looked meditatively at the coffee-pot. 'If you do not care for Miss Wyse, my lord, why did you offer for her?'
'You don't understand!' he said. 'She has been brought up to think herself destined to become my wife! I could do no less than offer for her.'
'Oh!' said Miss Morland. 'Is she very fond of you?'
He flushed slightly. 'It is not for me to say. I believe – I think she wishes to marry me.' A somewhat sardonic smile crossed his lips; he added: 'And God help both of us if ever this adventure should come to her ears!'
Miss Morland poured herself out some more coffee. 'Do you mean to abandon me, sir?' she asked.
'Certainly not,' replied his lordship. 'I shall put you in charge of a respectable female, and compel your brother to make provision for you.'
She raised her brows. 'But you told my brother you would marry me,' she pointed out.
He paused in his striding to and fro, and said: 'I can't marry you! God knows I would, but I can't elope with you the very day my engagement to Fanny is published!'
She smiled at that, but not very mirthfully, and got up from the table. 'Calm yourself, my lord. I have only been – punishing you a little. I came away with you because I was a great deal too angry to consider what I was about. What I really wish you to do is to convey me to London where I shall take refuge with my old governess.' She picked up her hat, and added: 'I think – I am sure – that she will be very willing to engage me to teach music and perhaps painting in her school.'
He strode over to the window, and with his back to her said: 'A Queen's Square boarding-school! Helen, Helen –' He broke off, biting his lips, and staring with unseeing eyes at a chaise that had just drawn up outside the inn. The chaise door opened, a young lady looked out, and the Marquis recoiled from the window with a startled oath.
Miss Morland was tying the strings of her cloak, and merely looked an enquiry.
'Fanny!' the Marquis ejaculated. 'Good God, what's to be done?'
Miss Morland blinked at him. 'Surely you must be mistaken!'
'Mistaken! Do you think I don't know my promised wife?' demanded his lordship savagely. 'I tell you it is she! Someone must have sent her word – that meddling fool, Fort, I dare say!'
'But surely Miss Wyse would not pursue you?' said Miss Morland, rather aghast.
'Wouldn't she?' said Carlington grimly. 'You don't know her! If she does not have hysterical spasms we may count ourselves fortunate!' He looked round the room, saw a door at the opposite end of it, and hurried across to open it. A roomy cupboard was disclosed. 'Go in there, my dear,' commanded Carlington. 'I must get hold of that landlord, and warn him to keep his mouth shut.' With which he thrust Miss Morland into the cupboard, closed the door on her, and went quickly towards the other leading into the coffee-room.
He was not, however, in time to warn the landlord. As he stepped out of the parlour that worthy was escorting Miss Wyse into the coffee-room.
Carlington, realizing that it would be useless now to deny his extraordinary elopement, greeted his betrothed with biting civility. 'Good morning, Fanny,' he said. 'An unexpected pleasure!'
Miss Wyse was a plump little lady, just nineteen years old, with huge, soulful brown eyes, and a riot of dark curls. When she saw Carlington she let fall a very pretty muff of taffeta, and clasped her hands to her bosom. 'You!' she gasped, with a strong suggestion of loathing in her voice. 'Carlington!'
The Marquis grasped her wrist in a somewhat cavalier fashion, and said angrily: 'Let me have no vapours, if you please! Come into the parlour!'
Miss Wyse uttered a throbbing moan. 'How could you, Granville? Oh, I wish I were dead!'
The Marquis fairly dragged her into the parlour, and shut the door upon the landlord's scarcely-veiled curiosity. 'You do not waste much time, Fanny,' he said. 'Is this a sample of what I am to expect in the future? The very day our engagement is announced!'
'Do not speak to me!' shuddered Miss Wyse, who seemed to have a leaning towards the dramatic. 'I am so mortified, so –'
'I know, I know!' he interrupted. 'But you would have done better to have stayed at home.'
Miss Wyse, who had tottered to the nearest chair, sprang up again at this, and said: 'No! Never! Do you hear me, Carlington? Never!'
'I hear you,' he replied. 'So, I imagine, can everyone else in the place. There is a great deal I must say to you, but this is not the moment. My whole object now is to avert a scandal. Explanations – oh yes, they will be hard enough to make! – can come later.'
'I don't care a fig for scandal!' declared Miss Wyse stormily. 'People may say what they please: it is nothing to me! But that I should find you here – that you should have – Oh, it is cruel of you, Carlington!'
'I'm sorry, Fanny,' he said. 'You'll find the truth hard to believe, but I promise you you shall hear the truth from me. I beg of you, be calm! I will myself escort you back to town –'
'Do not touch me!' said Miss Wyse, retreating. 'You shan't take me back! I won't go with you!'
'Don't be such a little fool!' said the Marquis, exasperated. 'I warn you, this is no moment to play-act to me! I shall take you home, and there shall be no scandal, but help you to create a scene I will not!'
Miss Wyse burst into tears. 'I dare say you're very angry with me,' she sobbed, 'and I know I have behaved badly, but indeed, indeed I couldn't help it! I meant to be sensible – really, I did Carlington! – but I couldn't bear it! Oh, you don't understand! You've no s-sensibility at all!'
Rather pale, he answered: 'Don't distress yourself, Fanny. Upon my soul, there is no need! This escapade means nothing: I will engage to give you no cause for complaint when we are married.'
'I can't!' said Miss Wyse desperately. 'You shan't escort me home!'
He regarded her with a kind of weary patience. 'Then perhaps you will tell me what you do mean to do?' he said.
Miss Wyse lowered her handkerchief and looked boldly across at him. 'I'm going to Gretna Green!' she announced. 'And nothing you can say will stop me!'
'Have you taken leave of your senses?' he demanded. 'There's no question of going to Gretna! And if there were what in the name of heaven could possess you to go there?'
'I'm going to be married there!' said Miss Wyse in a rapt voice.
'Oh no, you are not!' replied the Marquis forcibly. 'Though it is just like you to do your best to turn everything to dramatic account! If you go to Gretna, you'll go alone!'
Miss Wyse gave a shriek at this. 'Good God, what do you mean to do?' she cried, running forward, and clasping her hands about his arm. 'Granville, I implore you, have mercy!'
The Marquis disengaged himself, looking down at her in the liveliest astonishment. Even supposing her to be on the verge of a fit of strong hysterics her behaviour seemed to him inexplicable. He was just about to inquire the reason for her last outburst when the door into the coffee-room was thrust open, and a young man in a bottle-green coat strode into the parlour, and checked on the threshold, staring in a challenging way at Carlington.
His bearing, though not his dress, proclaimed the soldier. He was about five-and-twenty years old, with a fresh, pleasant countenance, and a curly crop of brown hair brushed into the Brutus style made fashionable by Mr Brummell.
Carlington, turning his head to observe the newcomer, said somewhat irascibly: 'This, my good sir, is a private room!'
Miss Wyse released Carlington's arm, and sped towards the intruder, upon whose manly bosom she seemed more than half inclined to swoon. 'Henry!' she cried. 'This is Carlington himself!'
Henry said in a grave, rather conscious voice: 'I apprehended that it could be none other. I beg of you, however, not to be alarmed. My lord, I must request the favour of a few words with you alone.'
'Oh no, he will kill you!' quavered Miss Wyse, grasping the lapels of his coat.
The Marquis put a hand to his brow. 'Who the devil are you?' he demanded.
'I do not expect my name to be known to your lordship, but it is Dobell – Henry Dobell, Captain in the –th Foot, and at present on furlough from the Peninsula. I am aware that my action must appear to you desperate; of the impropriety of it I am, alas, miserably aware. Yet, my lord, I believe that when it is explained any man of sensibility must inevitably –'
The Marquis checked this flow of eloquence with an upflung hand. 'Captain Dobell, have you ever been badly foxed?' he said sternly.
'Foxed, sir?' repeated the Captain, quite taken aback.
'Yes, foxed!' snapped the Marquis.
The Captain gave a cough, and replied: 'Well, sir, well – ! I must suppose that every man at some time or another –'
'Have you?' interrupted the Marquis.
'Yes, sir, I have!'
'Then you must know what it is to have a head like mine this morning, and I beg you'll spare me any more long-winded speeches, and tell me in plain words what you're doing here!' said Carlington.
Miss Wyse, finding herself out of the picture, thought it proper at this moment to interject: 'I love him!'
'You need not hang upon his neck if you do,' replied the Marquis unsympathetically. 'Is he a relative of yours whom you have dragged into this affair?'
'Relative! No!' said Miss Wyse, affronted. 'He is the man I love!'
'The man you –?' The Marquis stopped short. 'Good God, is this an elopement?' he demanded.
'But – but you know it is!' stammered Miss Wyse.
The Marquis, who had almost reeled under the shock, recovered himself, and came towards them. 'No, no, I'd not the least idea of it!' he said. 'I thought – well, it's no matter what I thought. You must allow me to offer you my most sincere felicitations! Are you on your way to Gretna Green? Let me advise you to lose no time! In fact, I think you should set forward again at once. You may be pursued, you know.'
'But did you not come in pursuit of us, sir?' asked the astonished Captain.
'No, no, nothing of the sort!' replied the Marquis, grasping his hand, and wringing it fervently. 'You have nothing in the world to fear from me, my dear fellow. I wish you every imaginable happiness!'
'Every imaginable happiness?' cried Miss Wyse indignantly. 'Have you forgot that I am engaged to you, Carlington?'
'You will be much happier with Henry,' the Marquis assured her.
'The advertisement will be in today's Gazette!'
'Don't let that weigh with you! Is a mere advertisement to stand in the path of true love?' said the Marquis. 'I'll repudiate it immediately. Leave everything to me!'
'Don't you want to marry me?' gasped Miss Wyse.
'Not in the – Not when your heart is given to another!' said his lordship, with aplomb.
'But Mama said – and your Mama too – and everybody – that I must accept you because you were desperately in love with me, and it had been understood for so many years! Only when I had done it I knew all at once I couldn't bear it, and I sent for Henry, and –'
'Very right and proper,' approved his lordship. 'I could wish, of course, that you had sent for Henry before I wrote the advertisement for the Gazette, but never mind that now. The thing is for you to waste no time upon this journey.'
The Captain, who had been gazing upon his lordship in a bemused way, said in a much-moved voice: 'Sir, your generosity does you honour! An explanation of conduct which you must deem treacherous indeed is due to you.'
'No, no, pray don't explain anything to me!' begged the Marquis. 'My head is none too clear, you know. Let me take you out to your chaise!'
The Captain, finding himself propelled towards the door, hung back, and said: 'We stopped here to partake of breakfast, sir!'
'Not to be thought of!' said Carlington firmly. 'At any moment you may be overtaken, and Fanny wrested from your arms. You must make all possible speed to Gretna.'
The mere thought of being wrested from the Captain's arms caused Miss Wyse to add her entreaties to his lordship's. Captain Dobell, still faintly protesting, was swept out of the inn, informed that this was no time to be thinking of food and drink, and pushed up into his chaise. He made a second attempt to explain his elopement to Carlington, but at a sign from the Marquis the post-boys whipped up their horses, and the chaise bowled off down the street, with the Captain hanging out of the window and shouting a final message to the Marquis, the only words of which to reach him were 'everlasting gratitude' and 'eternally obliged'.
The Marquis turned back into the inn, and strode across the coffee-room to the parlour. Miss Morland had emerged from the cupboard, and was standing by the table, trying hard not to laugh. The Marquis said: 'Did you hear, Helen?'
She nodded. 'Yes. I couldn't help hearing,' she answered, a slight quaver in her otherwise solemn voice.
'We must go back to London at once,' said the Marquis.
'Yes,' agreed Miss Morland.
'For one thing,' said the Marquis, 'I want a change of clothes and for another this Gretna scheme was a piece of nonsense. I am not going to be married in company with that pair. We must have a special licence.'
'But we are not going to be married,' said Miss Morland. 'It was all a jest. I was mad – I never meant to come with you!'
'You had to come with me,' retorted the Marquis. 'I won you and you're mine.'
Miss Morland was trembling a little. 'But –'
'I have been in love with you for months, and you know it!' said the Marquis.
'Oh!' said Miss Morland on the oddest little sob. 'I did think sometimes that you were not – not indifferent to me, but indeed, indeed this is impossible!'
'Is it?' said the Marquis grimly. 'We'll see!'
It seemed to Miss Morland that he swooped on her. Certainly she had no time to escape. She was nipped into a crushing embrace, and kissed so hard and so often that she had no breath left to expostulate. The Marquis did at last stop kissing her, but he showed not the least inclination to let her go, but looked down into her eyes, and said in an awe-inspiring voice: 'Well? Are you going to marry me?'
Miss Morland, quite cowed by such treatment, meekly nodded her head.
# Snowdrift
A thin covering of snow already lay on the ground when the Bath and Bristol Light Post Coach set out from Holborn at two o'clock in the afternoon of a bleak December day. Only two hardy gentlemen ventured to ride on the roof; and the inside passengers consisted only of a pessimistic man in a muffler, a stout lady with several bandboxes, a thickset young man with small eyes, and a jowl, a scarlet-coated young lady and a raw-boned countrywoman, who appeared to be her maid.
The scarlet-coated lady and the young man sat opposite each other, and occasionally exchanged glances of acute dislike. Upon their initial encounter in the yard of the White Horse Inn, the gentleman had uttered: 'You going to Bath? Much good may it do you!' and the lady had retorted: 'You travelling upon the stage, Joseph? I had thought you would have gone post!'
'I am not one to waste my substance,' had pronounced the gentleman heavily.
Since then they had indulged in no conversation.
The coach was making bad time. At Maidenhead Thicket the snowflakes were swirling dizzily, and the temperature had dropped to an uncomfortably low degree. The young man wrapped himself in a rug; the young lady hummed a defiant tune: she had not provided herself with a rug.
Slower and slower went the coach. At Reading the fat woman got down, and her place was taken by a farmer, who said that he disremembered when there had been such another hard winter, and prophesied that the roads would be six foot under snow by Christmas. The pessimist said that he had known at the outset that they would never reach their destination.
The coach laboured on, but past Theale actually picked up its pace a little, and for perhaps ten minutes encouraged the passengers to suppose that the weather was clearing. Then the snow began to fall more thickly still, the coachman lost his bearings, and the whole equipage lurched off the road into a deep drift.
It was thrown on to its side with some violence. The two outside passengers were hurled over the hedge into a field, and those inside landed in a heap on the near-side door.
The thickset young man was first to extricate himself, and to force open the off-side door. He scrambled through it, rudely thrusting the pessimist out of the way, floundered into deep snow, and fell upon his face, a circumstance which afforded the pessimist a sour pleasure.
The farmer and the young lady were too much occupied with the abigail, who had fallen awkwardly, to notice this interlude. The abigail said in a faint voice: 'I've broke my leg, Miss Sophy.'
'Oh, Sarah, do not say so!' besought her mistress.
'Well, it's just what she has done,' said the farmer frankly. 'We'll have to get her out of this, missie.' He hauled himself up to look out through the open door, and shouted: 'Hi, you! Come and lend a hand with the poor wench here! Lively, now!'
Thus adjured, the thickset young man came back to the coach, asking rather ungraciously what was wanted. He seemed disinclined to lend his aid, and the scarlet-coated young lady, who had been trying unavailingly to move her henchwoman into an easier position, raised a flushed face in which two large gray eyes sparkled with wrath, and uttered: 'You are the most odious wretch alive, Joseph! Help to lift Sarah out this instant, or I shall tell my grandfather how disobliging you have been!'
'You may tell him what you choose – if you reach Bath, which you are not now very likely to do, my dear cousin!' retorted Joseph.
'You hold your gab, and do what I tell you!' interposed the farmer. 'Jump out first, missie: you'll only be in my way here!'
Miss Trent, pausing only to pick up her cousin's abandoned rug, allowed herself to be hoisted through the door. Joseph received her from the farmer, and lost no time in setting her down. Her feet sank above the ankles in the snow, but the pessimistic man helped her to reach the road. By the time she had spread the rug out on the snow Sarah had been extricated from the coach, and the coachman was helping the guard to unharness one of the leaders.
Sarah was laid on the rug; Miss Trent, her bonnet fast whitening under the gathering flakes, knelt beside her; and the coachman informed the assembled company that there was no need for anyone to worry, since the guard would ride on at once to Woolhampton, and get some kind of a vehicle to fetch them all in.
This speech greatly incensed the pessimistic man, who demanded to be told when the next coach to Bath was due. The coachman said: 'Lor' bless you, sir, we'll be snowbound a week, I dessay! Nothing won't get beyond Reading, not if this weather holds!'
There was a general outcry at this; Miss Trent exclaimed: 'Snowbound a week! But I must reach Bath tomorrow!'
'Can one hire a chaise in Woolhampton?' asked Joseph suddenly.
'Well, you might be able to,' acknowledged the coachman.
'I'll ride in with the guard!' Joseph decided.
Miss Trent started. Stretching up a hand, she grasped a fold of his coat, saying sharply: 'Joseph, if you mean to go on by chaise you'll take me with you?'
'No, by God!' he retorted. 'I didn't ask you to come to Bath, and I shan't help you to get there! You may hire a chaise for yourself!'
'You know I haven't enough money!' she said, in a low, trembling voice.
'Well, it's no concern of mine,' he said sulkily. 'A pretty fool I should be to take you along with me! Besides, you can't go without your woman.'
Miss Trent's eyes were bright with tears, but she would not let them fall. She said passionately: 'I'll get to Bath if I have to trudge there, Joseph – and then we shall see!'
He responded to this merely with a jeering laugh, and moved away to confer with the guard. Miss Trent made no further attempt to detain him, and in a very few minutes he had ridden off with the guard in the direction of Woolhampton.
With the departure of the guard a new and more fearful mood descended upon the coachman. He became obsessed by the idea that highwaymen would descend upon the wrecked coach, grasped his blunderbuss nervously, started at shadows, and ended by firing the weapon at the mere sound of muffled hoofbeats.
The sound of horses plunging and snorting was almost immediately followed by the appearance round the bend in the road of a curricle and pair, which drew up alongside the coach. A wrathful voice demanded: 'What in hell's name do you mean by firing at me you fat-witted, cow-handed ensign-bearer?'
The coachman, reassured by this form of address, lowered his weapon, and said that he was sure he begged pardon. The gentleman in the curricle, having by this time taken in the group by the wayside, briefly commanded the groom beside him to go to the horses' heads, and himself jumped down from the curricle, and approached Miss Trent, still kneeling beside her stricken attendant. 'Can I be of assistance, ma'am?' he asked. 'How is she hurt?'
'I very much fear that she has broken her leg,' Miss Trent replied worriedly. 'She is my maid, and I am a wretch to have brought her!'
The gentleman, whose momentary outburst of wrath had swiftly given place to an air of languor which seemed habitual, said calmly: 'Then I had better take you both up, and convey you to the nearest town.'
Miss Trent said impulsively: 'Would you do that, sir? I should be so very grateful! Not only on poor Sarah's account, but on my own! I must reach the next town quickly!'
'In that case,' responded the gentleman, rather amused, 'let us waste not a moment. I'll drive you into Newbury.'
The farmer and the pessimistic man, both applauding this scheme, at once volunteered to extricate Miss Trent's baggage from the boot, and to strap it on to the back of the curricle; Sarah was soon lifted up into the carriage, and made as comfortable as possible; and the groom, resigning himself to a most uneasy drive, perched on the baggage behind.
Miss Trent, squeezed between Sarah and her very tall and broad-shouldered rescuer, bade farewell to her old travelling companions, and looked buoyantly towards the future.
This seemed, at the moment, to consist only of snowflakes. The light, moreover, was beginning to fail, so that she would not have been surprised had the curricle, like the coach, plunged off the road into a drift. But its driver seemed to be very sure of his ability to keep the track, and drove his pair along at a steady pace, his eyes, between narrowed lids, fixed on the road ahead.
'How well you drive!' remarked Miss Trent, with a sort of impulsive candour, as engaging as it was naïve.
A slight smile touched his lips. 'Thank you!'
'I do trust we shall reach Newbury,' confided Miss Trent. 'For one thing, I must have poor Sarah attended to, and for another, I must get to Bath!'
'I collect that it is of importance to you to reach Bath immediately?'
'Of vital importance!' asserted Miss Trent.
'You might be able to hire a chaise,' he suggested. 'I fear there will be no stage-coaches running for some days.'
'That,' said Miss Trent bitterly, 'is what my cousin means to do! He can afford it, and he knows very well I cannot, and he won't take me along with him. He is an odious man!'
'He sounds quite abominable,' agreed the gentleman gravely. 'Is he one of the unfortunates we were obliged to leave by the wayside?'
'Oh, no! He rode off with the guard to Woolhampton. Trying to steal a march on me, of course!' She added, on an explanatory note: 'He has eyes like a pig's, and his name is Joseph.'
'How shocking! One scarcely knows whether to feel pity or disgust.'
Miss Trent knew no such uncertainty. 'He is a hateful wretch!' she declared.
'In that case it is unthinkable that he should be permitted to steal a march on you. May I know your name? Mine is Arden.'
'Yes, of course! I should have told you before,' she said. 'I am Sophia Trent. Do you live near here? I have come all the way from Norfolk!'
Never before had Sir Julian Arden announced his identity with so little effect! Indeed, it was seldom that he was put to the trouble of announcing it at all. Not only was he the acknowledged leader of Fashion, a crack shot, and a nonpareil amongst whips: he was quite the most eligible bachelor in Society as well. He had been toadied all his life; every eccentricity was forgiven him; every door flew open at his approach. Mothers of likely daughters had laid siege to him for the past ten years; while the efforts of damsels of marriageable age to engage his interest were as ingenious as they were unavailing. He was so bored that nothing kept his interest alive for more than a fleeting moment. Very little, indeed, had the power to rouse his interest at all. But Miss Trent had achieved this feat quite unconsciously. His name meant nothing to her.
He permitted himself one swift glance down at her before resuming his steady scrutiny of the road ahead. There was not a shadow of guile in the big eyes, which met his in a friendly smile. Miss Trent was merely awaiting an answer. He said: 'No, I live for the most part in London.'
'But you did not come from London today, in this weather!'
'You see,' he said apologetically, 'someone laid me odds I would not venture on it.'
'And you set out, in an open carriage, for such a reason as that! I beg your pardon, but it seems quite nonsensical!'
He appeared to be much struck by this view of the matter. 'Do you know, ma'am, I believe you are right?'
'I think,' said Miss Trent severely, 'that you are quizzing me. Is your destination Newbury?'
'My present destination, yes. We shall forget my original one. I daresay I should have been very much bored there.'
'But your friends will wonder what has become of you!'
'It need not concern us, however.'
This indifferent answer made her blink, but she forbore to press the matter, and chatted away on a number of unexceptionable topics. She held Sarah in one arm, and appeared to be more concerned for the maid's comfort than her own, assuring Sir Julian that she thought the whole episode a famous adventure.
'You see, my home is quite in the country,' she explained, 'and nothing exciting ever seems to happen, except when Bertram broke his leg, and Ned was thrown over the donkey's head into the horse-pond. Thieves did once steal three of my stepfather's best hens, but we knew nothing about it until the next day, so it was not precisely exciting.'
Entranced by this artless confidence, Sir Julian at once enquired into the identities of Bertram and Ned. He discovered that they were two of Miss Trent's three half-brothers, and that her stepfather was the incumbent of a parish in Norfolk. She had two young half-sisters as well, and very little prompting was needed to induce her to expatiate on their many engaging qualities. In this way the journey to Newbury was largely beguiled, and when Sir Julian turned his horses in under the archway of the great Pelican Inn, a mile short of the town, Miss Trent exclaimed that she had not thought it possible they could have arrived so soon.
A number of ostlers and waiters came hurrying to serve the newcomer, and in a very short while Sarah had been carried up to a bedchamber, a groom sent off to summon the nearest surgeon to her aid, and a private parlour bespoken for Miss Trent.
She came down to it presently, and found her protector warming himself before a leaping fire. He had shed his hat, and his many-caped greatcoat, and Miss Trent, who had already formed a very good opinion of his person, now perceived that he was decidedly handsome. He was dressed in a coat of blue superfine, which more experienced eyes than Miss Trent's would have recognized as coming from the hands of a master; his buckskins were of impeccable cut; and his cravat was tied in the intricate style that had long baffled all imitators.
Sir Julian was also pleased with what he saw. Now that she had removed her bonnet, and he beheld her in the full candlelight, he perceived that Miss Trent's hair grew in profuse ringlets, and that her eyes were even bigger than he had supposed them to be. He liked the frank way they lifted to his, and found it refreshing, to say the least of it, to encounter a lady who was neither arch nor simpering, and who had obviously not the smallest notion of enslaving him.
She let him lead her to a chair by the fire, and said: 'I have made up my mind to it that the most important thing is for me to reach Bath, sir. I did think at first that I ought not to spend the money I have put by for my fare back to Norwich, but I now feel this would be foolish. So I shall hire a chaise to take me on. Do you think I shall be able to go tonight? I know the coaches travel by night, and the mails too.'
'Nothing travels at night in such weather as this, ma'am. It has been snowing here, I discover, for three days. However, local opinion seems to be that a change is coming, so we must hope that the snow may have ceased to fall by tomorrow.'
'Oh!' said Miss Trent, dashed. She hesitated, and then asked shyly: 'How much will it cost me, do you think, sir, to stay here tonight?'
'As to that,' he replied, 'I have informed the landlord that you are a young relative of mine, travelling in my charge. I think he will expect me to pay your shot, don't you?'
'No!' said Miss Trent, with decision.
'I meant, I need hardly say, a loan!' explained Sir Julian.
Miss Trent, her mind relieved, thanked him, and adjured him to keep a strict account of any sums he might incur on her behalf. He promised most gravely to do so, and an understanding being thus reached Miss Trent was able to relax, and to sip the Madeira he had given her. 'Then all that remains to be done,' she said, 'is to hire a chaise in the morning, for the landlady says she will take care of Sarah for me, so I may be easy on that head.'
'You may be easy on both heads,' Sir Julian said. 'I propose to escort you to Bath tomorrow myself, whatever the weather.'
Miss Trent was too unsophisticated to conceal her pleasure at this prospect. 'Will you indeed?' she cried, warm gratitude in her eyes. 'I do think you are the kindest person I have ever met, sir! But ought you not rather to join your friends?'
'Certainly not,' he replied. 'A very dull set of people! My whole desire is to revisit Bath.'
At this moment the waiter came in to announce the arrival of a surgeon, and Miss Trent went off to lead this practitioner up to the sufferer. When she returned to the parlour, the table had been laid, and dinner awaited her. She made an excellent repast. She said that Sarah must not travel for a few days, but that she was much easier now the limb had been set. 'So there is nothing for it but to leave her here, poor thing!' she said. 'She says she will do very well, but I feel the veriest brute! But if my cousin were to get to Bath before me there is no saying what might happen! He would serve me a back-handed turn if he could!'
'But what has engendered this violent antipathy between you, ma'am?' asked Sir Julian, a good deal amused.
'We both want the same thing,' said Miss Trent darkly, 'and he is afraid that I shall get it! But I have detested him all my life.'
She did not stay in the parlour for long after the covers had been removed, but retired early to bed, leaving her protector still ignorant of what her business in Bath could be.
Local prophecy turned out to be exact. It stopped snowing during the night, and although the landscape was thickly shrouded next morning, the sky had lost its leaden hue, and the sun showed some faint signs of breaking through the clouds. Miss Trent came down to breakfast in a mood of high hope. 'I believe it will turn out to be a beautiful day, sir!' she announced. 'And if you will really be so obliging as to escort me to Bath, we may go in your curricle!'
'It would be far too cold for you,' he said.
'No, indeed, I should like it of all things,' she insisted. 'And only think what a deal of expense you may save!'
Sir Julian, who had never in his life considered such a sordid matter, agreed to it meekly, and went out into the yard after breakfast to give orders to his groom.
It was while he was engaged in the stables that Mr Joseph Selsey arrived at the Pelican, having plodded all the way on foot from Woolhampton, carrying his valise. It was perhaps not surprising that he should be in an evil humour, but the head groom made no allowance for this circumstance. Peremptory persons looking suspiciously like provincial merchants would get no extraordinary attention from the Pelican's supercilious servants. No post-chaise, stated the groom, would leave the inn that day. It was not until Mr Selsey had dragged the landlord into the dispute that he was able to hire, not a chaise, but a saddle-horse.
He was obliged to be satisfied, and to trust that he might be able to exchange the horse for a chaise in Hungerford. He then called for hot coffee to be brought him whilst the horse was being saddled, and in crossing the hall of the inn came upon Miss Trent, issuing from the parlour.
He stopped short, staring at her. 'So this is where I find you?' he ejaculated. 'Fine doings, miss! Very pretty behaviour, upon my word!'
'Why, what is wrong?' she demanded.
'Of course you would not know!' he said, with one of his jeering laughs. 'But it is all of a piece! By anything I ever heard, your mother was just such another, always ready to run off with any man who offered!'
'How dare you?' cried Miss Trent, her eyes blazing.
Sir Julian, who had come in from the yard in time to overhear this passage of arms, here interposed, saying in his languid way: 'Ah, so this is your cousin Joseph, is it? Dear me, yes! Come with me, sir!'
'Why should I?' demanded Mr Selsey, taken aback.
'That you shall see,' said Sir Julian, leading the way out into the yard.
Mr Selsey followed him in some bewilderment, and Miss Trent, running back into the parlour to peep above the blind, had the felicity of seeing her objectionable relative dropped sprawling in the snow by a blow from Sir Julian's famous right.
Mr Selsey picked himself up and bored in furiously. Sir Julian side-stepped neatly and dropped him again. This time Mr Selsey remained on the ground, nursing his jaw.
'And let that be a lesson to you not, in future, to insult a lady!' said Sir Julian calmly.
Mr Selsey, uneasily measuring the size and style of his opponent, said sulkily: 'I didn't mean – that is, I didn't know –'
'You know now,' said Sir Julian, and turned, and went back into the inn.
He was met by Miss Trent, her face aglow with admiration. 'Thank you!' she said. 'I have been wanting to do that all my life!'
'What, did you see it, then?' he asked, startled.
'Yes, through the window. I clapped my hands! I wonder you did not hear me!'
He flung back his head and laughed. 'You incorrigible child, you should be in a swoon, or indulging in a fit of the vapours!'
'Pooh, as though I had not seen Bertram and Ned at fisticuffs a score of times! When do we set forward?'
'In about half an hour, if you can be ready then.'
'Should we not go at once? I am sure Joseph will be off now without waiting for his coffee!'
'Very likely, but you have no need to be uneasy: we shall overtake him soon enough.'
They overtook him even sooner than Sir Julian had expected. Only fifteen miles from Newbury, where the road passed between the great trees of Savernake Forest, a solitary figure came into view, leading a very lame nag.
'It's Joseph!' exclaimed Miss Trent. 'Poor Joseph!' she added piously.
'Humbug!' retorted Sir Julian, a note in his voice no other lady had as yet been privileged to hear.
She laughed. Mr Selsey, upon hearing the muffled beat of horses' hooves, wheeled about, and, although he must have perceived who was driving the curricle, placed himself in its way, and waved his arms. Sir Julian drew up, and sat looking down at him with a sardonic lift to his brows.
'Sir,' said Mr Selsey in a voice of deep chagrin, 'I find myself forced to request you to take me up as far as to the next town!'
'But you cannot leave the poor horse!' said Miss Trent. 'Besides, it belongs to the Pelican!'
'No, it does not!' said her cousin angrily. 'It belongs to a rascally thief! He took my horse and my purse, and left me with this jade!'
'A highwayman? Oh, what an adventure!' cried Miss Trent.
Mr Selsey ground his teeth.
'You have only three or four miles to walk before you reach Marlborough,' said Sir Julian helpfully. 'Stand away from my horses' heads!'
'But I have no money!' shouted Mr Selsey.
Sir Julian's pair began to move forward. Miss Trent said quickly: 'No, no, we can't leave him in such a case! It would be too shabby!'
Sir Julian glanced curiously down at her earnest little face. 'Do you wish him to reach Bath?'
'Yes!' said Miss Trent resolutely.
'Very well. I will leave word with the landlord of the Castle Inn, sir, and he will provide you with a conveyance,' said Sir Julian, and drove on.
Mr Selsey, by no means content, bawled after the curricle: 'And you stole my rug, you hussy!'
'Oh, dear!' said Miss Trent, dismayed. 'It is quite true, I did! We ought to have taken him up, perhaps!'
'Nonsense! A walk will do him good.'
'Yes, but if his purse has been taken he won't be able to hire a chaise, even if you do bespeak one!' objected Miss Trent.
'Have no fear! I will arrange the whole, since you wish it.'
'I think you have the most extravagant notions!' said Miss Trent severely. 'And, pray, how am I ever to repay you?'
'Very easily.'
'No, how?'
'By satisfying my curiosity and telling me why we are racing Joseph to Bath!'
'Did I not do so?' she cried, astonished. 'I quite thought I had explained it to you! I have the greatest hope that I may win a fortune!'
'Then in that case you will be able to pay your debts, and you have nothing to worry about,' said Sir Julian, only the merest quiver in his voice betraying him.
'Yes, but I shan't win it quite immediately,' she said. 'Not until my grandfather dies, and although he seems to think that will be soon, there is no telling, after all!'
'Very true. Are we going to call upon your grandfather?'
'Yes, and I fear he will prove to be very disagreeable.'
'Are all your relatives disagreeable persons, Miss Trent?' he enquired.
'Certainly not! Mama, and my stepfather, and the children are the dearest creatures!' she replied. 'In fact, it is for them that I am going to Bath. If only my grandfather likes me better than Joseph, the boys may go to Eton, and Clara have lessons upon the pianoforte, and Mama another servant, and Papa – But this cannot interest you, sir!'
'On the contrary. And is Joseph also bent on winning this fortune?'
'Yes, and he does not need it in the least! You see, the case is that my grandfather quarrelled with both his daughters – my mama, and Joseph's mama – because they married men he did not like. Mama says he was determined they should make splendid matches, and they did not. Mama ran away with my papa to Gretna Green – only fancy! He died when I was a baby, and I believe that he was not a very steady person. He was related to Lord Cleveland, and in the 1st Foot, only his family cast him off. So, I think, did the 1st Foot,' she added reflectively. 'Mama says he was very wild.'
'Most of that family are,' interpolated Sir Julian.
'Oh, are they? I have never known them. Papa left poor Mama in sad straits, and if it had not been for my stepfather I don't know what would have become of her. He married her, you see, and they are most happy! But Papa has a very small stipend, and there are five children, besides me, so that when my grandfather suddenly wrote to say that he felt his end to be approaching, and since he must leave his fortune to someone, I might go to spend Christmas with him, and perhaps he would leave it to me, it seemed as though it was my duty to go! And then I found that he must have sent for Joseph too, but I do think that he may like me better than Joseph, don't you, sir?'
'Miss Trent,' said Sir Julian, 'unless your grandfather is mad, you need have no doubts on that head!'
'Yes, but I think he is!' said Miss Trent candidly.
'Who is he? What is his name?'
'Kennet, and he lives in Laura Place.'
'Good God, not the Miser of Bath?'
'Oh, are you acquainted with him, sir?'
'Only by reputation! Bath used to be full of tales of his oddities. I fear it is you who will not like him!'
'No, but in such a cause one must stifle one's feelings!' said Miss Trent.
He agreed to it with becoming gravity, and for some miles entered in the fullest manner into all her plans for the advancement of her family.
The journey was a long one, and the weather inclement enough to have daunted most females, but Miss Trent remained cheerful throughout. Sir Julian, who had been sure, twenty-four hours earlier, that he had run through every emotion life could hold for him, realized by the time the outskirts of Bath were reached that he had fallen in love for the first time since his salad days.
It was dark when the curricle drew up before a house in Laura Place, and the street lamps had been lit. 'Tired?' Sir Julian said gently.
'A very little,' owned Miss Trent. 'But you must be quite dead with fatigue, sir!'
'I have never enjoyed a day more.'
Miss Trent said shyly: 'I – I have not either!'
'In that case,' said Sir Julian, 'let us go in and beard your grandfather!'
'You too, sir?' she asked doubtfully.
'Certainly. I must ask his permission to pay my addresses to you.'
'To – to – ? Oh!' said Miss Trent in a faint voice.
'Yes, may I do so?'
Miss Trent swallowed. 'I have the most lowering feeling that I ought to say it is too sudden, or – or something of that nature,' she confided.
'Say what is in your heart! Would it displease you to receive my addresses?'
'Well, no, it – it wouldn't displease me – precisely!' confessed Miss Trent, blushing in the darkness.
'Then let us instantly seek out your grandfather!' he said gaily.
They were admitted into the house by an aged retainer who reluctantly showed them into a bleak parlour on the ground floor. He left them with a single candle. Miss Trent said: 'It is not very – very welcoming, do you think?'
'Most quelling!' said Sir Julian.
In a few minutes the door opened again to admit a buxom lady of uncertain years and improbable golden ringlets. She said without preamble: 'Are you Mr Kennet's Sophia? He's that forgetful he must have forgotten to write! However, if you want to see him you may! Step upstairs with me, dearie! Don't tell me this is Joseph you have brought with you!'
'Who – who are you?' gasped Miss Trent, utterly taken aback.
The lady bridled. 'The name's Flint,' she said. 'But I'm changing it. I was your grandpa's housekeeper.'
'Oh!' said Miss Trent. 'Then will you have the goodness to take me to my grandfather, if you please?'
Mrs Flint sniffed, but turned to lead the way up one pair of stairs. She opened a door giving on to a large parlour, and said: 'Here's your granddaughter, Mr K.!'
From a winged arm-chair by the fire a desiccated old gentleman peered at Miss Trent. 'Well, it's no use her coming here, because I've altered my mind,' he said. 'Maria's girl, hey? Damme if you don't look like her!'
Mrs Flint, who had taken up a position beside his chair, said with a simper: 'Me and Mr K. is going to be married.'
'It'll be cheaper,' explained Mr Kennet simply.
Miss Trent sank nervelessly into the nearest chair. Mr Kennet was meanwhile subjecting Sir Julian to a severe scrutiny. 'A fine buck you've turned out to be!' he pronounced. 'What's your name? Joseph?'
'No,' said Sir Julian. 'My name is Julian Arden.'
Both Mr Kennet and his prospective bride stared very hard at him. 'Mr K., if it isn't Beau Arden himself!' palpitated the lady.
'Are you the son of Percy Arden, who was up at Oxford with me?' demanded Mr Kennet. 'Sir Julian Arden?'
'I am,' said Sir Julian.
'What do you want?' asked the old gentleman suspiciously.
'To marry your granddaughter,' replied Sir Julian coolly.
This intelligence produced an instant change in Mr Kennet's attitude. He rubbed his dry hands together and ejaculated: 'That's good! That's the girl! Come and give me a kiss, Sophy! I'm proud of you, and I'm sorry I said you was like your mother! Damme if I don't do something handsome by you!'
Miss Trent, submitting unwilling to his embrace, was feeling too dazed by the shocks of the past few minutes to speak, but at this her eyes lit with a faint hope.
'I will!' said Mr Kennet, with the air of one reaching a painful decision. 'You shall have your grandmother's pearls!'
'When we're dead and gone, Mr K.,' interpolated the future Mrs Kennet firmly.
'Yes,' agreed Mr Kennet, perceiving the wisdom of this. 'And I'll give her my poor Charlotte's garnet brooch for a bride gift, what's more! I can't lay my hand on it at the moment, but I'll send it. Where are you putting up, my dear?'
Sir Julian, perceiving that Miss Trent was quite stunned, took her hand in a comforting hold, and said: 'She will be staying at the Christopher, sir. And now I think we must take our leave of you.'
Mr Kennet brightened still more at finding that he was not expected to entertain his grandchild and her betrothed to dinner, and said that if she liked she might come to visit him again before she left Bath. 'But I won't have your cousin Joseph coming to batten on me!' he added, suddenly querulous.
'Which leads one to wonder,' remarked Sir Julian, when he had extricated Miss Trent from the house, 'what is to become of Joseph!'
'What is to become of me?' said Miss Trent, wringing her hands.
'You are going to marry me.'
'Yes – I mean – But poor Mama! Bertram! Dear Ned! I have no right to be so happy when I have failed so miserably!'
He lifted her up into the curricle. 'My little love, you have not so far given my circumstances a thought, but I must inform you that I am accounted to be extremely wealthy. Bertram, and Ned, and Tom shall go to Eton, and Oxford, and anywhere else you may choose; and Clara shall have her lessons on the pianoforte; and your mama shall have a dozen maids; and –'
'Good God, you cannot be as rich as that!' cried Miss Trent, quite frightened.
'Much richer!' he averred, mounting on to the box beside her.
'But you must not marry me!' she said, in great distress. 'There must be dozens of eligible females whom you should rather marry!'
'I am not the Grand Turk!' he protested.
'No, no, but you know I have no expectations!'
'I know nothing of the sort,' he said, possessing himself of her hand, and kissing it. 'You are to inherit your grandmother's pearls! But if I were you,' he added, gathering up the reins, 'I would not build too much upon that garnet brooch, my love!'
# Full Moon
Lord Stavely prepared to descend from his chaise.
'We will stop here,' he announced.
It was certainly a charming inn. It stood at the end of the broad village street, with two great elms behind it and roses rambling over its old red brick frontage. It was not, of course, a posting house, which did not incline the two postilions in its favour. One of them said: 'If we was to drive on for another mile or two, we'd likely find a decent house for your honour to bait at.'
'My dear good fellow,' replied his lordship, 'you have no more notion of where we are than I have. Here we will stop. I like the place.'
The village seemed asleep in the moonlight, not a soul stirring. But the sound of carriage wheels brought the landlord out of the inn, all anxiety to oblige. Lord Stavely, alighting from the chaise, said: 'Arcadia, I presume. Tell me, what is the time?'
The landlord, slightly taken aback, said that it lacked but ten minutes to the hour.
'But what hour?' asked his lordship.
'Why, nine o'clock, sir!'
'How shocking! Am I anywhere in the neighbourhood of Melbury Place?'
'Melbury Place?' repeated the landlord. 'Yes, that you are, sir; it lies only a matter of ten miles from here, though the road's tricky, as you might say.'
'After the experiences of today, I should probably use a more forceful epithet. I imagine it will take me nearly an hour to reach the place. Obviously it behoves me to dine here. Or am I too late for dinner?'
The landlord was not one to turn away distinguished custom from his door. This gentleman, with his high crowned beaver hat, his driving coat of many capes, worn negligently open over a neat blue coat, a cut Venetian waistcoat, and the palest of fawn pantaloons, was plainly a member of the Quality. He assured Lord Stavely that, if he would step into the coffee-room, dinner should be served him in a very few minutes. A qualm then attacked him, and he faltered: 'I'm sorry I can't show your honour to a private parlour, but there's only Mr Tom in the coffee-room, after all.'
'Then if Mr Tom does not take exception to me, I shall do very well,' said his lordship. 'I wonder if I should remain here for the night? Shall I endear myself on my host by presenting myself at past eleven o'clock at night?'
'They do keep very early hours up at the Place, by what I hear, sir,' offered the landlord hopefully. 'Was the Squire expecting of you, sir?'
'He was, and I trust still is. Your manner leads me to fear that he will not be pleased by my tardy arrival?'
'Well, sir, begging your pardon, Squire is that pernickety in his ways, and – in a manner of speaking – a testy gentleman – not meaning any disrespect, I'm sure!'
'In fact, I shall not endear myself to him by arriving famished on his doorstep at dead of night. Very well. I'll put up here, then.'
The landlord, mentally resolving to have the best sheets instantly put on the bed in the larger of his two guest chambers, ushered his lordship into the coffee-room.
It had only one occupant, a young gentleman who sat in the window embrasure, with a bottle of brandy on the ledge beside him, and a glass in his hand. The landlord, casting a rather worried glance at the bottle, murmured that Mr Tom would not object to a gentleman's dining in the coffee-room. Mr Tom blinked at Lord Stavely, and inclined his head with dignity. He then resumed his scrutiny of the moon-washed street.
His lordship returned the civility by a slight bow, and a smile hovering about his mouth, but made no attempt to lure Mr Tom into conversation. It was apparent to him that care sat upon the young gentleman's brow. It would have been apparent to someone far less acute than Lord Stavely that Mr Tom was, very properly, drowning his troubles in brandy. He might have been any age between nineteen and twenty-five; he was certainly not older. Leanings towards dandyism were betrayed by the intricate but not entirely successful arrangement of his cravat, and by the inordinate height of his shirt collar, whose starched points reached almost to his cheek-bones. But there was little of the dandy in his sturdy figure and fresh-complexioned countenance. He looked like the son of a country gentleman, which, indeed, he was, and as though he would be very much at home in the hunting-field, or with a gun over his shoulder.
In a short time the landlord laid a simple but very tolerable meal before his new guest, and himself waited upon him. Lord Stavely pronounced the fare to be excellent, commended the burgundy, and tactfully declined the only port offered him on the score that he did not wish to encourage a tendency to the gout. He did not look as though he suffered from gout, or any other ailment; in fact, he looked as healthy as any other man of thirty-five; but the landlord did not question his words. He merely swept away the covers and set a bottle of old cognac before him.
For some minutes past Lord Stavely had been aware that the young gentleman in the window was subjecting him to an intent scrutiny. He knew well what was engaging this fixed attention, and when the landlord had withdrawn, he said gently: 'I call it the Nonchalent. It is not very difficult, once you acquire the knack of it.'
'Eh?' said the young gentleman, starting.
'My cravat,' explained Lord Stavely, smiling.
The young gentleman coloured and stammered that he begged pardon.
'Not at all,' said his lordship. 'I'll show you how to tie it, if you like.'
'Will you?' exclaimed the young gentleman eagerly. 'I tie mine in an Osbaldeston, but I don't like it above half.'
Lord Stavely waved one hand invitingly towards a chair at the table. 'Won't you join me?'
'Well – thank you!' The young gentleman got up and crossed the floor circumspectly. He brought his glass and the bottle with him, and set both down on the table. 'My name,' he announced carefully, 'is Hatherleigh.'
'Mine is Stavely,' returned his lordship.
They exchanged bows. Only a purist would have said that Mr Hatherleigh was drunk. He could, by taking only reasonable pains, walk and speak with dignity, and if his potations had had the effect of divorcing his brain a little from the normal, at least it was perfectly clear on all important matters. When Lord Stavely, for instance, touching lightly on the country through which he had driven, said that he should suppose it to be good hunting country, young Hatherleigh was able to expatiate on the subject with enthusiasm and really remarkable coherence. The cloud lifted from his brow, his eyes brightened, and he became quite animated. Then the cloud descended again abruptly, and he fetched a sigh, and said gloomily: 'But that is all at an end! I dare say I may think myself lucky if ever I get a leg across a good hunter again.'
'As bad as that?' said his lordship sympathetically.
Mr Hatherleigh nodded, and poured himself out some more brandy. 'I'm eloping with an heiress,' he announced dejectedly.
If Lord Stavely was startled by this intelligence, he managed to conceal his emotions most creditably. His lip did quiver a little, but he said in the politest way: 'Indeed?'
'Yes,' said Mr Hatherleigh, fortifying himself with a deep drink. 'Gretna Green,' he added.
'Forgive me,' said his lordship, 'but do you feel this to be a wise step to take?'
'No, of course I don't!' said Mr Hatherleigh. 'But what is a fellow to do? I can't draw back now! You must see that!'
'I expect it would be very difficult,' agreed Lord Stavely. 'When one has persuaded an heiress to elope with one –'
'No such thing!' interrupted Mr Hatherleigh. 'I dare say I may have said it would be rare sport to do it, if only to kick up a dust, but I never thought Annabella would think I really meant it! But that is Annabella all over. In fact, I think she's devilish like her father! Let her but once take a notion into her head, and there's no persuading her to listen to reason! Mind, though,' he added, bending a sudden, minatory scowl upon his auditor, 'you are not to be thinking that I wish to back out! I have loved Annabella for years. In fact, I swore a blood-oath to marry her when we were children. But that isn't to say that I want to drive off to the Border with her – and just now, too!'
'The moment is not quite convenient?'
Mr Hatherleigh shook his head. 'My uncle has invited me to Yorkshire for the grouse shooting!' he said bitterly. 'Only think what a splendid time I could have had! I have never tried my hand at grouse, you know, but I am accounted a pretty fair shot.'
'You could not, I suppose, postpone the elopement until after the shooting season?' suggested his lordship.
'No, because if we waited there would be no sense in eloping at all, because very likely Annabella will be tied up to the old fogy her father means her to marry. Besides, the moon's at the full now.'
'I see. And who is this old fogy? Is he very old?'
'I don't know, but I should think he must be, wouldn't you, if he's a friend of Sir Walter?'
His lordship paused in the act of raising his glass to his lips. 'Sir Walter?'
'Sir Walter Abingdon. He is Annabella's father.'
'Oh!' said his lordship, sipping his brandy. 'I collect that he does not look with favour on your suit?'
'No, and my father does not either. He says we are too young, and should not suit. So very likely I shall be cut off with a shilling, and be obliged to enter a counting-house, or some such thing, for Sir Walter will certainly cut Annabella off. But of course females never consider anything of that nature! They have not the least common sense, beside thinking that it is perfectly easy to hire a chaise for midnight without making anyone suspicious! And it is not!' said Mr Hatherleigh, a strong sense of grievance overcoming him. 'Let alone the expense of it – and that, let me tell you, has pretty well made my pockets to let! I have had to go twenty miles to do it, because a rare flutter I should have set up if I'd bespoke a chaise to go to Scotland at the George, or the Sun! Why, my father would have had wind of it within the hour!
'And then I had to rack my brains to think how best to meet it, because it would never do to have it driving up to my home to pick me up, you know. Luckily old Thetford here is very much attached to our interests, so I told the post-boys in the end to come to this inn at half-past ten tonight. Annabella thinks everyone will be asleep by half-past eleven, or twelve at latest, and she is to meet me in the shrubbery. Shrubbery at midnight!' he repeated scornfully. 'I can tell you, it makes me feel like a great cake! Such flummery!'
He picked up the bottle again as he spoke, and poured some more brandy into his glass. Some of the liquor spilled on to the table. Mr Hatherleigh glared at it, and set the bottle down with precision.
'Do you know,' said Lord Stavely conversationally, 'if I were going to elope at midnight I believe I would not drink too much brandy at ten o'clock?'
Mr Hatherleigh eyed him austerely. 'If you think I'm foxed,' he enunciated, 'you're wrong! I have a very hard head.'
'I'm sure you have,' said his lordship. 'But if Miss Annabella were to detect the fumes on your breath she might not be quite pleased.'
'Well, she shouldn't have insisted on eloping with me!' retorted Mr Hatherleigh.
'She must be very much attached to you?'
'Of course she is. Why, she's known me all her life! All the same, she never would have taken this silly notion into her head if that peppery old fool hadn't asked this fellow to stay, and told her she was to marry him. I must say, I was shocked when Annabella told me of it. I dare say he must be fifty at least, and a dead bore! Besides, she has never clapped eyes on him! I quite saw that as a gentleman I must rescue her, though I never thought then that my uncle would invite me to stay with him in Yorkshire!'
'But surely even the most peppery of parents cannot in these days marry his daughter out of hand? Must you really elope?' said Lord Stavely.
'Annabella says so, and of course I am bound in honour to oblige her,' replied Mr Hatherleigh grandly. 'I dare say I shan't dislike being married so very much, once I get used to it.'
'I feel very strongly that you are making a mistake,' said his lordship, gently moving the bottle out of reach. 'Perhaps the dead bore will not wish to marry Annabella!'
'Then why is he coming to stay with the Abingdons?' demanded Mr Hatherleigh. 'I expect Sir Walter has it all arranged, in his famous style! My father says he is the most meddlesome, managing old fool in the county.' He drained his glass defiantly. ''T all events,' he pronounced, 'it'll be something to overset his precious plans!'
***
Half an hour later, the landlord, coming in to inform Mr Tom that his chaise was at the door, found that young gentleman stertorously asleep, with his head on the table.
'I don't think,' said Lord Stavely, 'that Mr Tom is in a fit case for travel.'
'There, now, I knew how it would be!' exclaimed Thetford, looking down at Tom in some concern. 'Whatever can be the matter with him? When I see him this evening, I thought to myself: You're up to mischief, Mr Tom, or I don't know the signs! And here's a chaise and four come all the way from Whitworth to take him up! What's to be done?'
'You had better inform the postilions that Mr Tom is indisposed, and send them back to Whitworth,' said his lordship. 'And while you are about it, will you be so good as to inform my own postilions that I have changed my mind, and mean to go to Melbury Place tonight after all? Desire them to put the horses to at once, if you please.'
'Your lordship won't be staying here?' the landlord said, his face falling. 'And the bed made up, and a hot brick in it to air the sheets!'
'Carry Mr Tom up to it!' recommended Lord Stavely, with a smile. 'When he wakes –' He glanced down at Mr Tom's unconscious form. 'No, perhaps I had better leave a note for him.' He drew out his pocket-book, and after a moment's hesitation scribbled several lines in it in pencil, tore out the leaf, twisted it into a screw, and gave it to the landlord. 'When he wakes, give him that,' he said.
A quarter of an hour later, Thetford having furnished the post-boys with precise instructions, Lord Stavely was bowling along narrow country lanes to Melbury Place. When the gates came into sight, the post-boys would have turned in, but his lordship checked them, and said that he would get down.
They had long since decided that he was an eccentric, but this quite staggered them. 'It's Melbury Place right enough, my lord!' one assured him.
'I am aware. I have a fancy to stroll through the gardens in this exquisite moonlight. Wait here!'
He left them goggling after him. 'He must be as drunk as a wheelbarrow!' said one.
'Not him!' returned his fellow. 'Queer in his attic! I suspicioned it at the start.'
His lordship, meanwhile, was walking up the drive. He very soon left the gravel for the grass bordering it, so that no sound should betray his presence to anyone in the house. The air was heavy with the scent of roses, and the full moon, riding high overhead, cast ink-black shadows on the ground. It showed the house, outlined against a sky of deepest sapphire, and made it an easy matter for his lordship, traversing the flower gardens, to find the shrubbery. Here, neat walks meandered between high hedges, and several rustic seats were set at convenient spots. No one was present, and no light shone from the long, low house in the background. His lordship sat down to await events.
***
He had not long to wait. After perhaps twenty minutes, he heard the hush of skirts, and rose just as a cloaked figure came swiftly round a bend in the walk, carrying two bandboxes. He stepped forward, but before he could speak the newcomer exclaimed in a muted voice: 'I thought my aunt would never blow out her candle! But she is snoring now! Did you procure a chaise, Tom?'
Lord Stavely took off his hat, and the moonlight showed the lady the face of a complete stranger. She recoiled with a smothered shriek.
'Don't be afraid!' said his lordship reassuringly. 'I am Mr Hatherleigh's deputy. Let me take those boxes!'
'His deputy?' echoed Miss Abingdon, nervelessly relinquishing her baggage into his hands.
'Yes,' said Lord Stavely, setting the bandboxes down beside the seat. 'Shall we sit here while I explain it to you?'
'But who are you, and where is Tom?' demanded Miss Abingdon.
'Tom,' said his lordship diplomatically, 'is indisposed. He was good enough to confide his plans to me, and to – er – charge me with his deepest regrets.'
The lady's fright succumbed to a strong feeling of ill-usage. 'Well!' she said, her bosom swelling. 'If that is not the poorest spirited thing I ever heard! I suppose he was afraid?'
'Not at all!' said his lordship, gently propelling her towards the seat. 'He was overcome by a sudden illness.'
Miss Abingdon sat down, perforce, but peered suspiciously at him. 'It sounds to me like a fudge!' she said, not mincing matters. 'He was perfectly well yesterday!'
'His disorder attacked him unawares,' said Lord Stavely.
Miss Abingdon, who seemed to labour under few illusions, demanded forthrightly: 'Was he foxed?'
Lord Stavely did not answer for a moment. He looked at the lady, trying to see her face clearly in the moonlight. The hood had slipped back from her head. The uncertain light made it hard for him to decide whether her hair was dark or fair, but he was sure that it curled riotously, and that her eyes were both large and sparkling. He said: 'Foxed? Certainly not!'
'I don't believe you!' said Miss Abingdon. 'How could he be such a simpleton, on this of all nights?'
Lord Stavely returned no answer to this, and after pondering in silence for a few minutes, Miss Abingdon said: 'I did wonder if he quite liked the scheme. But why could he not have told me that he wanted to draw back from it?'
'That,' said Lord Stavely, 'is the last thing he meant to do. He informed me that you had plighted your troth many years ago.'
'Yes,' agreed Miss Abingdon. 'He cut my wrist with his knife, and we mixed our blood. He said I was chicken-hearted because I squeaked.'
'How very unfeeling of him!' said his lordship gravely. 'May I venture to ask if you love him very dearly?'
Miss Abingdon considered the matter. 'Well, I have always been prodigiously fond of him,' she answered at last. 'I dare say I might not have married him, in spite of the oath, had things not been so desperate, but what else could I do when my papa is behaving so abominably, and I am in such despair? I did hope that Papa would hire a house in London for the Season, for I am nearly twenty years old, and I have never been out of Shropshire, except to go to Bath, which I detest. And instead of that he means to marry me to a horrid old man I have never seen!'
'Yes, so Tom told me,' said his lordship. 'But – forgive me – it seems scarcely possible that he could do such a thing!'
'You don't know my papa!' said Miss Abingdon bitterly. 'He makes the most fantastic schemes, and forces everyone to fall in with them! And he says I must be civil to his odious friend, and if I am not he will pack me off to Bath to stay with my Aunt Charlotte! Sir, what could I do? Aunt Maria – who is Papa's other sister, and has lived with us since my mama died – will do nothing but say that I know what Papa is – and I do, and I dare say he would have not the least compunction in sending me to a stuffy house in Queen Square, with Aunt's pug wheezing at me, and Aunt scarcely stirring out of the house, but wishing me to play backgammon with her! Backgammon!' she reiterated, with loathing.
'That, certainly, is not to be thought of,' agreed his lordship. 'Yet I cannot help wondering if you are quite wise to elope to Gretna Green.'
'You don't think so?' Miss Abingdon said doubtfully.
'These Border marriages are not quite the thing, you know,' explained his lordship apologetically. 'Then, too, unless you are very much in love with Tom, you might not be perfectly happy with him.'
'No,' agreed Miss Abingdon, 'but how shocking it would be if I were to be an old maid!'
'If you will not think me very saucy for saying so,' said his lordship, a laugh in his voice, 'I cannot think that a very likely fate for you!'
'Yes, but it is!' she said earnestly. 'I have been kept cooped up here all my life, and Papa has not the least notion of taking me to London! He has made up his mind to it that his odious friend will be a very eligible match for me. He and this Lady Tenbury laid their heads together, I dare say –'
'So that was it!' interrupted his lordship. 'I should have guessed it, of course.'
Miss Abingdon was surprised. 'Are you acquainted with Lady Tenbury, sir?' she asked.
'My elder sister,' explained his lordship.
'Your – w-what?' gasped Miss Abingdon, recoiling.
'Don't be alarmed!' he begged. 'Though I shrink from owning to it, I think I must be your papa's odious friend. But I assure you, Miss Abingdon, his and my meddling sister's schemes come as a complete surprise to me!'
Miss Abingdon swallowed convulsively. 'D-do you m-mean to tell me, sir, that you are Lord Stavely?'
'Yes,' confessed his lordship. He added: 'But though I may be a dead bore, I am not really so very old!'
'You should have told me!' said Miss Abingdon, deeply mortified.
'I know I should, but I could not help nourishing the hope that I might not, after all, be the odious old man you and Tom have described in such daunting terms.'
She turned her face away, saying in a stifled tone: 'I would never... Oh, how could you let me run on so?'
'Don't mind it!' he said, taking one of her hands in a comforting clasp. 'Only pray don't elope to Gretna just to escape from my attentions!'
'No, no, but –' She lifted her head and looked at him under brows which he guessed rather than saw to be knit. 'But how can you be a friend of my papa?' she asked.
'To tell you the truth, I didn't know that I had the right to call myself so,' he replied. 'He and my family have been upon terms any time these twenty years, I suppose, and I know that he is a close friend of my sister and her husband.'
Miss Abingdon still appeared to be dissatisfied. 'Then how did you come to visit me?'
'If I must answer truthfully,' said his lordship, 'I found it impossible to refuse your parent's repeated invitations with the least degree of civility!'
She seemed to find this understandable. She nodded, and said: 'And you haven't come to – I mean, you didn't know –'
'Until this evening, ma'am,' said his lordship, 'I did not know that you existed! My sister, you see, though quite as meddlesome as your father, has by far more tact.'
'It is the most infamous thing!' declared Miss Abingdon. 'He made me think it had all been arranged, and I had nothing to do but encourage your advances! So naturally I made up my mind to marry Tom rather!' She gave a little spurt of involuntary laughter. 'Was ever anything so nonsensical? I thought you had been fifty at least, and very likely fat!'
'I am thirty-five, and I do not think I am fat,' said his lordship meekly.
She was still more amused. 'No, I can see you are not! I am afraid I must seem the veriest goose to you! But Papa once thought for a whole month that he would like me to marry Sir Jasper Selkirk, and he is a widower, and has the gout besides! So there is never any telling what absurdity he may have taken into his head, you see.' A thought occurred to her; she turned more fully towards his lordship, and said: 'But how comes it that you are acquainted with Tom, and why are you so late? We were expecting you would arrive to dine, and Papa was in such a fume! And Aunt made them keep dinner back until the chickens were quite spoilt!'
'I cannot sufficiently apologize,' said Lord Stavely. 'A series of unfortunate accidents delayed me shockingly, and when I did at last reach Shropshire I found that your Papa's directions were not quite as helpful as I had supposed they would be. In fact, I lost my way.'
'It is a difficult country,' agreed Miss Abingdon. 'And of course Papa can never direct anyone properly. But how came you to meet Tom?'
'He was awaiting a chaise at the Green Dragon, where, being then so late, I stopped to dine. We fell into conversation, as one does, you know, and he was good enough to confide his intentions to me.'
'He must have been drunk!' interpolated Miss Abingdon.
'Let us say, rather, that he was a trifle worried over the propriety of eloping with you. I did what I could to persuade him against taking so ill-advised a step; he – er – succumbed to the disorder from which he was suffering, and I came here in his stead.'
'It was excessively kind of you, but I don't at all know why you should have taken so much trouble for me!'
He smiled. 'But I could not let you kick your heels in this shrubbery, could I? Besides, I had the liveliest curiosity to meet you, Miss Abingdon!'
She tried to see his face. 'Are you quizzing me?' she demanded.
'Not at all. You will allow that one's curiosity must be aroused when one learns that a lady is prepared to elope to escape from advances one had not the least intention of making!'
'It is quite dreadful!' she said, blushing. 'I wonder it did not give you the most shocking disgust of me! But indeed I did not think it would be improper to elope with Tom, because he is almost like a brother, you know – and it would have been such an adventure!'
She ended on a distinctly wistful note. Lord Stavely responded promptly: 'If your heart is set on the adventure, my chaise is waiting in the lane: you have only to command me!'
Another of her gurgling laughs escaped her. 'How can you be so absurd? As though I would elope with a stranger!'
'Well, I do feel it might be better if you gave up the notion,' he said. 'I fear I can hardly draw back now from Sir Walter's invitation, but if I give you my word not to press an unwanted suit upon you perhaps you may not find my visit insupportably distasteful.'
'No, no!' she assured him. 'But I very much fear that Papa may – may cause you a great deal of embarrassment, sir!'
'Quite impossible!' he said, smiling. 'Have no fear on that head!'
'You are the most truly amiable man I ever met!' she exclaimed warmly. 'Indeed, I am very much obliged to you, and quite ashamed to think I should have misjudged you so! You – you won't tell Papa?'
'Miss Abingdon, that is the unkindest thing you have yet said to me!'
'No. I know you would not!' she said quickly. She rose and held out her hand. 'I must go back to the house. But you?'
'In about twenty minutes' time,' said Lord Stavely, 'I shall drive up to the front door, with profuse apologies and excuses!'
'Oh, shall you indeed do that?' giggled Miss Abingdon. 'It must be close on midnight! Papa will be so cross!'
'Well, I must brave his wrath,' he said, raising her hand to his lips.
***
Her hand clung to his; Miss Abingdon jerked up her head and stood listening. In another instant Lord Stavely had also heard what had startled her: footsteps which tried to be stealthy, and a voice whose owner seemed to imagine himself to be speaking under his breath: 'Do you go that way, Mullins, and I'll go this, and mind, no noise!'
'Papa!' breathed Miss Abingdon, in a panic. 'He must have heard me: I tripped on the gravel! Depend upon it, he thinks we are thieves: Sir Jasper was robbed last month! What am I to do?'
'Can you reach the house without being observed if I draw them off?' asked his lordship softly.
'Yes, yes, but you? Papa will very likely have his fowling piece!'
'Be sure I shall declare myself before he fires at me!' He picked up the bandboxes and gave them to her.
She clutched them and fled. Lord Stavely, having watched her disappear round a corner of the shrubbery, set his hat on his head and sauntered in the opposite direction, taking care to advertise his presence.
He emerged from the shrubbery into the rose garden, and was almost immediately challenged by an elderly gentleman who did indeed level a fowling-piece at him.
'Stand! I have you covered, rogue!' shouted Sir Walter. 'Mullins, you fool, here!'
Lord Stavely stood still, waiting for his host to approach him. This Sir Walter did not do until he had been reinforced by his butler, similarly armed, and sketchily attired in a nightshirt, a pair of breeches, and a greatcoat thrown over all. He then came forward, keeping his lordship covered, and said with gleeful satisfaction: 'Caught you, my lad!'
'How do you do, sir?' said Lord Stavely, holding out his hand. 'I must beg your pardon for presenting myself at this unconscionable hour, but I have been dogged by ill fortune all day. A broken lynch-pin and a lame horse must stand as my excuses.'
Sir Walter nearly dropped his piece. 'Stavely?' he ejaculated, peering at his lordship in amazement.
Lord Stavely bowed.
'But what the devil are you doing in my garden?' Sir Walter demanded.
Lord Stavely waved an airy hand. 'Communing with Nature, sir, communing with Nature!'
'Communing with Nature?' echoed Sir Walter, his eyes fairly starting from his head.
'Roses bathed in moonlight!' said his lordship lyrically. 'Ah – must Mullins continue to point his piece at me?'
'Put it down, you fool!' commanded Sir Walter testily. 'Stavely, my dear fellow, are you feeling quite the thing?'
'Never better!' replied his lordship. 'Oh, you are thinking that I should have driven straight up to the house? Very true, sir, but I was lured out of my chaise by this exquisite scene. I am passionately fond of moonlight, and really, you know, your gardens present so charming a picture that I could not but yield to temptation, and explore them. I am sorry to have disturbed you!'
Sir Walter was staring at him with his jaw dropping almost as prodigiously as the butler's. 'Explore my gardens at midnight!' he uttered, in stupefied accents.
'Is it so late?' said his lordship. 'Yet I dare say one might see to read a book in this clear light!'
Sir Walter swallowed twice before venturing on a response. 'But where's your carriage?' he demanded.
'I told the post-boys to wait in the lane,' replied his lordship vaguely. 'I believe – yes, I believe I can detect the scent of jasmine!'
'Stavely,' said Sir Walter, laying an almost timid hand on his arm, 'do but come up to the house, and to bed! Everything is prepared, and this night air is most unwholesome!'
'On the contrary, I find that it awakens poetry in my soul,' said Lord Stavely. 'I am inspired to write a sonnet on roses drenched with moonshine.'
'Mullins, go and find his lordship's chaise, and direct the postilions to drive up to the house!' ordered Sir Walter, in an urgent under-voice. 'Sonnets, eh, Stavely? Yes, yes, I have been a rhymester in my time, too, but just come with me, my dear fellow, and you will soon feel better, I dare say! You have had a long and a tedious journey, that's what it is!'
He took his guest by the arm and firmly drew him towards the house. His lordship went with him unresisting, but maintained a slow pace, and frequently paused to admire some effect of trees against the night sky, or the sheen of moonlight on the lily-pond. Sir Walter, curbing his impatience, replied soothingly to these flights, and succeeded at last in coaxing him into the house, and upstairs to the chamber prepared for him. A suspicion that his noble guest had been imbibing too freely gave place to a far worse fear. Not until he was assured by the sound of my lord's deep breathing that he was sleeping soundly did Sir Walter retire from his post outside his guest's door and seek his own couch.
***
Lord Stavely and Miss Abingdon met officially at a late breakfast table. Sir Walter performed the introduction, eyeing his guest narrowly as he did so.
Lord Stavely, bowing first to Miss Maria Abingdon, apologized gracefully for having knocked the household up at such a late hour, and then turned to confront the heiress. For her part, she had been covertly studying him while he exchanged civilities with her aunt. She was very favourably impressed by what she saw. Lord Stavely was generally held to be a personable man. Miss Abingdon found no reason to quarrel with popular opinion. He had a pair of smiling grey eyes, a humorous mouth and an excellent figure. Both air and address were polished, and his raiment, without being dandified, was extremely elegant. He wore pantaloons and Hessians, which set off his legs to advantage; and Miss Abingdon noticed that his snow-white cravat was arranged in precise and intricate folds.
Miss Abingdon had surprised her aunt by choosing to wear quite her most becoming sprigged muslin gown. Miss Maria, who had despaired of detecting any such signs of docility in her niece, was further startled to observe that nothing could have been more demure than Annabella's behaviour. She seemed quite to have recovered from her sulks, curtsied shyly to the guest, and gave him her hand with the most enchanting and mischievous of smiles. Really, thought Miss Maria, watching her fondly, the child looked quite lovely!
Lord Stavely talked easily at the breakfast-table, ably assisted by both ladies. Sir Walter seemed a trifle preoccupied, and when they rose from the table, and his lordship begged leave to wander out into the sunlit garden, he acquiesced readily, and scarcely waited for his guest to step out through the long window before hurrying out of the room in his daughter's wake. He overtook her at the foot of the stairs, and peremptorily summoned her to his library. Shutting the door behind her, he said without preamble: 'Annabella, you need not be in a pet, for I have changed my plans for you! Yes, yes, I no longer think of Stavely for you, so let us have no more tantrums!'
Miss Abingdon's large blue eyes flew to his. 'Changed your plans for me, Papa?' she exclaimed.
He looked round cautiously, as though to be sure that his guest was not lurking in the room, and then said in an earnest tone: 'My dear, it is the most distressing circumstance! The poor fellow is deranged! You would never credit it, I dare say, but I found him wandering about the garden at midnight, talking of sonnets, and moonlight, and such stuff!'
Miss Abingdon lowered her gaze swiftly and faltered: 'Did you, Papa? How – how very strange, to be sure!'
'I was never more shocked in my life!' declared Sir Walter. 'I had not the least notion of such a thing, and I must say that I think Louisa Tenbury has not behaved as she should in concealing it from me!'
'It is very dreadful!' agreed Miss Abingdon. 'Yet he seems quite sane, Papa!'
'He seems sane now,' said her parent darkly, 'but we don't know what he may do when the moon is up! I believe some lunatics are only deranged at the full of the moon. And now I come to think of it, they used to say that his grandfather had some queer turns! Not that I believed it, but I see now that it may well have been so. I wish I had not pressed him to visit us! You had better take care, my child, not to be in his company unless I am at hand to protect you!'
Miss Abingdon, who, out of the tail of her eye, had seen Lord Stavely strolling in the direction of the rose garden, returned a dutiful answer, and proceeded without loss of time to follow his lordship.
She found him looking down at the sundial in the middle of a rose plot. He glanced up at her approach and smiled, moving to meet her. Her face was glowing with mischief, her eyes dancing. She said: 'Oh, my lord, Papa says you are mad, and he does not in the least wish me to marry you!'
He took her hands and held them. 'I know it. Now, what am I to do to convince him that I am in the fullest possession of my senses?'
'Why, what should it signify?' she asked. 'I am sure you do not care what he may think! I don't know how I kept my countenance! He says I must take care not to be in your company, unless he is at hand to protect me!'
'I see nothing to laugh at in that!' he protested.
She looked up innocently. 'I am so very sorry! But indeed I did not think that you would care!'
'On the contrary, it is of the first importance that your papa should think well of me.'
'Good gracious, why?'
'My dear Miss Abingdon, how can I persuade him to permit me to pay my addresses to you if he believes me to be mad?'
For a moment she stared at him; then her cheeks became suffused, and she pulled her hands away, saying faintly: 'Oh! But you said you would not – you know you did!'
'I know nothing of the sort. I said I would not press an unwanted suit upon you. Do not take from me all hope of being able to make myself agreeable to you!'
Miss Abingdon, no longer meeting his eyes, murmured something not very intelligible, and began to nip off the faded blooms from a fine rose tree.
'I must study to please Sir Walter,' said his lordship. 'How is it to be done? I rely upon your superior knowledge of him!'
Miss Abingdon, bending down to pluck a half-blown rose, said haltingly: 'Well, if – if you don't wish him to believe you mad, perhaps – perhaps you had better remain with us for a little while, so that he may be brought to realize that you are quite sane!'
'An excellent plan!' approved his lordship. 'I shall be guided entirely by your advice, Miss Abingdon. May I have that rose?'
Sir Walter, informed by the gardener of the whereabouts of his guest and his daughter, came into the rose garden in time to see Miss Abingdon fix a pink rose-bud in the lapel of Lord Stavely's coat. His reflections on the perversity and undutifulness of females he was obliged to keep to himself, but he told Miss Abingdon, with some asperity, that her aunt was searching for her, and taking Lord Stavely by the arm, marched him off to inspect the stables.
Miss Abingdon found her aunt in a state of nervous flutter, having been informed by her brother of their guest's derangement. 'And I thought him such a sensible man! So handsome, too, and so truly amiable!'
'Oh, my dear aunt, is he not the most delightful creature?' confided Miss Abingdon, eyes and cheeks aglow. 'Only fancy his wishing to marry me!'
Miss Maria started. 'No, no, that is quite at an end! Your papa would never hear of it! And when I think that only yesterday you were vowing you would marry Tom Hatherleigh in spite of anything your papa could say, I declare I don't know what can have come over you!'
'Moon madness!' laughed Miss Abingdon. 'Just like Lord Stavely! Poor Papa!'
An excerpt from Georgette Heyer's
## Sylvester
## or The Wicked Uncle
Sylvester stood in the window of his breakfast parlour, leaning his hands on the ledge, and gazing out upon a fair prospect. No view of the ornamental water could be obtained from this, the east front of Chance, but the undulations of a lawn shaved all summer by scythemen were broken by a cedar, and beyond the lawn the stems of beech-trees, outliers of the Home Wood, shimmered in wintry sunlight. They still held their lure for Sylvester, though they beckoned him now to his coverts rather than to a land where every thicket concealed a dragon, and false knights came pricking down the rides. He and Harry, his twin, had slain the dragons, and ridden great wallops at the knights. There were none left now, and Harry had been dead for almost four years; but there were pheasants to tempt Sylvester forth, and they did tempt him, for a succession of black frosts had made the ground iron-hard, robbing him of two hunting days; and a blusterous north wind would not have invited the most ardent of sportsmen to take a gun out. It was still very cold, but the wind had dropped, and the sun shone, and what a bore it was that he should have decided that this day, out of all the inclement ones that had preceded it, should be devoted to business. He could change his mind, of course, telling his butler to inform the various persons now awaiting his pleasure that he would see them on the following day. His agent-in-chief and his man of business had come all the way from London to attend upon him, but it did not occur to Sylvester that they could find any cause for complaint in being kept kicking their heels. They were in his employ, and had no other concern than to serve his interests; they would accept his change of mind as the caprice to be expected from a noble and wealthy master.
But Sylvester was not capricious, and he had no intention of succumbing to temptation. Caprice bred bad servants, and where the management of vast estates was concerned good service was essential. Sylvester had only just entered his twenty-eighth year, but he had succeeded to his huge inheritance when he was nineteen, and whatever follies and extravagances he had committed they had never led him to treat that inheritance as his plaything, or to evade the least one of its responsibilities. He had been born to a great position, reared to fill it in a manner worthy of a long line of distinguished forebears, and as little as he questioned his right to command the obedience of all the persons whose names were inscribed on his staggering payroll did he question the inescapability of the duties which had been laid on his shoulders. Had he been asked if he enjoyed his consequence he would have replied truthfully that he never thought of it; but he would certainly have disliked very much to have had it suddenly removed.
No one was in the least likely to ask him such a question, of course. He was generally considered to be a singularly fortunate young man, endowed with rank, wealth, and elegance. No bad fairy had attended his christening to leaven his luck with the gift of a hunchback or a harelip; though not above medium height he was well proportioned, with good shoulders, a pair of shapely legs, and a countenance sufficiently pleasing to make the epithet handsome, frequently bestowed on it, not altogether ridiculous. In a lesser man the oddity of eyes set with the suspicion of a slant under flying black brows might have been accounted a blemish; in the Duke of Salford they were naturally held to lend distinction; and those who had admired his mother in her heyday remembered that she too had that thin, soaring line of eyebrow. It was just as though the brows had been added with a paintbrush, drawn in a sleek line upwards towards the temples. In the Duchess this peculiarity was charming; in Sylvester it was less attractive. It gave him, when he was vexed, and the upward trend was exaggerated by a frown, a slight look of a satyr.
He was about to turn away from the window when his attention was caught by a small, scampering figure. Emerging from the shelter of a yew hedge, a little boy with a cluster of golden curls set off across the lawn in the direction of the Home Wood, his nankeen-covered legs twinkling over the grass, and the freshly laundered frill of his shirt rucked up under one ear by a duffle coat, dragged over his little blue jacket by hurried and inexpert hands.
Sylvester laughed, throwing up the window. His impulse was to wish Edmund success in his adventure, but even as he leaned out he checked it. Though Edmund would not stop for his nurse or his tutor he would do so if his uncle called to him, and since he seemed to have made good his escape from these persons it would be unsportsmanlike to check him when his goal was within sight. To keep him dallying under the window would put him in grave danger of being captured, and that, reflected Sylvester, would lead to one of those scenes which bored him to death. Edmund would beg his leave to go off to the woods, and whether he gave it or withheld it he would be obliged to endure the reproaches of his widowed sister-in-law. He would be accused of treating poor little Edmund either with brutal severity, or with a heartless unconcern for his welfare; for Lady Henry Rayne could never bring herself to forgive him for having persuaded his brother (as she obstinately affirmed) to leave Edmund to his sole guardianship. It was of no use for anyone to tell Lady Henry that Harry's will had been drawn up on the occasion of his marriage, merely to ensure, in the event of accident, which no one had thought more unlikely than Harry himself, that any offspring of the match would be safe under the protection of the head of his house. However stupid Sylvester might think her she hoped she was not so green as to imagine that his attorney would have dared to insert so infamous a clause except at his express command. Sylvester, with the wound of Harry's death still raw, had allowed himself to be goaded into bitter retort: 'If you imagine that I wished to have the brat thrust on to me you are even greener than I had supposed!'
He was to regret those hasty words, for although he had immediately retracted them he had never been allowed to forget them; and they formed today, when the custody of Edmund had become a matter of acute importance, the foundation-stone of Lady Henry's arguments. 'You never wanted him,' she reminded him. 'You said so yourself.'
It had been partly true, of course: except as Harry's son he had had very little interest in a two-year-old infant, and had paid no more heed to him than might have been expected of a young man. When Edmund began to grow out of babyhood, however, he saw rather more of him, for Edmund's first object, whenever his magnificent uncle was at Chance, was to attach himself as firmly as possible to him. He had qualities wholly lacking in Button, Edmund's nurse (and his father's and uncle's before him), or in Mama. He showed no disposition to fondle his nephew; he was indifferent to torn clothes; such conversation as he addressed to Edmund was brief and to the point; and while he might, in an unpropitious mood, send him somewhat peremptorily about his business, it was always possible that he would hoist him up on to his saddle before him, and canter off with him through the park. These attributes were accompanied by a less agreeable but equally godlike idiosyncrasy: he exacted instant obedience to his commands, and he had a short way of dealing with recalcitrants.
Sylvester thought that Ianthe and Button were doing their best to spoil Edmund, but while he did not hesitate to make plain to that astute young gentleman the unwisdom of employing with him the tactics that succeeded so well in the nursery it was rarely that he interfered with his upbringing. He saw no faults in Edmund that could not speedily be cured when he was rather older; and by the time he was six had grown to like him as much for his own sake as for his father's.
Edmund had disappeared from view. Sylvester pulled the window down again, thinking that he really ought to provide the brat with a livelier tutor than the Reverend Loftus Leyburn, the elderly and rather infirm cleric who was his – or, more accurately, his mother's – chaplain. He had thought it a poor arrangement when Ianthe had begged Mr Loftus to teach Edmund his first lessons, but not a matter of sufficient moment to make it necessary for him to provoke her by refusing to agree to the scheme. Now she was complaining that Edmund haunted the stables, and learned the most vulgar language there. What the devil did she expect? wondered Sylvester.
He turned from the window as the door opened, and his butler came in, followed by a young footman, who began to clear away the remains of a substantial breakfast.
'I'll see Mr Ossett and Pewsey at noon, Reeth,' Sylvester said. 'Chale and Brough may bring their books in to me at the same time. I am going up to sit with her grace now. You might send down a message to Trent, warning him that I may want –' He paused, glancing towards the window. 'No, never mind that! The light will be gone by four o'clock.'
'It seems a pity your grace should be cooped up in the office on such a fine day,' said Reeth suggestively.
'A great pity, but it can't be helped.' He found that he had dropped his handkerchief, and that the footman had hurried to pick it up for him. He said, 'Thank you', as he took it, and accompanied the words with a slight smile. He had a singularly charming smile, and it ensured for him, no matter how exacting might be his demands, the uncomplaining exertions of his servants. He was perfectly well aware of that, just as he was aware of the value of the word of praise dropped at exactly the right moment; and he would have thought himself extremely stupid to withhold what cost him so little and was productive of such desirable results.
Leaving the breakfast-parlour, he made his way to the main hall, and (it might have been thought) to another century, since this central portion of a pile that sprawled over several acres was all that remained of the original structure. Rugged beams, plastered walls, and a floor of uneven flagstones lingered on here in odd but not infelicitous contrast to the suave elegance of the more modern parts of the great house. The winged staircase of Tudor origin that led up from the hall to a surrounding gallery was guarded by two figures in full armour; the walls were embellished with clusters of antique weapons; the windows were of armorial glass; and under an enormous hood a pile of hot ashes supported several blazing logs. Before this fire a liver-and-white spaniel lay in an attitude of watchful expectancy. She raised her head when she heard Sylvester's step, and began to wag her tail; but when he came into the hall her tail sank, and although she bundled across the floor to meet him, and looked adoringly up at him when he stooped to pat her, she neither frisked about him nor uttered barks of joyful anticipation. His valet was hardly more familiar with his wardrobe than she, and she knew well that pantaloons and Hessian boots meant that the most she could hope for was to be permitted to lie at his feet in the library.
The Duchess's apartments comprised, besides her bedchamber, and the dressing-room occupied by her maid, an antechamber which led into a large, sunny apartment, known to the household as the Duchess's Drawing-room. She rarely went beyond it, for she had been for many years the victim of an arthritic complaint which none of the eminent physicians who had attended her, or any of the cures she had undergone, had been able to arrest. She could still manage, supported by her attendants, to drag herself from her bedchamber to her drawing-room, but once lowered into her chair she could not rise from it without assistance. What degree of pain she suffered no one knew, for she never complained, or asked for sympathy. 'Very well' was her invariable reply to solicitous enquiries; and if anyone deplored the monotony of her existence she laughed, and said that pity was wasted on her, and would be better bestowed on those who danced attendance on her. As for herself, with her son to bring her all the London on-dits, her grandson to amuse her with his pranks, her daughter-in-law to discuss the latest fashions with her, her patient cousin to bear with her crotchets, her devoted maid to cosset her, and her old friend, Mr Leyburn, to browse with her amongst her books she thought she was rather to be envied than pitied. Except to her intimates she did not mention her poems, but the fact was that the Duchess was an author. Mr Blackwell had published two volumes of her verses, and these had enjoyed quite a vogue amongst members of the ton; for although they were, of course, published anonymously the secret of their authorship soon leaked out, and was thought to lend considerable interest to them.
She was engaged in writing when Sylvester entered the room, on the table so cleverly made by the estate carpenter to fit across the arms of her wing-chair; but as soon as she saw who had come in she laid down her pen, and welcomed Sylvester with a smile more charming than his own because so much warmer, and exclaimed: 'Ah, how delightful! But so vexatious for you, love, to be obliged to stay at home on the first good shooting-day we have had in a se'enight!'
'A dead bore, isn't it?' he responded, bending over her to kiss her cheek. She put up her hand to lay it on his shoulder, and he stayed for a moment, scanning her face. Apparently he was satisfied with what he saw there, for he let his eyes travel to the delicate lace confection set on her silvered black hair, and said: 'A new touch, Mama? That's a very fetching cap!'
The ready laughter sprang to her eyes. 'Confess that Anna warned you to take notice of my finery!'
'Certainly not! Do you think I must be told by your maid when you are looking in great beauty?'
'Sylvester, you make love so charmingly that I fear you must be the most outrageous flirt!'
An excerpt from Georgette Heyer's
## Venetia
A fox got in amongst the hens last night, and ravished our best layer,' remarked Miss Lanyon. 'A great-grandmother, too! You'd think he would be ashamed!' Receiving no answer, she continued, in an altered voice: 'Indeed, you would! It is a great deal too bad. What is to be done?'
His attention caught, her companion raised his eyes from the book which lay open beside him on the table and directed them upon her in a look of aloof enquiry. 'What's that? Did you say something to me, Venetia?'
'Yes, love,' responded his sister cheerfully, 'but it wasn't of the least consequence, and in any event I answered for you. You would be astonished, I daresay, if you knew what interesting conversations I enjoy with myself.'
'I was reading.'
'So you were – and have let your coffee grow cold, besides abandoning that slice of bread-and-butter. Do eat it up! I'm persuaded I ought not to permit you to read at table.'
'Oh, the breakfast-table!' he said disparagingly. 'Try if you can stop me!'
'I can't, of course. What is it?' she returned, glancing at the volume. 'Ah, Greek! Some improving tale, I don't doubt.'
'The Medea,' he said repressively. 'Porson's edition, which Mr Appersett lent to me.'
'I know! She was the delightful creature who cut up her brother, and cast the pieces in her papa's way, wasn't she? I daresay perfectly amiable when one came to know her.'
He hunched an impatient shoulder, and replied contemptuously: 'You don't understand, and it's a waste of time to try to make you.'
Her eyes twinkled at him. 'But I promise you I do! Yes, and sympathise with her, besides wishing I had her resolution! Though I think I should rather have buried your remains tidily in the garden, my dear!'
This sally drew a grin from him, but he merely said, before turning back to his book, that to order her to do so would certainly have been all the heed their parent would have paid.
Inured to his habits, his sister made no further attempt to engage his attention. The slice of bread-and-butter, which was all the food he would accept that morning, lay half-eaten on his plate, but to expostulate would be a waste of time, and to venture on an enquiry about the state of his health would serve only to set up his hackles.
He was a thin boy, rather undersized, by no means ill-looking, but with a countenance sharpened and lined beyond his years. A stranger would have found these hard to compute, his body's immaturity being oddly belied by his face and his manners. In point of fact he had not long entered on his seventeenth year, but physical suffering had dug the lines in his face, and association with none but his seniors, coupled with an intellect at once scholarly and powerful, had made him precocious. A disease of the hip-joint had kept him away from Eton, where his brother Conway, his senior by six years, had been educated, and this (or, as his sister sometimes thought, the various treatments to which he had been subjected) had resulted in a shortening of one leg. When he walked it was with a pronounced and ugly limp; and although the disease was said to have been arrested the joint still pained him in inclement weather, or when he had over-exerted himself. Such sports as his brother delighted in were denied him, but he was a gallant rider, and a fair shot, and only he knew, and Venetia guessed, how bitterly he loathed his infirmity.
A boyhood of enforced physical inertia had strengthened a natural turn for scholarship. By the time he was fourteen if he had not outstripped his tutor in learning he had done so in understanding; and it was recognised by that worthy man that more advanced coaching than he felt himself able to supply was needed. Fortunately, the means of obtaining it were at hand. The incumbent of the parish was a notable scholar, and had for long observed with a sort of wistful delight Aubrey Lanyon's progress. He offered to prepare the boy for Cambridge; Sir Francis Lanyon, relieved to be spared the necessity of admitting a new tutor into his household, acquiesced in the arrangement; and Aubrey, by that time able to bestride a horse, thereafter spent the better part of his days at the Parsonage, poring over texts in the Reverend Julius Appersett's dim bookroom, eagerly absorbing his gentle preceptor's wide lore, and filling him with an ever-increasing belief in his ability to excel. He was entered already at Trinity College, where he would be admitted at Michaelmas in the following year; and Mr Appersett had little doubt that young though he would still be he would very soon be elected a scholar.
Neither his sister nor his elder brother cherished doubts on this head. Venetia knew his intellect to be superior; and Conway, himself a splendidly robust young sportsman to whom the writing of a letter was an intolerable labour, regarded him with as much awe as compassion. To win a Fellowship seemed to Conway a strange ambition, but he sincerely hoped Aubrey would achieve it, for what else (he once said to Venetia) could the poor little lad do but stick to his books?
For her part, Venetia thought he stuck too closely to them, and was showing at an alarmingly early age every sign of becoming just such an obstinate recluse as their father had been. He was supposed, at the moment, to be enjoying a holiday, for Mr Appersett was in Bath, recuperating from a severe illness, a cousin, with whom he had fortunately been able to exchange, performing his duties for him. Any other boy would have thrust his books on to a shelf and equipped himself instead with his rod. Aubrey brought books even to the breakfast-table, and let his coffee grow cold while he sat propping his broad, delicate brow on his hand, his eyes bent on the printed page, his brain so much concentrated on what he read that one might speak his name a dozen times and still win no response. It did not occur to him that such absorption made him a poor companion. It occurred forcibly to Venetia, but since she had long since recognised that he was quite as selfish as his father or his brother she was able to accept his odd ways with perfect equanimity, and to go on holding him in affection without suffering any of the pangs of disillusionment.
She was nine years his senior, the eldest of the three surviving children of a Yorkshire landowner of long lineage, comfortable fortune, and eccentric habits. The loss of his wife before Aubrey was out of short coats had caused Sir Francis to immure himself in the fastness of his manor, some fifteen miles from York, and to remain there, sublimely indifferent to the welfare of his offspring, abjuring the society of his fellows. Venetia could only suppose that the trend of his nature must always have been towards solitude, for she was quite unable to believe that such extravagant conduct had arisen from a broken heart. Sir Francis had been a man of rigid pride, but never one of sensibility, and that his marriage had been one of unmixed bliss was an amiable fiction his clear-sighted daughter was quite unable to believe. Her memories of her mother were vague, but they included the echoes of bitter quarrels, slammed doors, and painful fits of hysteria. She could remember being admitted to her mother's scented bedchamber to see her dressed for a ball at Castle Howard; she could remember a beautiful discontented face; a welter of expensive dresses; a French maid; but not one recollection could she summon up of maternal concern or affection. It was certain that Lady Lanyon had not shared her husband's love of country life. Every spring had seen the ill-assorted pair in London; early summer took them to Brighton; when they returned to Undershaw it was not long before her ladyship became moped; and when winter closed down on Yorkshire she was unable to support the rigours of the climate, and was off with her reluctant spouse to visit friends. No one could think that such a butterfly's existence suited Sir Francis, yet when a sudden illness had carried her off he had come home a stricken man, unable to bear the sight of her portrait on the wall, or to hear her name mentioned.
His children grew up in the desert of his creating, only Conway, sent to Eton, and passing thence into the -th Foot, escaping into a larger world. Neither Venetia nor Aubrey had been farther from Undershaw than Scarborough, and their acquaintance was limited to the few families living within reach of the Manor. Neither repined, Aubrey because he shrank from going amongst strangers, Venetia because it was not in her nature to do so. She had only once been disconsolate: that was when she was seventeen, and Sir Francis had refused to let her go to his sister, in London, to be presented, and brought out into Society. It had seemed hard, and some tears had been shed. However, a very little reflection had sufficed to convince her that the scheme was really quite impractical. She could not leave Aubrey, a sickly eight-year-old, to Nurse's sole care: that excellent creature's devotion would have driven him into a madhouse. So she had dried her eyes, and made the best of things. Papa, after all, was not unreasonable: though he would not consent to a London Season he raised no objection to her attending the Assemblies in York, or even in Harrogate, whenever Lady Denny, or Mrs Yardley, invited her to go with them, which they quite frequently did, the one from kindness, the other under compulsion from her determined son. Nor was Papa at all mean: he never questioned her household expenditure, bestowed a handsome allowance on her, and, somewhat to her surprise, left her, at his death, a very respectable competence.
This event had occurred three years previously, within a month of the glorious victory at Waterloo, and quite unexpectedly, of a fatal stroke. It had been a shock to his children, but not a grief. 'In fact,' said Venetia, scandalising kind Lady Denny, 'we go on very much better without him.'
'My dear!' gasped her ladyship, who had come to the Manor prepared to clasp the orphans to her sentimental bosom. 'You are overwrought!'
'Indeed I'm not!' Venetia replied, laughing. 'Why, ma'am, how many times have you declared him to have been the most unnatural parent?'
'But he's dead, Venetia!'
'Yes, but I don't suppose he has any more fondness for us now than he had when he was alive, ma'am. He never made the least push to engage our affections, you know, so he really cannot expect us to grieve for him.'
Finding this unanswerable Lady Denny merely begged her not to say such things, and made haste to ask what she now meant to do. Venetia had said that it all depended on Conway. Until he came home to take up his inheritance there was nothing she could do but continue in the old way. 'Except, of course, that I shall now be able to entertain our friends at the Manor, which will be very much more comfortable than it was when Papa would allow none but Edward Yardley and Dr Benworth to cross the threshold.'
Three years later Venetia was still awaiting Conway's return, and Lady Denny had almost ceased to inveigh against his selfishness in leaving the burden of his affairs on her shoulders. No one had been surprised that he had at first found it impossible to return to England, for no doubt everything must have been at sixes and sevens in Belgium and France, and all our regiments sadly depleted after so sanguinary a battle as Waterloo. But as the months slid by, and all the news that was to be had of Conway came in a brief scrawl to his sister assuring her that he had every confidence in her ability to do just as she ought at Undershaw, and would write to her again when he had more time to devote to the task, it began to be generally felt that his continued absence arose less from a sense of duty than from reluctance to abandon a life that seemed (from accounts gleaned from visitors to the Army of Occupation) to consist largely of cricket-matches and balls. When last heard of, Conway had had the good fortune to be appointed to Lord Hill's staff, and was stationed at Cambray. He had been unable to write at much length to Venetia because the Great Man was expected, and there was to be a Review, followed by a dinner-party, which meant that the staff was kept busy. He knew she would understand exactly how it was, and he remained her affectionate brother Conway. P.S. I don't know which field you mean – you had best do what Powick thinks right.
'And for anything he cares she may live all her days at Undershaw, and die an old maid!' tearfully declared Lady Denny.
'She is more likely to marry Edward Yardley,' responded her lord prosaically.
'I have nothing to say against Edward Yardley – indeed, I believe him to be a truly estimable person! – but I have always said, and I always shall say, that it would be throwing herself away! If only our own dear Oswald were ten years older, Sir John!'
But here the conversation took an abrupt turn, Sir John's evil genius prompting him to exclaim that he hoped such a fine-looking girl had more sense than to look twice at the silliest puppy in the county. As he added a rider to the effect that it was high time his wife stopped encouraging Oswald to make a cake of himself with his play-acting ways, Venetia was forgotten in a pretty spirited interchange of conflicting opinions.
None would have denied that Venetia was a fine-looking girl; most would not have hesitated to call her beautiful. Amongst the pick of the débutantes at Almack's she must have attracted attention; in the more restricted society in which she dwelt she was a nonpareil. It was not only the size and brilliance of her eyes which excited admiration, or the glory of her shining guinea-gold hair, or even the enchanting arch of her pretty mouth: there was something very taking in her face which owed nothing to the excellence of her features: an expression of sweetness, a sparkle of irrepressible fun, an unusually open look, quite devoid of self-consciousness.
# About the Author
Author of over fifty books, Georgette Heyer is one of the best-known and best-loved of all historical novelists, making the Regency period her own. Her first novel, The Black Moth, published in 1921, was written at the age of seventeen to amuse her convalescent brother; her last was My Lord John. Although most famous for her historical novels, she also wrote twelve detective stories. Georgette Heyer died in 1974 at the age of seventy-one.
# The Private World of Georgette Heyer
## by Jane Aiken Hodge
An internationally bestselling phenomenon and queen of the Regency romance, Georgette Heyer is one of the most beloved historical novelists of our time. She wrote more than fifty novels, yet her private life was inaccessible to any but her nearest friends and relatives.
Lavishly illustrated and with access to private papers, correspondence and family archives, this classic biography opens a window into Georgette Heyer's world and that of her most memorable characters, revealing a formidable, energetic woman with an impeccable sense of style and, beyond everything, a love for all things Regency.
Praise for The Private World of Georgette Heyer:
"The Georgette Heyer bible... This is a must-have book for any Georgette Heyer lover." —Historically Obsessed
For more Jane Aiken Hodge books, visit:
www.sourcebooks.com
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You've already seen the outside of the house. Now check out the inside.
Come on little helper. Put your back into it. Lift! Lift!
Eventually the tree made it inside.
And got all set up.
Time to fluff the branches.
Ian's really good about wearing the hats I pick out to Disneyland. This is not one of those hats, but he found it when we were pulling out decorations and wanted to wear it.
Theresa had the Christmas music playing while we put all the ornaments on the tree. The kids hanging Gram's clothespin soldier and clothespin reindeer.
They got these blue and pink balloons with their names on them 2 years ago at Bronners.
They wanted to make sure they were hanging close together.
I put the hooks on and the kids would hang them on the tree.
Alright mister barefeet. Hold still while I pick you up.
Ian - I wasn't doing anything, it just accidentally fell.
Finally we top it off with the star.
Nice work kids. The tree looks great.
And even more beautiful when the lights are turned on.
Love these kinds of shots.
Next, it was time to hang the stockings above the fireplace. Even though we live in California, I still appreciate having a fire to sit in front of every once in a while.
Showing off some Christmas treats. Candy canes for the kids, my favorite chocolate orange, and T just loves Dove peppermint bark.
On December 1st it was time to open the first gifts of Christmas. This one came in the mail from Gram. It was a bunch of Christmas books! We'll read these every night leading up to Christmas!
Under the tree were 2 more presents ready to be opened.
Ian said All could help him open his, and then she returned the favor, letting Ian help open hers.
They're Lego Advent Calendars! Ian has a Star Wars one and Alli has Lego Friends.
Every night they were excited to have a little Lego project to put together.
One last addition to the tree, and something I've been wanting to do for years now. I've had the monorail for a few years now. The train set is new.
The kids had a lot of fun running both at the same time, and having the sound effects from both going at the same time.
You did Walt proud with the train! Spectacular, "galactic" tree shot with the lights on...nice effect! Did someone make those stockings since they look so personalized? Neat idea to have the Santa "stocking hooks" to hold them up, too. Thanks for the "inside" view!!
Those stockings are courtesy of Walmart a few years ago. We bought 3 with the names we knew, and bought an extra stocking just in case. When Alli came along, we found a local sewing shop and matched the font.
Those stocking hooks keep me from having to put nails in the fireplace. | {
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{"url":"https:\/\/socratic.org\/questions\/how-do-you-factor-s-2-10s-25","text":"# How do you factor s^2+10s+25?\n\nJun 2, 2016\n\n${\\left(s + 5\\right)}^{2}$\n\n#### Explanation:\n\nConsider the structure: (s+?)(s+?) where the two ? may od may not be different values.\n\nLooking at the given equation we spot that $5 \\times 5 = 25$ and that $5 + 5 = 10$. So these must be the values given to ?#\n\nThis gives\n\n$\\left(s + 5\\right) \\left(s + 5\\right)$ as both bracket contents are the same we have\n\n${\\left(s + 5\\right)}^{2}$","date":"2020-01-20 23:15:41","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 6, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.975419819355011, \"perplexity\": 1142.5967839125062}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2020-05\/segments\/1579250601040.47\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20200120224950-20200121013950-00207.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Here is my son in his craft shirt painting some pictures with blue, yellow and green paint. We have been learning about colors lately and we were seeing how the yellow and the blue look just like the green out of the bottle when mixed. The color concepts were a bit beyond him at this point but he used QTips to paint and he loved it. I even gave him some gold glitter glue to sparkle his page a bit and it looked great! | {
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Case No. IPC-E-10-19, Order No. 32593
Contact: Gene Fadness 208.334.0339 (office) 208.890.2712 (cell)
PUC adopts amended agreement between solar developer, Idaho Power
The Idaho Public Utilities Commission is approving an amended power purchase agreement that gives a solar developer more time to complete a project west of Mountain Home.
The amended sales agreement proposed by Idaho Power Company and Grand View Solar One establishes an operating date of Jan. 12, 2013. The project, 16 miles west of Mountain Home, will generate up to 10 average megawatts.
Idaho Power claims the scheduled online date was Jan. 30, 2011. Grand View Solar One claimed it had a "rolling" scheduled operation date for which a deadline had not expired.
Under terms of the new agreement, Grand View Solar One posted an $810,000 security for Idaho Power in case the project is not operating by Jan. 12, 2013. The project also paid $475,000 in a construction deposit. The agreement also states that if Idaho Power is the cause of any delays, the operation date can be extended to accommodate those delays without penalty to the developer.
Commission staff stated it is inappropriate to allow any qualifying facility under provisions of the federal Public Utility Regulatory Policies Act (PURPA) to have a rolling scheduled operation date under which the project "can, in effect, unilaterally dictate when it wishes to come on-line."
The manager of the Grand View Solar PV One project is Robert Paul of Deseret Hot Springs, Calif.
For more information about this case, go to the commission's Web site at www.puc.idaho.gov. Click on the electric icon, then on "Open Electric Cases," and scroll down to Case No. IPC-E-10-19. | {
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Q: Showing error while installing laravel have got this error while installing Laravel
PHP Warning: require(/var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/bootstrap/../vendor/autoload.php): failed to open stream: No such file or directory in /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/bootstrap/autoload.php on line 17
PHP Stack trace:
PHP 1. {main}() /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/artisan:0
PHP 2. require() /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/artisan:16
PHP Fatal error: require(): Failed opening required '/var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/bootstrap/../vendor/autoload.php' (include_path='.:/usr/share/php') in /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/bootstrap/autoload.php on line 17
PHP Stack trace:
PHP 1. {main}() /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/artisan:0
PHP 2. require() /var/www/html/Laravel/laraout/artisan:16
I have tried this source solve this
composer create-project laravel/laravel laraout "5.2.*" --no-scripts
But it is not working for me.
A: Don't use "" try this
composer create-project laravel/laravel laraout 5.2.*
just copy past the above command
A: Please Run composer install or composer update if you have already run composer install from your terminal inside your project.
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#include <stdio.h>
#include <string.h>
#include <fcntl.h>
#include <unistd.h>
#include <pthread.h>
#include "stringutils.h"
#include "telescopecamera.h"
Camera *camera = NULL;
GPContext *context = NULL;
bool initFailed = false;
bool resetNextTime = false;
// big camera lock. Used around all the public functions to prevent
// multiple threads trying to access this at the same time.
pthread_mutex_t lock = PTHREAD_MUTEX_INITIALIZER;
// error logging function for things failing in the gphoto2 library.
// NOTE : Do not try and reset the camera in here. It will cause seg faults.
static void ctx_error_func (GPContext *context, const char *str, void *data)
{
fprintf(stderr, "\n*** Contexterror ***\n");
fprintf(stderr, str, data);
fprintf(stderr, "\n");
fflush(stderr);
}
// status logger. These seem to be pretty rare.
static void ctx_status_func (GPContext *context, const char *str, void *data)
{
fprintf(stderr, "status:");
fprintf(stderr, str, data);
fprintf(stderr, "\n");
fflush(stderr);
}
/*
* This function looks up a label or key entry of
* a configuration widget.
* The functions descend recursively, so you can just
* specify the last component.
*/
int _lookup_widget(CameraWidget*widget, const char *key, CameraWidget **child) {
int ret = gp_widget_get_child_by_name (widget, key, child);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
ret = gp_widget_get_child_by_label (widget, key, child);
}
return ret;
}
int getWidget(CameraWidget ** widget, CameraWidget ** child, const char * setting) {
CameraWidgetType type;
int ret = gp_camera_get_config (camera, widget, context);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "camera_get_config failed: %d\n", ret);
return ret;
}
ret = _lookup_widget (*widget, setting, child);
if (ret < GP_OK || child == NULL) {
fprintf (stderr, "l lookup widget %s failed: %d\n", setting, ret);
gp_widget_free (*widget);
return ret;
}
/* This type check is optional, if you know what type the label
* has already. If you are not sure, better check. */
ret = gp_widget_get_type (*child, &type);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "l widget get type failed: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (*widget);
return ret;
}
return GP_OK;
}
int internal_set_setting(const char * setting, const char * value) {
CameraWidget * widget = NULL; // will hold the root config entry
CameraWidget * child = NULL; // will hold the actual config entry from the tree
int ret = getWidget(&widget, &child, setting);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "camera_get_config failed: %d\n", ret);
return ret;
}
ret = gp_widget_set_value(child, value);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "could not set widget value: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (widget);
return ret;
}
/* This stores it on the camera again */
ret = gp_camera_set_config (camera, widget, context);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "camera_set_config failed: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (widget);
return ret;
}
gp_widget_free (widget);
return 0;
}
// Create a constext. used in init.
GPContext* create_context() {
GPContext *context;
context = gp_context_new();
// make sure we log errors. helps work out wtf is going on.
gp_context_set_error_func (context, (GPContextErrorFunc) ctx_error_func, NULL);
gp_context_set_status_func (context, (GPContextStatusFunc) ctx_status_func, NULL);
return context;
}
// function to make sure the camara is initalised
void initCamaraAndContext() {
if(resetNextTime) {
tc_reset();
resetNextTime = false;
}
if( context == NULL && camera == NULL ) {
context = create_context ();
gp_camera_new (&camera);
if( gp_camera_init (camera, context) < GP_OK ) {
initFailed = true;
tc_reset();
}
else {
internal_set_setting("capture", "1");
initFailed = false;
}
}
}
void tc_reset() {
gp_camera_exit(camera, context);
gp_camera_free (camera);
camera = NULL;
context = NULL;
}
int waitForCaptureComplete() {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
int waitTime = 2000;
CameraEventType type;
void *data;
while(1) {
if(gp_camera_wait_for_event(camera, waitTime, &type, &data, context) == GP_ERROR_NOT_SUPPORTED) {
printf("camera doesn't support wait.");
sleep(500); // hopefully this will be enough.
break;
}
if(type == GP_EVENT_TIMEOUT) {
break;
}
else if (type == GP_EVENT_CAPTURE_COMPLETE) {
waitTime = 100;
}
else if (type != GP_EVENT_UNKNOWN) {
printf("Unexpected event received from camera: %d\n", (int)type);
}
}
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return 0;
}
/**
* public method to get the summary information for the camara.
*
* takes a string buffer to put the information in and returns the length writen.
*/
int tc_get_summary(char * content, const int size_of) {
CameraText text;
int content_length = 0;
int ret;
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
content_length = snprintf(content, size_of, "No camera detected");
}
else {
ret = gp_camera_get_summary (camera, &text, context);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
// here we will try and reset the camara so next time some one tries to use it hopefully it will re init.
tc_reset();
content_length = snprintf(content, size_of, "Camera failed retrieving summary.");
}
else {
content_length = snprintf(content, size_of, "Summary info from camara:\n %s",text.text);
}
}
return content_length;
}
void internal_take_picture(const char * name, const bool delete, const bool copy) {
CameraFile *canonfile;
CameraFilePath camera_file_path;
/* NOP: This gets overridden in the library to /capt0000.jpg */
strcpy(camera_file_path.folder, "/");
strcpy(camera_file_path.name, name);
gp_camera_capture(camera, GP_CAPTURE_IMAGE, &camera_file_path, context);
if(copy) {
// extract the extension from the source file and append it to our name.
// so we get the right name out of it.
char *dot = strrchr(camera_file_path.name, '.');
char * fileName = (char*) malloc(sizeof(char) * (strlen(name) + strlen(dot) + 1));
sprintf(fileName, "%s%s", name, dot);
int fd = open(fileName, O_CREAT | O_WRONLY, 0644);
gp_file_new_from_fd(&canonfile, fd);
gp_camera_file_get(camera, camera_file_path.folder, camera_file_path.name, GP_FILE_TYPE_NORMAL, canonfile, context);
free(fileName);
}
if(delete) {
gp_camera_file_delete(camera, camera_file_path.folder, camera_file_path.name, context);
}
if(copy) {
gp_file_free(canonfile);
}
}
int tc_take_picture(const char * name, const bool delete, const bool copy) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
if(!delete) { // if we are not deleting the file from the camera make sure we are saving to the memory card.
internal_set_setting("capturetarget", "Memory card");
}
else {
internal_set_setting("capturetarget", "Internal RAM");
}
internal_take_picture(name, delete, copy);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return 1;
}
}
int tc_take_n_pictures(const int n, const char * name, const char * postfix, const bool delete, const bool copy) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
if(!delete) { // if we are not deleting the file from the camera make sure we are saving to the memory card.
internal_set_setting("capturetarget", "Memory card");
}
else {
internal_set_setting("capturetarget", "Internal RAM");
}
for(int i = 0; i < n; i++) {
char entryName[100];
snprintf(entryName, 100, "%s-%d.%s", name, i, postfix);
internal_take_picture(name, delete, copy);
}
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return 1;
}
}
int tc_preview(const char * name) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
CameraFile *file;
int retval = gp_file_new(&file);
if (retval != GP_OK) {
fprintf(stderr,"gp_file_new: %d\n", retval);
tc_reset();
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
retval = gp_camera_capture_preview(camera, file, context);
if (retval != GP_OK) {
fprintf(stderr,"gp_camera_capture_preview: %d\n", retval);
resetNextTime = true;
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
retval = gp_file_save(file, name);
if (retval != GP_OK) {
fprintf(stderr,"gp_file_save: %d\n", retval);
gp_file_unref(file);
tc_reset();
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
gp_file_unref(file);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return 0;
}
}
bool tc_connected() {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
// if we can init the camera we assume its connected.
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return false;
}
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return true;
}
int tc_get_setting(const char * setting, char * result, size_t size_of) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
CameraWidget * widget = NULL; // will hold the root config entry
CameraWidget * child = NULL; // will hold the actual config entry from the tree
int ret = getWidget(&widget, &child, setting);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "camera_get_config failed: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (widget);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return ret;
}
/* This is the actual query call. Note that we just
* a pointer reference to the string, not a copy... */
char *val;
ret = gp_widget_get_value (child, &val);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "could not query widget value: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (widget);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return ret;
}
/* Create a new copy for our caller. */
snprintf(result, size_of, "%s", val);
gp_widget_free (widget);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return ret;
}
}
int tc_set_setting(const char * setting, const char * value) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
int res = internal_set_setting(setting, value);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return res;
}
}
int tc_settings(FILE * output) {
pthread_mutex_lock(&lock);
initCamaraAndContext();
if( initFailed ) {
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
else {
CameraWidget * widget = NULL; // will hold the root config entry
// the config entries make a tree structure.
// each node has differnt types. Only some can be branches
// others are always leaves.
int ret = gp_camera_get_config (camera, &widget, context);
if (ret < GP_OK) {
fprintf (stderr, "camera_get_config failed: %d\n", ret);
gp_widget_free (widget);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return -1;
}
// Helper function to print an entry out, needs to be passed the value as a string.
void printValue(CameraWidget * widget, const int depth, const char *name, const char * value) {
int choicesCount;
fprintf(output, "\"%s\" : {\n", name);
indent(output, depth+1);
fprintf(output, "\"value\" : \"%s\",\n", value);
const char * label;
gp_widget_get_label(widget, &label);
indent(output, depth+1);
fprintf(output, "\"label\" : \"%s\"", label);
// If this setting has a fixed list of options we will return those as well.
// For instance iso can be one of "Auto","100","200","400","800","1600","3200","6400" on a Cannon 550D
choicesCount = gp_widget_count_choices(widget);
if(choicesCount > 0) {
fprintf(output, ",\n");
indent(output, depth + 1);
fprintf(output, "\"choices\" : [");
for(int i = 0; i < choicesCount; i++) {
const char * choice;
ret = gp_widget_get_choice(widget, i, &choice);
if(ret == GP_OK) {
fprintf(output, "\"%s\"", choice);
}
if(i < (choicesCount -1)) {
fprintf(output, ",");
}
}
fprintf(output, "]\n");
}
else {
fprintf(output, "\n");
}
indent(output, depth);
fprintf(output, "}");
}
// internal tree walking function
int displayChildren(CameraWidget * widget, int depth, bool last) {
const char *name;
void *value;
int ret = gp_widget_get_name(widget, &name);
if(ret < GP_OK) {
return -1;
}
CameraWidgetType type;
indent(output, depth);
ret = gp_widget_get_type (widget, &type);
switch (type) {
case GP_WIDGET_WINDOW:
case GP_WIDGET_SECTION: // These are branch nodes.
fprintf(output, "\"%s\"", name);
int count = gp_widget_count_children(widget);
if(count > 0) {
fprintf(output, " : {\n");
}
int newDepth = depth + 1;
for (int i = 0; i < count; i++) {
CameraWidget * child = NULL;
gp_widget_get_child(widget, i, &child);
displayChildren(child, newDepth, (i == (count - 1)) );
}
if(count > 0) {
indent(output, depth);
fprintf(output, "}");
}
break;
case GP_WIDGET_MENU:
case GP_WIDGET_RADIO:
case GP_WIDGET_TEXT: // these are all easy text nodes
gp_widget_get_value(widget, &value);
printValue(widget, depth, name, (char *) value);
break;
case GP_WIDGET_TOGGLE:
case GP_WIDGET_DATE: // with these the pointer returned is the value rather than a pointer.
gp_widget_get_value(widget, &value);
char str[15];
snprintf(str, 15, "%d", ((int)value));
printValue(widget, depth, name, str);
break;
default:
fprintf(output, "\"%s\" : \"has bad type %d\"", name, type);
}
// json output, no commas after the last object
if(!last) {
fprintf(output, ",");
}
fprintf(output, "\n");
return 0;
}
// the main bit of code for this function.
fprintf(output, "{\n");
ret = displayChildren(widget, 1, true);
fprintf(output, "}\n");
fflush(output);
gp_widget_free(widget);
pthread_mutex_unlock(&lock);
return ret;
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 9,677 |
{"url":"https:\/\/codeforces.com\/problemset\/problem\/1716\/D","text":"D. Chip Move\ntime limit per test\n2 seconds\nmemory limit per test\n256 megabytes\ninput\nstandard input\noutput\nstandard output\n\nThere is a chip on the coordinate line. Initially, the chip is located at the point $0$. You can perform any number of moves; each move increases the coordinate of the chip by some positive integer (which is called the length of the move). The length of the first move you make should be divisible by $k$, the length of the second move\u00a0\u2014 by $k+1$, the third\u00a0\u2014 by $k+2$, and so on.\n\nFor example, if $k=2$, then the sequence of moves may look like this: $0 \\rightarrow 4 \\rightarrow 7 \\rightarrow 19 \\rightarrow 44$, because $4 - 0 = 4$ is divisible by $2 = k$, $7 - 4 = 3$ is divisible by $3 = k + 1$, $19 - 7 = 12$ is divisible by $4 = k + 2$, $44 - 19 = 25$ is divisible by $5 = k + 3$.\n\nYou are given two positive integers $n$ and $k$. Your task is to count the number of ways to reach the point $x$, starting from $0$, for every $x \\in [1, n]$. The number of ways can be very large, so print it modulo $998244353$. Two ways are considered different if they differ as sets of visited positions.\n\nInput\n\nThe first (and only) line of the input contains two integers $n$ and $k$ ($1 \\le k \\le n \\le 2 \\cdot 10^5$).\n\nOutput\n\nPrint $n$ integers\u00a0\u2014 the number of ways to reach the point $x$, starting from $0$, for every $x \\in [1, n]$, taken modulo $998244353$.\n\nExamples\nInput\n8 1\n\nOutput\n1 1 2 2 3 4 5 6\nInput\n10 2\n\nOutput\n0 1 0 1 1 1 1 2 2 2\nNote\n\nLet's look at the first example:\n\nWays to reach the point $1$: $[0, 1]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $2$: $[0, 2]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $3$: $[0, 1, 3]$, $[0, 3]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $4$: $[0, 2, 4]$, $[0, 4]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $5$: $[0, 1, 5]$, $[0, 3, 5]$, $[0, 5]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $6$: $[0, 1, 3, 6]$, $[0, 2, 6]$, $[0, 4, 6]$, $[0, 6]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $7$: $[0, 2, 4, 7]$, $[0, 1, 7]$, $[0, 3, 7]$, $[0, 5, 7]$, $[0, 7]$;\n\nWays to reach the point $8$: $[0, 3, 5, 8]$, $[0, 1, 5, 8]$, $[0, 2, 8]$, $[0, 4, 8]$, $[0, 6, 8]$, $[0, 8]$.","date":"2023-02-07 17:27:39","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.7967098355293274, \"perplexity\": 248.6639157235548}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": false, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2023-06\/segments\/1674764500628.77\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20230207170138-20230207200138-00053.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Az ajkai 4-es jelzésű autóbusz a TESCO - Móra Ferenc utca - Hild park - TESCO útvonalon közlekedik. A vonalat a Volánbusz üzemelteti.
Története
Közlekedése
Mindennap kb. óránként közlekedik. Egyes járatok indulás után vagy visszaérkezés előtt érintik a Hársfa utca megállóhelyet is.
Útvonala
Megállóhelyei
|-
!colspan=3|Perc (↓)
!width=25%|Megállóhely
!width=20%|Átszállási kapcsolatok
!Fontosabb létesítmények
|-
|0||0||0||TESCO
|align=left|
|TESCO Áruház, LIDL, Bakonykarszt Víz- és Csatornamű Zrt.
|-
|∫||1||∫||Hársfa utca
|align=left|
|Hársfa utcai temető
|-
|2||4||2||Lakótelep, bejárati út
|align=left|
|Csónakázó-tó
|-
|3||5||4||Ifjúság utca
|align=left|
|
|-
|4||6||5||Sport utca
|align=left|
|Bányász sporttelep, SPAR Áruház
|-
|5||7||6||Móra Ferenc utca
|align=left|
|Borsos Miklós Általános Iskola
|-
|7||9||7||Május 1. tér
|align=left|
|
|-
|8||10||7||Deák Ferenc utca
|align=left|
|
|-
|9||11||8||Fürst Sándor utca
|align=left|
|
|-
|10||12||9||Timföldgyár, bejárati út
|align=left|
|Ajkai Timföldgyár
|-
|11||13||10||Rákóczi Ferenc utca
|align=left|
|Ajkai Járásbíróság, Vörösmarty Mihály Általános Iskola
|-
|12||14||12||Hild park
|align=left|
|Városközpont, Helyközi autóbusz-állomás, Polgármesteri Hivatal, Jézus Szíve Plébánia, Hotel Ajka, Hild park
|-
|14||16||14||Kórház
|align=left|
|Magyar Imre Kórház
|-
|15||17||15||Kórház utca
|align=left|
|rowspan=2|Csónakázó-tó
|-
|16||19||16||Lakótelep, bejárati út
|align=left|
|-
|17||20||17||Magyar Közút Zrt.
|align=left|
|TESCO Áruház, LIDL, Bakonykarszt Víz- és Csatornamű Zrt.
|-
|∫||∫||18||Hársfa utca
|align=left|
|Hársfa utcai temető
|-
|18||21||20||TESCO
|align=left|
|TESCO Áruház, LIDL, Bakonykarszt Víz- és Csatornamű Zrt.
|}
Források
Ajka autóbuszvonalai | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 9,604 |
BJP MPs Threaten to Vote Against Women's Bill, Party Goes In For Damage Control
Trouble is brewing in BJP with a section of party MPs in Lok Sabha expressing their opposition to the measure and threatening to vote against it and the party on Thursday decided to crack on
PTI Updated on: March 11, 2010 21:19 IST
bjp mps threaten to vote against women s bill party goes in for damage control
Trouble is brewing in BJP with a section of party MPs in Lok Sabha expressing their opposition to the measure and threatening to vote against it and the party on Thursday decided to crack on the dissenters by issuing a whip to them to back it.
The BJP top brass swung into damage control and decided to issue a whip to its MPs to make them toe the party line.
Facing rebellion, top party leaders including the Leader of the Opposition in Lok Sabha Sushma Swaraj, Leader of the Opposition in Rajya Sabha Arun Jaitley and former party chief Rajnath Singh met the dissenting MPs this morning and sought to allay their fears over the bill which seeks to reserve one third of the seats in Lok Sabha and state assemblies for women and will unseat that number of men.
"We will issue a whip to party MPs when the bill comes up in Lok Sabha," Swaraj said after the meeting. Defiance of the whip can attract disqualification provisions against the members.BJP MPs had supported the measure in Rajya Sabha.
Prominent among those opposing the bill are Yogi Adityanath, MP from Gorakhpur, former union minister Hukumdeo Narayan Yadav, an old socialist from Janata Dal parivar, and party's chief whip in the Lok Sabha Ramesh Bais.
Some of the party MPs are even said to have threatened to vote against the measure when it is taken up in the Lower House. The support of BJP, which has 116 members in Lok Sabha, is crucial for the passage of the Constitutional amendment bill.
Bais, who had maintained on Wednesday that several party MPs had problems with the Bill in its present form and would air their grievances before the senior leaders, today said he had been misunderstood.
Former union Minister Murli Manohar Joshi said there may have been differences among some sections of the party but once BJP takes a stand everybody will have to go by it.
"In a democratic party, members may have different opinions on an issue and these can be discussed. But on the Bill the party has taken a stand and everybody will have to adhere to it," he said.
On the issue of a whip to members in Lok Sabha like it had been done for the party MPs in Rajya Sabha, Joshi, however, said, "The issue of whether whip should be issued in a democracy is debatable."
Hukumdeo Narayan Yadav, who was said to be one of the main opponents of the bill in the BJP, did a volte-face this morning, saying "I was with the BJP decision on supporting the bill when it came in Rajya Sabha and will abide by the party decision when it comes up in Lok Sabha. "Whatever I have to say about the bill, I will say in the party forum," he told PTI.
When asked about his earlier stand against the bill, he said, "The press may have thought that since other Yadavs like Lalu and Mulayam are opposed to the bill, I would be opposed too. Also because I am a socialist like them. But if I was in agreement with them, I would be in their party and would not have joined BJP."
BJP chief whip in Lok Sabha Ramesh Bais on Wednesday had claimed "at least 70 per cent of MPs" were against the Bill while a senior BJP MP said he would defy any whip to vote in its favour even though his party had offered it "unequivocal support" in the Rajya Sabha.
Ramesh Bais said there was strong resentment among Lok Sabha MPs over the Bill and his party leadership was engaged in placating MPs.
"At least seventy per cent of MPs are protesting against the women's reservation Bill and the way the party supported the Bill despite marshals being used in Rajya Sabha. Top leaders of the party have assured that grievances of the MPs will be taken into account," Bais told The Indian Express, adding that Murli Manohar Joshi and Yashwant Sinha had already held the first round of discussions.
Hukumdeo Narayan Yadav, senior leader and BJP MP from Madhubani in Bihar, declared he would defy any party whip in Lok Sabha and vote against the Bill.
A former Union Minister, Yadav told The Indian Express: "If they issue a whip (to vote in favour of the Bill), I will break it and vote against it. Let them end my membership, I am not bothered. I am a socialist and I cannot compromise on issues of social justice."
He said he had asked the BJP leadership not to issue a whip in Lok Sabha and allow MPs to exercise their choice. He also slammed the use of marshals in Rajya Sabha to evict seven MPs who were opposed to the Bill.
Yadav said the use of marshals amounted to "martial law" and his party had been a "mute spectator".
"History will not spare the BJP. The BJP was like Bhishmapitamah and Dronacharya in Mahabharata who remained mute spectators to the disrobing of Draupadi," he said. Attacking the policy of his party to support the Bill, he said the BJP would "decline further" if it ignored the backward classes.
Yogi Adityanath, MP from Gorakhpur in Uttar Pradesh, too aired his protest, wondering why the party had shown such eagerness to back the women's reservation Bill when there were more pressing matters on hand.
Madhusudan Yadav, a first-time BJP MP from Rajnandgaon in Chhattisgarh, too objected that the party leadership had not protested the use of marshals to evict MPs from Rajya Sabha.
"The allies and supporters of UPA are protesting against the Bill. They used the support of the Opposition to use marshals and bulldoze the Bill through Rajya Sabha. We will not tolerate the use of marshals in Lok Sabha," Yadav told The Indian Express.
Read all the Breaking News Live on indiatvnews.com and Get Latest English News & Updates from Politics and National Section
Women's bill
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Punjab CM Charanjit Singh Channi's new Cabinet takes shape | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 457 |
\section{Introduction}
Copositive programming and its dual \revise{counterpart} of completely positive programming are classes of convex optimization problems that have in the past decades developed as a particularly expressive tool to encode optimization problems, especially for many problems arising from combinatorial or quadratic optimization. A classical example of that can be found in \cite{Bur09}, which shows that general quadratic programs with a mix of binary and continuous variables can be expressed as copositive programs. A large body of work has been developed in the area and there is a series of survey papers that can be consulted for further information. We refer the readers to \cite{Bom12,Bur12,Dur10} and references therein for more details.
In this paper we will focus on general completely positive programs which are linear optimization problems of the form (see Section~\ref{sec1.1} below for notation)
\begin{equation}\label{P0}
\begin{array}{rl}
v_p:=\min & {\rm tr}(CX)\\
{\rm s.t.} & {\rm tr}(A_i X) = b_i,\ i = 1,\ldots,m,\\
& X \in {\cal CP}^n,
\end{array}
\end{equation}
where $C$ and $A_i$, $i = 1,\ldots,m$ are symmetric matrices, and ${\cal CP}^n$ is the closed cone of \revise{$n \times n$} completely positive matrices \revise{defined as
\begin{align}
{\cal CP}^n& := \{X\in {\cal S}^n:\; \exists B \ge 0, \ \ X = B^TB\}.\label{CPn}
\end{align}}
We also consider the dual problem of \eqref{P0}, which is the following copositive programming problem
\begin{equation}\label{P0dual}
\begin{array}{rl}
v_d:= \max & b^Ty\\
{\rm s.t.} & C - \sum_{i=1}^m y_i A_i \in {\cal COP}^n,
\end{array}
\end{equation}
where ${\cal COP}^n$ is the closed cone of \revise{$n \times n$} copositive matrices \revise{and is defined as
\begin{align}
{\cal COP}^n& := \{X\in {\cal S}^n:\; v^TXv \ge 0,\ \ \forall v\ge 0\}.\label{COPn}
\end{align}}
It is well known that completely positive programming problems \eqref{P0} are NP-hard in general. Several approximation schemes have been proposed and successfully used in the literature, based on approximations to ${\cal CP}^n$. The simplest one is to replace ${\cal CP}^n$ by the cone of nonnegative positive semidefinite matrices, which is strictly larger \revise{than ${\cal CP}^n$ } when $n\ge 5$, hence leading to a lower bound to $v_p$. Other popular lower bounds are those relying on semidefinite programming sums of squares techniques as introduced in \cite{Par00}. For upper bounds based on inner approximations to ${\cal CP}^n$, the literature is somewhat sparser.
One way of constructing inner approximations to ${\cal CP}^n$ is to make use of the fact that the extreme rays of ${\cal CP}^n$ are matrices of the form $vv^T$ with $v\in {\rm I\!R}_+^n\backslash\{0\}$; \revise{see \cite{abraham2003completely}}. Thus, one can pick uniformly spaced $v \in \Delta^n=\left\{ x \in {\rm I\!R}_+^n :\; \sum x_i = 1\right\}$, and approximate ${\cal CP}^n$ by the cone the matrices $vv^T$ generate (see \cite{Yil12,BunDur09}). This leads to linear programming (LP) approximations to \eqref{P0}. Another inner approximation to ${\cal CP}^n$ is that proposed in \cite{Lasserre14}, based on the theory of moments, leading to semidefinite programming (SDP) approximations to \eqref{P0}. In both cases we have hierarchies that give upper bounds to \eqref{P0}, and dually lower bounds to \eqref{P0dual}, and converge to the optimal value/solutions of \eqref{P0}. These inner approximations are uniform (i.e., problem-independent) approximations, giving rise to either LP or SDP problems. See also \cite{Yil16} for a more thorough treatment of inner approximations. An extra step taken as an adaptive linear approximation algorithm was proposed in \cite{BunDur09}. This uses information obtained from an upper bound approximation to selectively refine the hierarchy, leading to problem-dependent LP approximations.
In this paper, we propose a new inner approximation scheme to ${\cal CP}^n$ that is based on {\em second-order cone programming} (SOCP) problems and can be either uniform or problem-dependent. Our approach is motivated by the recent work in \cite{Ahm14,AhmHal17} that uses the cone of scaled diagonally dominant matrices for inner-approximating the cone of positive semidefinite matrices. Specifically, we use the cones of \revise{nonnegative scaled diagonally dominant matrices} and their projections as a natural inner approximation to ${\cal CP}^n$, and derive a new SOCP-based approximation scheme for completely positive and copositive programming. Our approximation scheme has a natural graphical interpretation. By exploiting this interpretation, we can flexibly expand or trim the SOCP problems in our hierarchy, leading to both uniform and problem-dependent approximation schemes. The use of SOCP offers a compromise between the expressive power of SDP, that comes at a \revise{significant computational cost}, and the speed of LP approaches, that have inherently lower expressive power. Numerical experiments on solving random instances, \rerevise{standard quadratic programs} and the stable set problem demonstrate the effectiveness of our approximation schemes.
The rest of the paper is organized as follows. We present notation and state our blanket assumptions concerning \eqref{P0} and \eqref{P0dual} in Section~\ref{sec1.1}. Properties of the scaled diagonally dominant matrices are reviewed in Section~\ref{sec:sdd}, and a graphical refinement scheme is discussed. We derive our uniform inner approximation schemes in Section~\ref{sec3} with a convergence analysis, and discuss several problem-dependent inner approximation schemes in Section~\ref{sec4}. Numerical experiments are reported in Section~\ref{sec:num}.
\subsection{Notation and blanket assumptions}\label{sec1.1}
In this paper, we use ${\cal S}^n$ to denote the space of \revise{$n \times n$} symmetric matrices. Matrices are denoted by upper case letters, and their entries are represented in the corresponding lower case letters, e.g., $d_{ij}$ as the $(i,j)$th entry of the matrix $D$; we also use lower case letters to denote vectors. For vectors $u$, $v\in {\rm I\!R}^n$, we write $u\ge 0$ if $u$ is elementwise nonnegative, and use $[u,v]$ to denote the line segment between $u$ and $v$, i.e.,
\[
[u,v] := \{tu + (1-t)v:\; t\in [0,1]\}.
\]
For an $X\in {\cal S}^n$, we write $X\succeq 0$ if \revise{$X$} is positive semidefinite, and write $X\ge 0$ if \revise{$X$} is elementwise nonnegative. We also write the trace of $X$ as ${\rm tr}(X)$. We use $E$ and $I$ to denote the square matrix of all ones and the identity matrix, respectively, whose dimensions should be clear from the context. Finally, for a linear map ${\cal A}:{\cal S}^n\to {\cal S}^m$, we use ${\cal A}^*$ to denote its adjoint.
The cone of positive semidefinite \revise{$n \times n$} matrices is denoted by ${\cal S}^n_+$. We also use ${\cal N}^n$ to denote the cone of \revise{$n \times n$} symmetric nonnegative matrices, i.e.,
\[
{\cal N}^n:=\{X\in {\cal S}^n:\; X\ge 0\},
\]
\revise{ and an \revise{$n \times n$} real symmetric matrix is doubly nonnegative if it is positive semidefinite and entrywise nonnegative.}
It is known that the cones in \eqref{CPn} and \eqref{COPn} are dual to each other, i.e., ${\cal CP}^n = ({\cal COP}^n)^*$ and ${\cal COP}^n = ({\cal CP}^n)^*$; here,
\[
{{\cal C}}^* := \{Y\in {\cal S}^n:\; {\rm tr}(XY)\ge 0,\ \ \forall X\in {{\cal C}}\}
\]
for a closed convex cone ${{\cal C}}\subseteq {\cal S}^n$. Moreover, it is also known that the cone of positive semidefinite matrices and the cone of symmetric nonnegative matrices are self-dual, i.e., ${\cal S}^n_+ =({\cal S}^n_+)^*$ and ${\cal N}^n=({\cal N}^n)^*$.
Throughout this paper, we make the following {\bf blanket assumptions} concerning \eqref{P0} and \eqref{P0dual}:
\begin{enumerate}[{\bf A}1.]
\item Problem \eqref{P0} is feasible.
\item The mapping $X\mapsto ({\rm tr}(A_1X),\ldots,{\rm tr}(A_mX))$ is surjective.
\item Problem \eqref{P0dual} is strictly feasible, i.e., there exists $\bar y$ satisfying
\[
C - \sum_{i=1}^m \bar y_i A_i \in {\rm int}\,{\cal COP}^n.
\]
\end{enumerate}
Under these assumptions, the dual \revise{Slater} condition holds. Therefore we have $v_p = v_d$, with both values being finite and the primal optimal value $v_p$ being attained.
\section{The scaled diagonally dominant cone and beyond}\label{sec:sdd}
In this section, we present the basis for our construction of inner approximations in Sections~\ref{sec3} and \ref{sec4}. Our construction is motivated by the work in \cite{Ahm14,AhmHal17}, which studied inner approximations of the cone of positive semidefinite matrices based on the cones of diagonally dominant and scaled diagonally dominant matrices. While their work can be directly applied to the existing SOS hierarchies to yield outer approximations of ${\cal CP}^n$ (see \cite[Section 4.2]{Ahm14}) we show an alternative approach, based on the same cones but using them in a fundamentally different way, in order to obtain an inner approximation to ${\cal CP}^n$. We first recall the following definition of diagonally dominant and scaled diagonally dominant matrices from \revise{\cite[Definition~3.3]{Ahm14}}.
\begin{definition}\label{def:sdd}
A symmetric matrix $A$ is diagonally dominant\footnote{Note that our definition is different from the classical definition of diagonal dominance (see \cite[Definition~6.1.9]{HornJohnson85}) in that we require the diagonal entries of $A$ to be nonnegative.} if $a_{ii}\ge \sum_{j\neq i}|a_{ij}|$ for all $i$, and is said to be scaled diagonally dominant (sdd) if there exists a diagonal matrix $D$ with positive diagonal entries such that $DAD$ is diagonally dominant.
\end{definition}
In \cite[Theorem~9]{boman2005factor} a convenient characterization of sdd matrices was presented. They proved that a matrix is sdd if and only if it can be written as the sum of positive semidefinite matrices whose supports are contained in some \revise{$2 \times 2$} submatrices. In other words, the cone $\textup{SDD}^n$ of \revise{$n \times n$} sdd matrices is given by
\begin{equation}\label{sdd:eqdef}
\textup{SDD}^n := \sum_{1\le i<j\le n} \iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+)
\end{equation}
where $\iota_{ij}:{\cal S}^2 \to {\cal S}^n$ is the map that sends an $S\in {\cal S}^2$ to the matrix $D$ given by
\[
d_{rs}:= \begin{cases}
s_{11} & {\rm if}\ (r,s) = (i,i),\\
s_{12} & {\rm if}\ (r,s) = (i,j),\\
s_{21} & {\rm if}\ (r,s) = (j,i),\\
s_{22} & {\rm if}\ (r,s) = (j,j),\\
0 & {\rm otherwise}.
\end{cases}
\]
This cone is therefore given in terms of \revise{$2 \times 2$} semidefinite constraints or, in other words, second-order cone constraints, which makes it quite suitable to use in convex optimization.
One can prove the following basic properties of $\textup{SDD}^n$, and of the set $\textup{SDD}^n_+:= \textup{SDD}^n\cap {\cal N}^n$. Note that item (i) in Proposition~\ref{prop1} below can be found in \cite{AhmHal17}, and a more general version of it can be found in \cite[Lemma~5]{Permenter2017}. We include it here for completeness. \revise{In what follows $\iota_{ij}^*$ denotes the adjoint of the map $\iota_{ij}$, which in this case can be defined by saying that $\iota_{ij}^*(S)$ is the $2\times 2$ submatrix of $S$ indexed by rows and columns $i$ and $j$.}
\begin{proposition}\label{prop1}
The following statements hold.
\begin{enumerate}[{\rm (i)}]
\item $(\textup{SDD}^n)^* = \{Q\in {\cal S}^n:\; \iota_{ij}^*(Q)\succeq 0,\ \ \forall 1\le i< j\le n\}$.
\item $(\textup{SDD}^n_+)^* = (\textup{SDD}^n)^* + {\cal N}^n$.
\item $
\textup{SDD}^n_+ = \sum_{1\le i<j\le n} \iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2)$.
\end{enumerate}
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
We first prove (i). Recall from \eqref{sdd:eqdef} that $\textup{SDD}^n = \sum_{1\le i<j\le n}\iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+)$. Thus, we have from \cite[Corollary~16.3.2]{Rock70} that
\[
(\textup{SDD}^n)^* = \bigcap_{1\le i<j\le n}(\iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+))^*,
\]
from which the desired equality follows immediately.
Next, we prove (ii). Note that
\[
\sum_{1\le i<j\le n}\iota_{ij}(E)\in \textup{SDD}^n\cap {\rm int}\,{\cal N}^n.
\]
Thus, we conclude from \cite[Corollary~16.3.2]{Rock70} that
\[
(\textup{SDD}^n_+)^* = (\textup{SDD}^n\cap {\cal N}^n)^* = (\textup{SDD}^n)^* + {\cal N}^n.
\]
Finally, we prove (iii). It is clear that $\textup{SDD}^n_+ \supseteq \sum_{1\le i<j\le n} \iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2)$. For the converse inclusion, consider any $Q\in \textup{SDD}^n_+$. Then $Q$ is nonnegative and can be written as $\sum_{1\le i<j\le n} \iota_{ij}(S_{ij})$ for some $S_{ij}\in {\cal S}^2_+$, $1\le i<j\le n$. Observe that each $S_{ij}$ has nonnegative diagonal entries, and moreover, its nondiagonal entry equals the $(i,j)$th entry of $Q$, which is also nonnegative. Thus, $S_{ij}\in {\cal S}^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2$ and hence $Q\in \sum_{1\le i<j\le n} \iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2)$.
This completes the proof.
\end{proof}
Since \revise{$2 \times 2$} nonnegative positive semidefinite matrices are completely positive, we see from Proposition~\ref{prop1}(iii) that $\textup{SDD}^n_+$ is an inner approximation to ${\cal CP}^n$. In Figure \ref{fig:comparison} we show a random $2$-dimensional slice of the cone of doubly nonnegative \revise{$5 \times 5$} matrices (i.e., ${\cal S}_+^5\cap {\cal N}^5$) with the slice of $\textup{SDD}^5_+$ highlighted in red. The cone ${\cal CP}^5$ is sandwiched between them.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=5.5cm]{comparison.png}
\end{center}
\caption{Comparison of ${\cal S}^5_+\cap {\cal N}^5$ with $\textup{SDD}^5_+$}
\label{fig:comparison}
\end{figure}
This simple inner approximation can be used as a basis to construct more general inner second-order cone approximations for ${\cal CP}^n$. To do that we consider a useful variant of $\textup{SDD}^n_+$ that will help us construct inner approximations of ${\cal CP}^n$.
\begin{definition}
Let $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$ have \revise{row sum $1$}. Define
\begin{equation}\label{SDDplusU}
\textup{SDD}^n_+(U) := \{U^TYU:\; Y \in \textup{SDD}^t_+\} =U^T (\textup{SDD}^t_+)U.
\end{equation}
\end{definition}
The above definition is similar to the development in \cite[Section~3.1]{AhmHal17}, which makes use of the so-called $\textup{DD}(U)$. Here we assume that $U$ has nonnegative entries so that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ will be a subcone of ${\cal CP}^n$; see Proposition~\ref{prop2} below. In addition, we assume that the rows of $U$ have sum one: we can then always think of the rows of $U$ as points in the simplex $\Delta^n$. This is no less general than just considering $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$ with nonzero rows, because scaling rows of $U$ by positive scalars does not change $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$. \revise{Note that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is simply a linear image of $\textup{SDD}^t_+$ into ${\cal S}^n$. }
\revise{Some basic properties of this set are that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(I_n)=\textup{SDD}^n_+$, and that if $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$ is a submatrix of $\tilde{U} \in {\rm I\!R}^{s\times n}_+$ then $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U) \subseteq \textup{SDD}^n_+(\tilde{U})$. We show in the next example that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ can be strictly larger than $\textup{SDD}^n_+$ in general.}
\begin{example}\revise{
One can see that the matrix
$$M=\begin{bmatrix} 6 & 5 & 5 \\ 5 & 6 & 5 \\ 5 & 5 & 6 \end{bmatrix}$$
is in ${\cal S}_+^3 \cap {\cal N}^3$. However, $M\notin \textup{SDD}^3_+$; indeed, if we define
\[
W:= \begin{bmatrix}
1&-1&-1\\-1&1&-1\\-1&-1&1
\end{bmatrix},
\]
then ${\rm tr}(WM) < 0$ but $W\in (\textup{SDD}_+^3)^*$ thanks to Proposition~\ref{prop1}(ii), showing that $M\notin \textup{SDD}^3_+$.}
\revise{Now, suppose we set $U$ to be the $4 \times 3$ matrix
constructed from concatenating the identity $I_3$ with an all $\frac13$ row vector, i.e.,
\[
U = \begin{bmatrix}
1&0&0\\
0&1&0\\
0&0&1\\
\frac13&\frac13&\frac13
\end{bmatrix},
\]
and consider the set $\textup{SDD}^3_+(U)$. Then we know $\textup{SDD}^3_+ \subseteq \textup{SDD}^3_+(U)$ because $I_3$ is a submatrix of $U$. Furthermore, we have
\[
M=U^T \begin{bmatrix} 1 & 0 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 1 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 0 & 1 & 3 \\ 3 & 3 & 3& 27 \end{bmatrix} U \in \textup{SDD}^3_+(U),
\]
where the inclusion holds because
\[
\begin{bmatrix} 1 & 0 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 1 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 0 & 1 & 3 \\ 3 & 3 & 3& 27 \end{bmatrix}
= \begin{bmatrix} 1 & 0 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 3 & 0 & 0& 9 \end{bmatrix}
+\begin{bmatrix} 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & 1 & 0 & 3 \\ 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & 3 & 0& 9 \end{bmatrix}
+\begin{bmatrix} 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\ 0 & 0 & 1 & 3 \\ 0 & 0 & 3& 9 \end{bmatrix}\in \textup{SDD}^4_+.
\]
Consequently, $\textup{SDD}^3_+(U)$ is a strictly larger set than $\textup{SDD}^3_+$.}
\end{example}
We next give an important characterization of $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ that is crucial in our development of inner approximation schemes in Sections~\ref{sec3} and \ref{sec4}. Recall from \eqref{CPn} that ${\cal CP}^n$ can be seen as the convex hull of all $vv^T$ with $v \in {\rm I\!R}_+^n$. The next theorem shows that one can think of $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ similarly.
\begin{theorem}\label{prop:sddUconehull}
Let $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$ have \revise{row sum $1$}. Then $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is the conic hull of all $vv^T$ with $v$ belonging to some line segment $[u_i,u_j]$, where $u_i$ is the $i$-th row of $U$.
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
\revise{Note from Proposition~\ref{prop1}(iii) and \eqref{SDDplusU} that any matrix in $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ can be written as
$$\rerevise{\sum_{1\leq i< j \leq t}U^T \iota_{ij}(S_{ij}) U}$$ for some $S_{ij} \in {\cal S}_+^2\cap {\cal N}^2$.
Moreover, any matrix $S\in {\cal S}_+^2\cap {\cal N}^2$ can be written as $S=v_1v_1^T+v_2v_2^T$ for some nonnegative vectors $v_i \in {\mathbb{R}}_+^2$. Furthermore, we know that for any $v\in {\mathbb{R}}^2$, it holds that $\iota_{ij}(vv^T)=ww^T$ where $w\in \mathbb{R}^t$ is the vector whose $i$th entry is $v_1$, $j$th entry equals $v_2$, and is zero otherwise. Hence, we deduce that any matrix in $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ can be written as
$$\sum_{k=1}^N U^Tw_k w_k^TU,$$
where each $w_k\in \mathbb{R}^t$ is nonnegative and has a support of cardinality at most $2$. Conversely, it is easy to see that any matrix that can be written as such a sum is in $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$. But each $U^Tw$, with $w\neq 0$, is simply a (nonzero) conic combination of two rows of $U$, $u_i$ and $u_j$; so, up to positive scaling, it is in $[u_i,u_j]$, proving our claim.}
\end{proof}
We can now prove the following properties of $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$.
\begin{proposition}\label{prop2}
Let $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$ have \revise{row sum $1$}. Then the following statements hold.
\begin{enumerate}[{\rm (i)}]
\item The cone $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is a closed sub-cone of ${\cal CP}^n$.
\item $(\textup{SDD}^n_+(U))^* = \{Y:\; UYU^T\in (\textup{SDD}^t_+)^*\} = \{Y:\; UYU^T\in (\textup{SDD}^t)^* + {\cal N}^t\}$.
\end{enumerate}
\end{proposition}
\begin{proof}
From Theorem~\ref{prop:sddUconehull}, it follows that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is a sub-cone of ${\cal CP}^n$. It remains to prove closedness. Since $U$ is nonnegative and has no zero rows, the origin is not in the convex hull of $vv^T$, where $v$ belongs to some $[u_i,u_j]$, and $u_i$ is the $i$-th row of $U$. Hence $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is the conic hull of a compact convex set not containing the origin. Thus, it is closed.
To prove (ii), recall that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U) =U^T (\textup{SDD}^t_+)U$. From this we see that $Y\in (\textup{SDD}^n_+(U))^*$ if and only if
\[
{\rm tr}(Y(U^TWU))\ge 0\ \ \ \forall W\in \textup{SDD}^t_+,
\]
which is the same as $UYU^T\in (\textup{SDD}^t_+)^*$. This proves the first equality. The second equality in (ii) follows from Proposition~\ref{prop1}(ii). This completes the proof.
\end{proof}
Note that the construction of $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is fairly general. Anytime we have a cone ${\cal C}\subseteq {\cal CP}^t$ and a matrix $U \in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t \times n}$ whose rows have sum one, one can define the cone
\begin{equation}\label{CU}
{\cal C}(U) := \{U^TYU:\; Y \in {{\cal C}}\} =U^T {{\cal C}}U.
\end{equation}
This is easily seen to always verify ${\cal C}(U) \subseteq {\cal CP}^n$, since ${\cal C}(U) \subseteq U^T{\cal CP}^tU \subseteq{\cal CP}^n$. It is helpful to state in this language the usual LP inner approximations to ${\cal CP}^n$. Let $\textup{Diag}_+^n$ be the set of nonnegative \revise{$n \times n$} diagonal matrices. Clearly $\textup{Diag}_+^n \subseteq {\cal CP}^n$, so we can define
\begin{equation}\label{DiagplusU}
\textup{Diag}_+^n(U) := \{U^TYU:\; Y \in \textup{Diag}_+^t\}.
\end{equation}
This is nothing more than the conic hull of the matrices $u_iu_i^T$, $i=1,\dots,t$, where $u_i$ is the $i$-th row of $U$. The use of \eqref{DiagplusU} for inner approximation corresponds to the standard LP approximation strategy used, for example, in \cite{BunDur09}, where strategies for efficient choices of $U$ were explored.
Another possibility for obtaining an LP relaxation would be to use the cone of \revise{$n \times n$} symmetric nonnegative diagonally dominant matrices, denoted by $\textup{DD}^n_+$. We have $\textup{Diag}_+^n \subseteq \textup{DD}_+^n \subseteq \textup{SDD}_+^n$. So, if we define
\begin{equation}\label{DDplusU}
\textup{DD}_+^n(U) := \{U^TYU:\; Y \in \textup{DD}_+^t\},
\end{equation}
we would get $\textup{Diag}_+^n(U) \subseteq \textup{DD}_+^n(U) \subseteq \textup{SDD}_+^n(U)$. However, since one can easily see that $\textup{DD}_+^n$ is the conic hull of $(e_i+e_j)(e_i+e_j)^T$ for $1 \leq i \leq j \leq n$, it is not hard to see that $\textup{DD}_+^n(U)$ is simply the conic hull of $(u_i+u_j)(u_i+u_j)^T$ for $1 \leq i \leq j \leq t$, and hence can be expressed in terms of $\textup{Diag}_+^n(U')$ for some $U'$ that contains $U$ as a submatrix.
Other choices would be to use not submatrices in ${\cal S}_+^2$, as we did for $\textup{SDD}^n_+$, but matrices in ${\cal S}_+^3$ or ${\cal S}_+^4$. Note that it is still true in these two cases that ${\cal S}_+^i \cap {\cal N}^i\subseteq {\cal CP}^i$.
These cones would give better approximations, but we would get a much higher number of constraints that would not be second-order cone constraints but fully semidefinite. \revise{While the semidefinite constraints would still be small, the process would become more cumbersome and significantly less tractable}.
\subsection{A graphical refinement}
We saw above that $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ is a natural inner approximation to ${\cal CP}^n$. Furthermore, Theorem~\ref{prop:sddUconehull} suggests that the fundamental property of $U$ that guides the approximation is the collection of segments $[u_i,u_j]$. \revise{We might associate to the points $u_i$ vertices of a graph, and to the segments its edges, and think of the collection of points and segments as a concrete realization of the graph in ${\rm I\!R}^n$. This insight can be used to refine the approximation, making it more flexible.}
We start by generalizing the notion of $\textup{SDD}$.
Given a graph $G$ with vertex set $\{1,\dots,n\}$ and edge set ${\cal E}$, we define
\[
\textup{SDD}^G := \sum_{\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}} \iota_{ij}({\cal S}^2_+)
\]
\revise{and we set $\textup{SDD}^G := \{0\}$ if ${\cal E} = \emptyset$ by convention. The graph $G$ simply encodes which principal $2\times 2$ submatrices will be required to be semidefinite. In particular,} if we consider $G$ to be the complete graph $K^n$, this is simply $\textup{SDD}^n$. We can define $\textup{SDD}_+^G$ as the nonnegative matrices in $\textup{SDD}^G$, similarly as before. Then we can naturally define a generalization of $\textup{SDD}_+^n(U)$\revise{:}
\begin{definition}
\revise{For a graph $G$ with $t$ vertices and a matrix $U \in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t \times n}$ whose rows have sum one,} we define the cone $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ as
$$ \textup{SDD}^G_+(U) := \{U^TYU:\; Y \in \textup{SDD}^G_+\} =U^T (\textup{SDD}^G_+)U.$$
\end{definition}
\revise{It will be helpful to think of the rows of $U$ as points in the standard simplex $\Delta^n$ (i.e. with nonnegative coordinates summing to one). These points correspond to vertices of the graph $G$, and the edge set of $G$ simply encodes which pairs of rows of $U$ (vertices) are ``connected".} In other words, the pair $(G,U)$ is a realization of the graph $G$ inside \revise{ $\Delta^n$ with segments for edges}. We will denote by ${\rm seg}(G,U)$ the set of points in some \revise{ of the segments}, i.e,
$${\rm seg}(G,U)= \bigcup_{\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}} [u_i,u_j],$$
where $u_i$ is the $i$-th row of $U$. \revise{ This set completely controls the geometry of the cone. Based on this notion and the proof of Theorem~\ref{prop:sddUconehull}, we can immediately obtain the following refinement of Theorem~\ref{prop:sddUconehull} for the representation of $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$.}
\revise{\begin{theorem}\label{prop:sddGUconehull}
Let $G$ be a graph with $t$ vertices and $U \in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t \times n}$ be a matrix whose rows have sum one. Then $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ is the conic hull of all $vv^T$ with $v \in {\rm seg}(G,U)$.
\end{theorem}}
\revise{Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull} gives a simple way of translating results from the graph language to results about cones. In particular if we have ${\rm seg}(G,U) \subseteq {\rm seg}(G',U')$, we have $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U) \subseteq \textup{SDD}^{G'}_+(U')$, and
furthermore $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U) \subseteq \textup{SDD}^{K^t}_+(U)=\textup{SDD}^n_+(U) \subseteq {\cal CP}^n$, for all graphs $G$ with $t$ vertices and matrices $U \in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t \times n}$ whose rows have sum one.} \revise{On the other hand, if every node of the graph $G$ is covered by some edges, then $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U) \supseteq \textup{Diag}_+^n(U)$, the usual LP inner approximation. Thus, the graphical notation allows us to construct intermediate approximations somewhere in between the simple LP inner approximation and the full $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ version.}
We end the section by noting that most of our other previous results concerning $\textup{SDD}^n_+$ and $\textup{SDD}^n_+(U)$ can be adapted with no effort to this new cone.
\begin{theorem}\label{prop:properties}
Given a graph $G$ with \revise{$t$} vertices and edge set ${\cal E}$, and a matrix $U \in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t \times n}$ whose rows have sum one, we have the following properties.
\begin{enumerate}[{\rm (i)}]
\item $(\textup{SDD}^G)^* = \{Q\in {\cal S}^n:\; \iota_{ij}^*(Q)\succeq 0\ \ \forall \{i,j\} \in {\cal E} \}$;
\item $\textup{SDD}^G_+ = \sum_{\{i,j\}\in {\cal E}}\iota_{ij}(S^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2)$;
\item $(\textup{SDD}^G_+(U))^* = \{Y:\; UYU^T\in (\textup{SDD}^G_+)^*\}$;
\item $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ is a closed sub-cone of ${\cal CP}^n$.
\end{enumerate}
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
\revise{Immediate from the proofs of Proposition~\ref{prop1} and Proposition~\ref{prop2}.}
\end{proof}
\section{Inner approximation schemes for the completely positive cone}\label{sec3}
The main idea of this section is to approximate the solution to \eqref{P0} by using the cones $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ to replace ${\cal CP}^n$. More concretely
our scheme is based on the following family of optimization problems, which depends on a graph $G$ on \revise{$t$} vertices and a $U\in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t\times n}$ whose rows have sum one:
\begin{equation}\label{SDDP0}
\begin{array}{rl}
v_p(G,U):=\min & {\rm tr}(CX)\\
{\rm s.t.}& {\rm tr}(A_iX) = b_i,\ i =1,\ldots,m,\\
& X\in \textup{SDD}^G_+(U),
\end{array}
\end{equation}
and its dual problem given by
\begin{equation}\label{SDDP0dual}
\begin{array}{rl}
v_d(G,U):=\max & b^Ty\\
{\rm s.t.}& C - \sum_{i=1}^m y_i A_i\in (\textup{SDD}^G_+(U))^*.
\end{array}
\end{equation}
Note that the semidefinite constraints in \eqref{SDDP0} are imposed only on $2\times 2$ matrices. Thus, these problems are SOCP problems.
Recall from Theorem~\ref{prop:properties} that $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ and $(\textup{SDD}^G_+(U))^*$ are both closed convex cones. Also, notice that \eqref{SDDP0dual} has a strictly feasible point due to \revise{Assumption {\bf A}3} and the fact that ${\cal COP}^n\subseteq (\textup{SDD}^G_+(U))^*$ (which follows from $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U) \subseteq {\cal CP}^n$).
Consequently, if Problem \eqref{SDDP0} is feasible, then $v_p(G,U) = v_d(G,U)$, both values are finite and $v_p(G,U)$ is attained. Moreover, we conclude from $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U) \subseteq {\cal CP}^n$ that $v_p(G,U)\ge v_p$.
Furthermore, we have already pointed out that augmenting the embedded graph $(G,U)$ leads to an enlargement in $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$. In view of these observations, we will discuss strategies for constructing an ``enlarging" sequence of graphs $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ to possibly tighten the gap $v_p(G^k,U^k) - v_p$ as $k$ increases.
To simplify our terminology, we make the following definition.
\begin{definition}
A sequence of embedded graphs $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ is called a positively enlarging sequence if ${\rm seg}(G^k,U^k) \subseteq {\rm seg}(G^{k+1},U^{k+1})$, each $U$ is a nonnegative matrix having at least $n$ rows, each row of $U$ (the realizations of vertices of $G$) sums to one, and each node of $G$ is covered by at least one edge.
\end{definition}
Positively enlarging sequences verify $v_p(G^k,U^k)\ge v_p(G^{k+1},U^{k+1})\ge v_p$ by construction. Furthermore, once \eqref{SDDP0} is feasible for some $k=k_0$, it will remain feasible whenever $k\ge k_0$, since the sequence of sets $\{\textup{SDD}^{G_k}_+(U^k)\}$ are monotonically increasing. Moreover, we have noted above that we might think of the rows of $U$ to be in the simplex $\Delta^n$ so that we can think of this as an enlarging family of graphs embedded in $\Delta^n$.
We next study convergence of our inner approximation schemes for \eqref{P0} based on \eqref{SDDP0} when $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ is a positively enlarging sequence. We first prove a convergence result concerning a similar approximation scheme, which uses ${\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U)$ (as defined in \eqref{DiagplusU}) in place of $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ in \eqref{SDDP0}. This strategy was used in \cite{BunDur09}, which studied the pairs \eqref{SDDP0} and \eqref{SDDP0dual} with ${\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U)$ in place of $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$, and constructed an ``enlarging" sequence $\{U^k\}$ by adding new rows to $U^k$ from $\Delta^n$ at each step. To determine what rows to add, they solve another LP approximation scheme based on $U$, which they see as the set of vertices of a simplicial partition of $\Delta^n$,
and use its results to construct a sequence of $\{U^k\}$ with an increasing number of rows. In studying the convergence of that method they proved a version of the following result for copositive programming problems in \cite[Theorem~4.2]{BunDur09}. The version presented below will be useful for studying convergence of our inner approximation schemes for \eqref{P0}.
\begin{theorem}\label{convergdiag}
Assume that \eqref{P0} is strictly feasible.
Let $\{U^k\}$ be a \revise{sequence of matrices} whose rows have sum one, where for each $k$, $U^k\in {\rm I\!R}_+^{t_k\times n}$ for some $t_k\ge n$. Suppose that
\begin{equation}\label{limit}
\lim_{k\rightarrow\infty} \max_{x \in \Delta^n} \min_{i=1,\dots,t_k} \|x-u_{i}^k\| = 0,
\end{equation}
where $u_i^k$ is the $i$-th row of $U^k$. Consider for each $k$ the following problem:
\begin{equation}\label{Diag0}
\begin{array}{rl}
\tilde v_{p}(U^k):=\min & {\rm tr}(CX)\\
{\rm s.t.}& {\rm tr}(A_iX) = b_i,\ i =1,\ldots,m,\\
& X\in {\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U^k).
\end{array}
\end{equation}
Then the following statements hold.
\begin{enumerate}[{\rm (i)}]
\item $\tilde v_p(U^k)$ is finite for all sufficiently large $k$ and $\lim_{k\to\infty}\tilde v_p(U^k) = v_p$.
\item The solution set of \eqref{Diag0} is nonempty and uniformly bounded for all sufficiently large $k$.
\item Let $X^k$ be a solution of \eqref{Diag0} whenever the solution set is nonempty. Then any accumulation point of $\{X^k\}$ is a solution of \eqref{P0}.
\end{enumerate}
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
Note that the ${\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U^k)$ defined in \eqref{DiagplusU} is the conic hull of $u^k_i{u^k_i}^T$, where $u^k_i$ are rows of $U^k$. Note also that any element $X$ in ${\cal CP}^n$ can be written as the conic combination of $\frac{n(n+1)}2$ matrices $vv^T$, with $v\in \Delta^n$. Thus, in view of \eqref{limit}, $X$ can then be written as the limit of a sequence $\{X^k\}$, where $X^k\in {\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U^k)$ for each $k$. This together with ${\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U^k)\subseteq {\cal CP}^n$ shows that the sequence of sets $\{{\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U^k)\}$ converges to ${\cal CP}^n$ in the sense of Painlev\'{e}-Kuratowski \cite[Chapter~4B]{RockWets98}.
Since the mapping $X\mapsto {\cal A}(X) := ({\rm tr}(A_1X),\ldots,{\rm tr}(A_mX))$ is surjective by Assumption~{\bf A}2 and \eqref{P0} is strictly feasible, the vector $b$ and the set ${\cal A}({\cal CP}^n)$ cannot be separated in the sense of \cite[Theorem~2.39]{RockWets98}. Thus, \cite[Theorem~4.32]{RockWets98} shows that the sequence of feasible sets of \eqref{Diag0} converges to the feasible set of \eqref{P0} in the sense of Painlev\'{e}-Kuratowski.
It now follows from \cite[Theorem~4.10(a)]{RockWets98} and the nonemptiness of the feasible set of \eqref{P0} that the feasible sets of \eqref{Diag0} are nonempty for all sufficiently large $k$. Hence $\tilde v_p(U^k)<\infty$ for all sufficiently large $k$. Note that for each $k$, the dual problem to \eqref{Diag0} is dual strictly feasible because of Assumption~{\bf A}3 and ${\cal COP}^n\subseteq (\textup{Diag}_+^n(U^k))^*$. Thus, $\tilde v_p(U^k)$ is indeed finite for all sufficiently large $k$. Moreover, thanks to the dual strict feasibility, the solution sets of \eqref{Diag0} are nonempty whenever $\tilde v_p(U^k)$ is finite hence, in particular, are nonempty for all sufficiently large $k$.
Next, note that by Assumption~{\bf A}3 the dual problems of \eqref{Diag0} for each $k$ actually have a {\em common} Slater point, i.e., there exists a matrix
\[
\bar Y := C - \sum_{i=1}^m\bar y _i A_i \in {\rm int}\, {\cal COP}^n \subseteq {\rm int}\,(\textup{Diag}_+^n(U^k))^*.
\]
Therefore, there exists $\epsilon>0$ so that $\bar Y + \epsilon {\bf B}\subseteq {\rm int}\, {\cal COP}^n$, where ${\bf B}$ is the unit closed ball centered at the origin (in Fr\"{o}benius norm). Consequently, for any $X\in {\cal CP}^n$, it holds that ${\rm tr}(\bar Y X)\ge \epsilon \|X\|_F$. We now argue that the solution sets of \eqref{Diag0} are uniformly bounded for all $k$. Indeed, fix any $k$ so that the solution set of \eqref{Diag0} is nonempty, and let $X^k$ be a solution. Then $X^k$ is a Lagrange multiplier for the dual problem. In particular,
\[
\tilde v_p(U^k) = \max_y\left\{ b^Ty + {\rm tr}\left(X^k\left[C - \sum_{i=1}^m y_i A_i\right]\right)\right\}\ge b^T\bar y + {\rm tr}(X^k \bar Y)\ge b^T\bar y + \epsilon\|X^k\|_F,
\]
where the last inequality holds because $X^k \in \textup{Diag}_+^n(U^k)\subseteq {\cal CP}^n$. Since $\{\tilde v_p(U^k)\}$ is nonincreasing, we conclude from the above inequality that $\{X^k\}$ can be bounded above by a constant independent of $k$. Thus, the solution sets of \eqref{Diag0} are uniformly bounded for all $k$.
Finally, since the sequence of sets $\{\textup{Diag}_+^n(U^k)\}$ is monotonically increasing, we see from \cite[Proposition~7.4(c)]{RockWets98} that the objective function (with the constraint considered as the indicator function) of \eqref{Diag0} epi-converges to that of \eqref{P0} in the sense of \cite[Definition~7.1]{RockWets98}. The desired conclusion concerning limits of $\{\tilde v_p(U^k)\}$ and $\{X^k\}$ now follows from \cite[Theorem~7.31(b)]{RockWets98}.
\end{proof}
Since ${\textup{Diag}}_+^n(U)\subseteq\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ if the edges of $G$ cover all nodes, we get the convergence of the sequence of problems \eqref{SDDP0} for a positively enlarging sequence $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ under the same assumptions on $U^k$. But we can actually \revise{obtain the desired convergence result under a weaker condition}.
\begin{theorem}\label{thm3}
Assume that \eqref{P0} is strictly feasible.
Let $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ be a positively enlarging sequence such that
\begin{equation}\label{pt_cond}
\lim_{k\rightarrow\infty} \max_{x \in \Delta^n} \min_{y \in \revise{{\rm seg}(G^k,U^k)}} \|x-y\| = 0.
\end{equation}
Then it holds that:
\begin{enumerate}[{\rm (i)}]
\item $v_p(G^k,U^k)$ is finite for all sufficiently large $k$ and $\lim_{k\to\infty}v_p(G^k,U^k) = v_p$.
\item The solution set of \eqref{SDDP0} with $(G,U) = (G^k,U^k)$ is nonempty and uniformly bounded for all sufficiently large $k$.
\item Let $X^k$ be a solution of \eqref{SDDP0} with $(G,U) = (G^k,U^k)$ whenever the solution set is nonempty. Then any accumulation point of $\{X^k\}$ is a solution of \eqref{P0}.
\end{enumerate}
\end{theorem}
\begin{proof}
Note that from Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull} and the description of $\textup{Diag}^n_+(U)$ as the conic hull of all matrices $u_iu_i^T$ where $u_i$ is a row of $U$, \revise{if every node of $G$ is covered by some edges and }if we construct $U'$ by adding rows such that each new row lies in $[u_i,u_j]$ for some $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}$, we have $\textup{Diag}^n_+(U') \subseteq \textup{SDD}_+^G(U)$.
For each $U^k$, subdivide each segment $[u^k_i,u^k_j]$ into segments no longer than $1/k$, and \revise{add} these new points to $U^k$ to form $\tilde U^k\in {\rm I\!R}_+^{\tilde t_k\times n}$. Then for each $x\in \Delta^n$, we have
\[
\min_{i=1,\ldots,\tilde t_k}\|x-\tilde u^k_i\| \le \min_{y \in {\rm seg}(G^k,U^k)} \|x-y\| + \frac1k,
\]
where $\tilde u_i^k$ is the $i$-th row of $\tilde U^k$. Thus, the sequence $\{\tilde U^k\}$ satisfies the conditions of Theorem~\ref{convergdiag}. Consequently, from the proof of Theorem~\ref{convergdiag}, the sequence of sets $\{{\textup{Diag}}_+^n(\tilde U^k)\}$ converges to ${\cal CP}^n$ in the sense of Painlev\'{e}-Kuratowski. In view of this and \cite[Exercise~4.3(c)]{RockWets98}, $\{\textup{SDD}^n_+(U^k)\}$ converges to ${\cal CP}^n$. The rest of the proof follows exactly the same arguments as in the proof of Theorem~\ref{convergdiag}.
\end{proof}
An obvious way of guaranteeing the satisfaction of the condition \eqref{pt_cond} in Theorem~\ref{thm3} is to consider the rows of $U^k$ to be the set of points in $x \in \Delta^n$ such that $kx \in {\rm \mathbb{Z}}^n$, i.e. an equally spaced distribution of points in the simplex, with a growing number of points. This is in fact the strategy explored in \cite{Yil12} with the linear programming approach. As guaranteed by Theorem~\ref{thm3}, this is sufficient to get convergence in our case, independently of the edges considered, but we can get away with much less. Indeed, it is easy to see, for example, that we do not need to map vertices to the interior of the simplex to get convergence and, in fact, it is enough to uniformly sample the {\em boundary} of the simplex, \revise{ and form a graph with all possible edges between the chosen vertices.}
Finding embedded graphs that optimally cover $\Delta^n$ in the sense of minimizing the maximum distance to a point of the simplex seems to be a hard problem with no obvious answer, but many different strategies can be attempted. For practical purposes, it might be helpful to use the problem structure to design strategies for constructing $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$; these may not satisfy condition \eqref{pt_cond} and hence the convergence behavior can be compromised, but their corresponding problem \eqref{SDDP0} may be easier to solve. Indeed, as discussed in \cite[Section~1.4]{LoboVandenBoydLe98}, the amount of work per iteration for solving \eqref{SDDP0dual} is ${\cal O}((m + t_k^2)^2(4|{\cal E}|+t_k^2))$ when $(G,U) = (G^k,U^k)$. Hence, we will explore some problem-dependent inner approximation schemes in the next section.
Before ending this section, we would like to point out that the approach in \cite{Yil12} using $\textup{Diag}_+^n(U)$ for (rows of) $U$ equally distributed in the simplex is one of the few problem-independent inner approximations to ${\cal CP}^n$ presented in the literature. The only other approach is that of \cite{Lasserre14}, which leads to SDP problems. Although conceptually very interesting and with guaranteed convergence, this latter approach performs poorly in practice, because the size of the constraints grows very fast and the small instances that can be reasonably computed give weak approximations. In some sense, our SOCP based approximation schemes may lend some of the power of semidefinite programming to the LP approximation without completely sacrificing computability.
\section{Problem-dependent inner approximation schemes}\label{sec4}
In this section, we propose some problem-dependent heuristic schemes for constructing $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$. They typically lead to computationally \revise{more tractable} problems than a positively enlarging sequence satisfying \eqref{pt_cond}. As we shall see later in our numerical experiments, these problem-dependent schemes in general return solutions with reasonable quality, though their convergence behaviors are still unknown.
\revise{A related problem-dependent approach was developed in \cite{ahmadi2017optimization} for semidefinite programming. In there, they proposed the use of the cone $\textup{SDD}^n(U)$ and progressively enlarge the $U$ to obtain efficient inner approximations to ${\cal S}^n_+$. We propose in this section a related approach. The main difference is that in the semidefinite case considered in \cite{ahmadi2017optimization}, enlarging the $U$ is relatively simple, as we can always separate the dual solution to the inner approximation from ${\cal S}^n_+$, if it is not there. In the case of completely positive cone, however, there is no realistic way of even checking if the dual solution is copositive. Thus, a direct separation procedure, like the one proposed in \cite{ahmadi2017optimization}, is not viable. }
\subsection{Problem-dependent positively enlarging sequence}\label{sec4.1}
In this section, we describe a problem-dependent strategy for constructing a positively enlarging sequence $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ that can potentially perform better on specific problem instances.
After solving \eqref{SDDP0} with a choice of $(G^k,U^k)$, if the problem is feasible, one will obtain a solution $X \in \textup{SDD}_+^G(U)$. By Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull}, this $X$ can be written as a conic combination of $vv^T$ for $v \in {\rm seg}(G,U)$. Our plan here is to add these $v$ as vertices to $G$ and add some new edges from them, in order to increment the graph. The decomposition is not unique, so one has to carefully define what is meant by it.
First, note that for an $M \in {\cal S}^2_+\cap {\cal N}^2$, there exist $a \ge 0$, $b \ge 0$ and $v\in {\rm I\!R}^2_+$ so that
\begin{equation}\label{Mdecomp}
M = vv^T + \begin{bmatrix}
a& 0\\0& b
\end{bmatrix}.
\end{equation}
\revise{This is trivially true if any element in the diagonal of $M$ is zero. For other matrices, the above decomposition can be realized} by taking for example $v=(\sqrt{m_{11}},m_{12}/\sqrt{m_{11}})$, implying $a=0$ and $b=m_{22}-m_{12}^2/m_{11}$, which is greater than or equal to zero since $M \succeq 0$.
Now, for any $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$, one can see that $U^T \iota_{ij}(M) U = au_iu_i^T+bu_ju_j^T+(v_1u_i +v_2u_j)(v_1u_i +v_2u_j)^T$, where $u_i$ is the $i$th row of $U$, $1\le i<j\le t$. So, besides the vertices $u_i$ and $u_j$, we need at most one point coming from each edge $[u_i,u_j]$
to describe $U^T \iota_{ij}(M) U$. Since elements of $\textup{SDD}_+^G(U)$ are sums of matrices of this type for $\{i,j\}\in {\cal E}$ by Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull}, we have the following Lemma refining Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull}.
\begin{lemma}\label{lem:decomposition}
Any element $X\in \textup{SDD}_+^G(U)$ can be written as
\[
X=\sum_{i=1}^t \lambda_i u_i u_i^T + \sum_{\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}} \gamma_{ij} w_{ij} w_{ij}^T
\]
where $u_i$ is the $i$-th row of $U\in {\rm I\!R}^{t\times n}_+$, $w_{ij} \in [u_i,u_j]$ and $\lambda_i, \gamma_{ij} \geq 0$. \rerevise{Indeed, for the first sum, it suffices to sum over the $i$'s that are covered by some edges.}
\end{lemma}
A natural question to ask is which points we can pick in each segment. To answer this question, we assume without loss of generality that $m_{12} > 0$ (and hence $m_{11} > 0$ and $m_{22} > 0$) in \eqref{Mdecomp} and demonstrate how the $v$ there can be chosen. Note that $U^Tvv^TU$ is supposed to correspond to a $\gamma_{ij}w_{ij}w_{ij}^T$ in the decomposition in Lemma~\ref{lem:decomposition}.
Since $m_{12} > 0$, we must have $v_1 > 0$ and $v_2 > 0$. Then we just need to see what the ratio $r=v_1/v_2$ can be. What we saw above right after \eqref{Mdecomp} was the largest case, where we get $r=m_{11}/m_{12}$. The smallest it can get is attained by setting $v=(m_{12}/\sqrt{m_{22}},\sqrt{m_{22}})$, which gives us $r=m_{12}/m_{22}$. \revise{These two values for $r$ can be seen by noting that any extremal ratio $v_1/v_2$ for the $v$ in \eqref{Mdecomp} must correspond to $a = 0$ or $b = 0$.}
A balanced option, defined in a way that the ratio between diagonal entries of $v v^T$ preserves the ratio between the diagonal entries of $M$, is to take
\begin{equation}\label{balanced_op}
v=\sqrt{m_{12}}\begin{bmatrix}
\left(\frac{m_{11}}{m_{22}}\right)^{\frac14}\\
\left(\frac{m_{22}}{m_{11}}\right)^{\frac14}
\end{bmatrix},
\end{equation}
which corresponds to $r=\sqrt{m_{11}/m_{22}}$, the geometric mean of the largest and smallest possible ratios.
Based on these observations, we can now describe a general strategy for an iterative procedure to obtain upper bounds for \eqref{P0}.
\fbox{\parbox{5.7 in}{
\begin{description}
\item {\bf Scheme 1: Successive upper bound scheme for \eqref{P0}}
\item[Step 0.] Start with a {\em complete} graph $G^0$ and its embedding $(G^0,I)$ in $\Delta^n$. Set $k=0$ and $U^0 = I$.
\item[Step 1.] For an optimal solution $X^k$ of \eqref{SDDP0} with $(G,U) =(G^k,U^k)$, apply Lemma~\ref{lem:decomposition} to obtain points $w_{ij}$ for some $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}' \subseteq {\cal E}$
such that \rerevise{$X = X^k$} is a conic combination of $w_{ij} w_{ij}^T$ for $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}'$ and $u_i u_i^T$ for the vertex $i$ of $G$.
\item[Step 2.] Define a new graph embedding $(G^{k+1},U^{k+1})$ by adding new vertices at the points $w_{ij}$ (or at least some subset of them) and some new edges connecting those vertices to some of the previously defined ones, and possibly remove redundant edges and go to Step 1.
\end{description}
}}
\ \\
The general idea is therefore to, \revise{augment the graph at each step by adding} some vertices in the edges that were active in the optimal solution and some edges incident with them. All the steps have, however, some subtleties that need to be addressed.
The initial embedding $(G^0,U^0)$ is currently taken to be simply the embedding of $K^n$ into the vertices of $\Delta^n$, so that $\textup{SDD}^{G^0}_+(U^0)=\textup{SDD}^n_+$. If that is infeasible, however, the strategy does not work.
Nevertheless, assuming strict feasibility of \eqref{P0}, we know from Theorem \ref{convergdiag} that there is some small enough uniform simplicial partition of $\Delta^n$ that will make the problem feasible.
The decomposition obtained in Step 1 is not unique. There are two sources of variations. First, as discussed above, given a \revise{$2 \times 2$} semidefinite matrix $M$ such that $\iota_{ij}(M)$ \revise{appears} in the decomposition of $X$, we have some leeway on which point to pick in the edge $[u_i,u_j]$. Second, notice that even these matrices $M$ are not uniquely defined. Since the matrices $M$ will be a side result of the solution to \eqref{SDDP0}, the choice of algorithm and the way the problem is encoded will have some impact in the decomposition. As for defining the $v$ given the matrix $M$, we will use the balanced approach described above in \eqref{balanced_op} as it seems to perform well in practice.
The augmenting step (Step 2) is the most delicate of all. Different augmenting techniques will give rise to very different procedures. Here and in our numerical experiments, we consider two different approaches. We will present more implementation details in Section~\ref{sec:num}.
\paragraph{The maximalist approach:} In this approach, we add some new vertices and then connect all vertices to form a complete graph. This is \revise{memory consuming} and induces some redundancies: every node we add is in the middle of an already existing edge. Adding edges to those does not enlarge the cone $\textup{SDD}^G_+(U)$ and might lead to numerical inaccuracies, as we create multiple ways of writing points in a segment. Some pruning techniques could be applied.
\paragraph{The adaptive simplicial partition approach:} This is mimicking the technique introduced in \cite{BunDur09}, which maintains the set of edges as that of a simplicial partition. At every step we would pick edges to subdivide and subdivide all the simplices containing that edge. The choice of nodes and edges to add to $G^k$ in our approach is based on the solution we obtain from solving \eqref{SDDP0} for $(G,U) = (G^{k-1},U^{k-1})$. This is different from \cite{BunDur09}, which relies solely on an outer approximation to guide the subdivision process.\\
Note that we do not have any guarantee of convergence \revise{for Scheme 1}. However, geometrically one can see what must happen in order for the method to get stuck, i.e., for $\textup{SDD}^{G^k}_+(U^k)=\textup{SDD}^{G^{k+1}}_+(U^{k+1})$. As an immediate consequence of Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull}, this happens if and only if all the newly added edges in the embedding are contained in previously existing edges. \revise{This is because rank one nonnegative matrices are on the extreme rays of ${\cal CP}^n$(see \cite{abraham2003completely}). Thus, we see from Theorem~\ref{prop:sddGUconehull} that $\textup{SDD}^{G^k}_+(U^k)=\textup{SDD}^{G^{k+1}}_+(U^{k+1})$ if and only if ${\rm seg}(G^k,U^k) = {\rm seg}(G^{k+1},U^{k+1})$.} This is an extremely strong condition, that implies
essentially (depending on the scheme chosen to enlarge the graph) that the scheme gets stuck if for some iteration the optimal solution can be attained as a combination of only the nodes, and no elements from the edges. Or, in other words, the problem \eqref{SDDP0} has the same solution if we replace $\textup{SDD}^{G^k}_+(U^k)$ by \revise{$\textup{Diag}^n_+(U^k)$. On passing, we would like to point out that, in occasions where convergence is a serious concern, one can modify Step 2 of Scheme 1 by adding a random vertex in $\Delta^n$ in addition to those $w_{ij}$: this resulting scheme is guaranteed to converge in view of Theorem~\ref{thm3} if \eqref{P0} is also strictly feasible.}
\subsection{A \revise{forgetfulness scheme}}\label{sec4.2}
The use of a positively enlarging sequence $\{(G^k,U^k)\}$ can lead to large-scale SOCP problems when $k$ is huge. As a heuristic to alleviate the computational complexity, we propose a simple \revise{forgetfulness scheme}.
In this approach, we maintain the complete graph throughout. However, we always form $U^k$ by appending only the newly generated vertices to $U^0$, which we choose to be the identity matrix. The details are described below.\\
\fbox{\parbox{5.7 in}{
\begin{description}
\item {\bf Scheme 2: A \revise{forgetfulness} upper bound scheme for \eqref{P0}}
\item[Step 0.] Start with a {\em complete} graph $G^0$ and its embedding $(G^0,I)$ in $\Delta^n$. Set $k=0$ and $U^0 = I$.
\item[Step 1.] For an optimal solution $X^k$ of \eqref{SDDP0} with $(G,U) =(G^k,U^k)$, apply Lemma~\ref{lem:decomposition} to obtain points $w_{ij}$ for some $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}' \subseteq {\cal E}$
such that \rerevise{$X = X^k$} is a conic combination of $w_{ij} w_{ij}^T$ for $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}'$ and $u_i u_i^T$ for the vertex $i$ of $G$.
\item[Step 2.] Define a new graph embedding $(G^{k+1},U^{k+1})$: starting with $(G^0,I)$, add new vertices at the points $w_{ij}$ and then add edges between each new vertex and all vertices in $G^0$. Go to Step 1.
\end{description}
}}\ \\
Note that, in general, one cannot guarantee that the \revise{forgetfulness scheme} is even \rerevise{monotone}, as we are dropping the factors $u_i u_i^T$ that were a part of the representation of the optimal solution $X$ in Step 1. However,
in most studied random instances in our numerical experiments, the \revise{forgetfulness scheme} appears to be \rerevise{monotone}. The main reason could be that the algorithm tends to write $X$ as a conic combination of just the matrices $w_{ij} w_{ij}^T$ for $\{i,j\} \in {\cal E}'$. When this happens, we are guaranteed that the next iteration will be non-increasing, but this need not always be the case.
\section{Numerical simulations}\label{sec:num}
In this section, \revise{we report on numerical experiments} to test our proposed approaches. All experiments were performed in Matlab
(R2017a) on a 64-bit PC with an Intel(R) Core(TM) i7-6700 CPU (3.40GHz) and 16GB RAM.
We used the convex optimization software CVX \cite{cvx} (version 2.1), running the solver MOSEK (version 8.0.0.60) to solve the conic optimization problems that arise.
In our tests, we specifically consider the following strategies:
\paragraph{$\Delta$-partition:} In this approach, \revise{controlled by a parameter $k \geq 2$}, we generate the vertices of the graph $G^k$ as the $\binom{n+k-1}{k}$ vertices in the uniform subdivision of the simplex $\Delta^{n}$ into simplices of size $\frac1k\Delta^n$. We then add edges between two vertices whenever their supports differ by $2$.
Note that by Theorem~\ref{thm3}, if \eqref{P0} is in addition strictly feasible, then $v_p(G^k,U^k)$ will be close to $v_p$ for all sufficiently large $k$, \revise{so this strategy is guaranteed to converge as $k$ increases}.
\paragraph{Max:} This is a \revise{variant} of Scheme 1. Specifically, in Step 1, we decompose $X^k$ as described in Lemma~\ref{lem:decomposition} using the balanced option given in \eqref{balanced_op}. Then, in Step 2, \rerevise{we add to $G^k$ as new vertices all $w_{ij}$ whose corresponding entry $X^k_{ij}$} is sufficiently large as new vertices, and add edges between all vertices so that the new graph $G^{k+1}$ is complete.
\paragraph{Max1:} This is another \revise{variant} of Scheme 1. Step 1 is the same as in {\bf Max}. However, in Step 2, we {\em only} add the $w_{ij}$ corresponding to the largest $X^k_{ij}$ (if $X^k_{ij}$ exceeds a certain threshold) as a new vertex. We then add edges between all vertices so that the new graph $G^{k+1}$ is complete.
\paragraph{Adaptive $\Delta$-partition:} This is also a \revise{variant} of Scheme 1. Step 1 is the same as in {\bf Max}. For Step 2, the way of adding vertices is the same as in {\bf Max1}. However, the way we add edges mimics the approach introduced in \cite{BunDur09}, which maintains the set of edges as that of a simplicial partition. Specifically, we subdivide the edge corresponding to the $w_{ij}$ we added, and subdivide all the simplices containing that edge.
\paragraph{\revise{Forgetfulness:}} This is a \revise{variant} of Scheme 2. We perform Step 1 as in {\bf Max}. As for Step 2, we add all $w_{ij}$ whose $X^k_{ij}$ is sufficiently large as new vertices to the original graph $G^0$. We then add edges to join each newly added vertex to all vertices in $G^0$.\\
In Section~\ref{sec:ran}, we compare the strategies {\bf Max}, {\bf Adaptive $\Delta$-partition} and \revise{{\bf Forgetfulness}} on random instances of \eqref{P0}. We will also present results obtained via {\bf $\Delta$-partition} (with $k=2$) as benchmark. \rerevise{In Section~\ref{sec:stQP}, we will look at how {\bf Forgetfulness} performs on standard quadratic programs.} In Section~\ref{sec:combin}, we will first review the standard completely positive programming formulation of the stable set problem, and then examine how {\bf Max1} performs for some standard test graphs.
\subsection{Random instances}\label{sec:ran}
In order to test the performance of our method in a generic setting, we test it for randomly generated instances of problem \eqref{P0}. We generate our objective function by setting $C=M^TM$ where $M$ is an \revise{$n \times n$} matrix with i.i.d. standard Gaussian entries, guaranteeing strict feasibility of \eqref{P0dual}. Furthermore, we generate the constraints by setting $A_i=(M_i+M_i^T)/2$, where the $M_i$ are also \revise{$n \times n$} matrices with i.i.d. standard Gaussian entries, and choosing $b_i$ such that $b_i={\rm tr}(A_i(E+nI))$. This guarantees strict feasibility of \eqref{P0}.
For the first of our tests we varied the number of variables, $n$, and the number of constraints $m$, so that $n$ is either $10$ or $25$ and $m$ is either $5$, $10$ or $15$. Given the complexity of copositive programming, there is actually no reliable way to find the true solution for these problems and there is no available implemented method that can generate lower bounds with which to compare our results. As a work-around, throughout this section we will compare the results we obtain with the classical (and somewhat coarse) lower bound provided by replacing ${\cal CP}^n$ by ${\cal S}_+^n\cap {\cal N}^n$ in problem \eqref{P0}. We will use the difference of our approximations to this lower bound, normalized by \revise{dividing it by the bound}, as a proxy for the quality of the methods, and will simply denote it by \revise{relative} gap. \revise{Precisely, this quantity is defined by $\textup{gap}(x)=\frac{x-x^*}{|x^*|}$, where $x$ is the objective value attained by the method being studied and $x^*$ the doubly nonnegative lower bound.} This makes it somewhat easier to compare different methods across different instances of the problem. \revise{The drawback is that the gap we compute is actually the sum of the gaps of the proposed method and the doubly nonnegative approximation, which we don't know how to independently estimate.}
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|c|c|c|c|c|c|c|c|c|c|}
\hline
\multicolumn{2}{|c|}{} & \multicolumn{2}{|c|}{Max} & \multicolumn{2}{|c|}{Adaptive $\Delta$-Partition} & \multicolumn{2}{|c|}{Forgetfulness}& \multicolumn{2}{|c|}{$\Delta$-Partition}\\\hline
n & m &
time\revise{(sec)} & Relative Gap &
time\revise{(sec)} & Relative Gap &
time\revise{(sec)} & Relative Gap &
time\revise{(sec)} & Relative Gap \\ \hline
10 & 5 & 8.2 & 5.035e-02 & 25.3 & 6.362e-02 & 13.0 & 2.006e-02 & 4.6 & 4.620e-01 \\
10 & 10 & 19.5 & 2.281e-02 & 25.3 & 7.920e-02 & 23.0 & 1.849e-02 & 4.5 & 4.095e-01 \\
10 & 15 & 41.7 & 1.212e-02 & 27.6 & 8.207e-02 & 27.0 & 1.179e-02 & 5.0 & 2.995e-01 \\
25 & 5 & 23.0 & 6.748e-01 & 55.1 & 5.828e-01 & 38.4 & 2.975e-01 & --- & --- \\
25 & 10 & 45.8 & 4.660e-01 & 62.9 & 7.841e-01 & 52.7 & 2.020e-01 & --- & --- \\
25 & 15 & 71.8 & 3.715e-01 & 56.1 & 8.565e-01 & 61.5 & 1.545e-01 & --- & --- \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Comparison of different iterative approaches\label{tab1}}
\end{center}
\end{table}
The results obtained can be seen in \revise{Table~\ref{tab1}}, where we present both the average gaps and the average running time for the studied methods. A few technical details are needed to be able to replicate the experiment. The results presented are averages of 30 instances per parameter pair. Moreover we fix the maximum number of iterations for the Max, Adaptive $\Delta$-partition and \revise{Forgetfulness schemes} as, respectively, $5$, $20$ and $15$ for $n=10$ and $5$, $15$ and $12$ for $n=25$. This was done (in an ad hoc way) to try to keep the average execution time as similar as possible across iterative methods, so that a fair comparison can be made. Also, since the maximalist approach can occasionally explode in size, we also stop this approach early when $t_{k+1}> 200$ (Recall that $U^k\in {\rm I\!R}^{t_k\times n}_+$ for all $k$). For the \revise{forgetfulness} approach, we prune the $U^k$ in each step by removing redundant rows: we compute $\delta^k_{ij} := \|u^k_i-u^k_j\|_1$, where $u^k_i$ and $u^k_j$ are the $i$-th and the $j$-th rows of $U^k$ respectively, $j > i$, and discard $u^k_j$ if $\delta^k_{ij}< 10^{-6}$. We also stop this approach early when $t_{k+1}> 200$ for the $U^{k+1}$ after pruning.
The static $\Delta$-partition is not computed for $n=25$ as it \revise{takes too long}.
These results show that the \revise{Forgetfulness scheme} dominates the others in all categories as far as the relation quality/time is concerned. The \revise{relative gaps} of the attained solutions jumps from \revise{between $1\%$ and $2\%$ for $n=10$ to between $15\%$ and $30\%$} for $n=25$. Once again, we stress that these are upper bounds for the \revise{Forgetfulness scheme} quality as well as for the doubly nonnegative approximation quality, and we cannot separate the contributions from each method.
We also plot in Figure~\ref{fig:fgtgap} the evolutions of the gaps for the \revise{Forgetfulness scheme} for $10$ random instances of the problem \eqref{P0} with $n=25$ and $m=10$. We can see the logarithmic scale plot of the gap as iterations increase, and the diminishing returns in improvement percentage. Again, note that the true gap might actually be decreasing faster, as what we are seeing is the gap to the doubly nonnegative lower bound.
\begin{figure}
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{gapfgt.png}
\caption{Evolution of the gap for the \revise{forgetfulness scheme} as iterations increase}
\label{fig:fgtgap}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Standard Quadratic Program}\label{sec:stQP}
We now focus on a class of more structured completely positive programs, those coming from standard quadratic programs. A standard quadratic optimization problem (SQP) consists of finding global minimizers for a quadratic form over the standard simplex. In other words, given $p(x)=x^TQx$ for some $Q \in {\cal S}^n$, we want to find its minimum over the simplex $\Delta=\{x \in {\rm I\!R}^n_+ \ : \ \sum x_i = 1\}$. It is shown in \cite{Bom00} that this can be written as the completely positive program
\begin{equation}\label{SQP}
\begin{array}{rl}
p^*:=\min & {\rm tr}(QX)\\
{\rm s.t.} & {\rm tr}(E X) = 1,\\
& X \in {\cal CP}^n,
\end{array}
\end{equation}
where $E$ is the all ones matrix. It is not difficult to see that these problems always verify the blanket assumptions presented in Section \ref{sec1.1}. Furthermore, since
$\frac{1}{n}I_n$ is feasible, our hierarchy can always start from the base $\textup{SDD}$ relaxation.
To illustrate the behaviour of our method we start by taking the four concrete examples collected in \cite{Bom02} from several domains of application and applying the Forgetfulness scheme. We get the encouraging results shown in Table~\ref{Table:exSQP}, where we can see the source of the examples, their size $n$, their true solution $p^*$, and the approximate solution obtained by the Forgetfulness scheme in $5$ iterations (reported under the column approx.). We can see that the third example is the only one where there is a significant deviation from the optimal value, and all the results were attained in a few seconds.
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|l|c|c|c|c|} \hline
Example & $n$ & $p^*$ & approx. \\ \hline
\cite[Example~5.1]{Bom02} - independence number of pentagon & $5$ & $1/2$ & $0.50000$ \\ \hline
\cite[Example~5.2]{Bom02} - independence number of icosahedron complement & $12$ & $ 1/3$ & $0.33333$ \\ \hline
\cite[Example~5.3]{Bom02} - math. model of population genetics & $5$ & $-16\frac{1}{3}$ & $-16.331$ \\ \hline
\cite[Example~5.4]{Bom02} - portfolio optimization & $5$ & $0.4839$ & $0.4839$ \\ \hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Applying the Forgetfulness scheme in four small SQP examples} \label{Table:exSQP}
\end{center}
\end{table}
To further explore the behaviour of our approach we followed the idea of \cite{Bom02} to generate random instances of SQP. In that paper they generate matrices $Q$ to be $10 \times 10$, symmetric and with entries uniformly distributed in the interval $[0,1]$. However, solving five thousand random examples of such problems to global optimality with CPLEX, we noticed that the true solutions seem to be commonly in the vertices of the simplex ($48.5\%$ of observed instances) or in edges ($40.1\%$ of observed instances). But in those two cases, by Theorem~\ref{prop:sddUconehull} our relaxation finds the optimal value at the first step. In other words, simply replacing ${\cal CP}^{10}$ by $\textup{SDD}_*^{10}$ gives us the exact solution in $88.6\%$ of the times, with our iterative procedure only kicking in in the remaining instances.
To get a more meaningful test, we generated symmetric matrices $Q$ with diagonal $1$ and only off-diagonal entries uniformly distributed in the interval $[0,1]$. Experimentally this virtually never gives rise to optimal solutions in the edges of the simplex, leading to non-trivial instances.
We tested for both $n=10$ and $n=15$, comparing the results against the true value obtained using CPLEX.
The parameters were chosen in the same way as in the previous section with the number of iterations being $15$ for $n=10$ and $12$ for $n=15$.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[width=0.45\linewidth]{hist10.png} \hspace{1cm} \includegraphics[width=0.45\linewidth]{hist15.png} \\
\includegraphics[width=0.45\linewidth]{box1.png} \hspace{1cm} \includegraphics[width=0.45\linewidth]{box2.png} \\
\caption{Results of the random SQP tests for $n=10$ (left) and $n=15$ (right). The top graphs are histograms of the ratio between the true value and the attained upper bound, the bottom graphs box plots of the CPU times (in seconds) used by our method (1) and CPLEX (2).} \label{fig:SQPresults}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
We ran $1000$ instances for $n=10$ and $100$ for $n=15$. The results are presented in Figure \ref{fig:SQPresults}. On the top row we show the histograms for the ratios between the true value, computed using CPLEX, and our computed approximation, which provides an upper bound. We can see among other things that in both cases around half the instances were within $1\%$ of the true value and four fifths were within $10\%$. If we want to more directly compare it with the results attained for the random instances in Table~\ref{tab1}, one can compute the mean value of the true relative gap $\frac{\hat p-p^*}{p^*}$ where $p^*$ is the true optimal value returned by CPLEX and $\hat p$ is the approximate value obtained by our approach. We get $4.823\times 10^{-2}$ and $5.747\times 10^{-2}$ for $n=10$ and $n=15$ respectively, very much in line to what we have seen before.
On the bottom row of Figure~\ref{fig:SQPresults}, as a rough reference, we have the boxplots of the CPU times (in seconds) taken by our method and CPLEX, presented here in logarithmic scale for readability. In both cases we can see that the Forgetfulness scheme is quite stable, as it will simply stop after a set number of iterations, while CPLEX has a huge number of outliers. While for $n=10$ the exact CPLEX computation is faster, in $n=15$ it becomes much slower, with several outliers taking many hours. For larger values of $n$ it quickly becomes prohibitively slow compared to our approach.
\subsection{Stable set problems}\label{sec:combin}
While in the previous section we focus on random problems, the main focus of the completely positive/copositive programming literature has been in highly structured combinatorial optimization problems.
One of the most common applications is to the stable set problem, i.e., the problem of finding in a graph $G$ a set of vertices of maximal cardinality such that no two are connected with an edge. The cardinality
\revise{of such a set is known as} the independence number of $G$, denoted by $\alpha(G)$.
In \cite[Equation~(8)]{de2002approximation}, the following completely positive formulation was introduced for that problem.
\begin{equation}\label{stableset}
\begin{array}{rl}
{\alpha(G)}=\max & {\rm tr}(EX)\\
{\rm s.t.} & {\rm tr}((A_G+I)X) =1,\\
& X \in {\cal CP}^n,
\end{array}
\end{equation}
where $A_G$ is the adjacency matrix of $G$
In this setting we have \revise{a single constraint}, so $m=1$. Our inner approximations of ${\cal CP}^n$ will yield in this case lower bounds, from which one might be able to extract an actual feasible stable set with given cardinality. There are a number of good heuristic approaches to the stable set problem with good results, as there exist implementations of exact algorithms that can handle small to medium sized graphs, all performing necessarily much better than our all-purpose conic programming approach. However, we can still see how our approach performs on its own, to get some indication of its performance on low codimension structured problems.
In this class of problems, symmetry and structure likely imply that the growth of the matrix $U$ in the greedier Maximalist approach but also in the Forgetfulness approach is too fast and adds too much redundancy.
To avoid this phenomenon we take the Max1 approach: at every iteration we only add to $U$ the vertex that has the largest weight in the solution found. This yields \revise{a greedy sort of algorithm}, that in practice tends to grow the stable set greedily one by one. We stopped as soon as the greedy process got stuck and there was no improvement in two consecutive iterations.
We computed both stability numbers, $\alpha(G)$, and clique numbers, \revise{$\omega(G)$}, which are simply the stability numbers of the complementary graph. Following \cite{BunDur09}, we started by computing the clique numbers of the graphs where their method was tested.
\revise{Our method yields the correct answers in a relatively short time, as can be seen in Table~\ref{tabclique}, where our results are presented under the column ``result", and the column ``\revise{$\omega(G)$}" corresponds to the known clique numbers. Note that this is not too surprising, as finding a large stable set, or clique, is in a general sense computationally easier than proving that a larger one does not exist. In other words, lower bounding the stable set and clique numbers of particular graphs tends to be easier than upper bounding them, so our problem has a smaller scope than what was attempted in \cite{BunDur09}, leading to much faster times.}
The graphs in the table come from two sources, the first is a $17$ vertex graph from \cite{Pen07} that is notoriously hard for upper bounding by convex approximations, the other five come from the 2nd DIMACS implementation challenge test instances \cite{DIMACS}, and only hamming6-4 and johnson8-2-4 could be solved by Bundfuss and D\"{u}r's method in less than two hours as reported in their paper \cite{BunDur09}.
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|c | c |c |c | c|c |} \hline
graph & vertices & iterations & time(sec) & result & \revise{$\omega(G)$}\\ \hline
pena17 & 17 & 5 & 13.8 & 6.0000& 6\\
hamming6-2 & 64 & 31 & 836.7 & 32.0000 & 32\\
hamming6-4 & 64& 3 & 64.0 & 4.0000 & 4\\
johnson8-2-4 & 28 & 3 & 11.7 & 4.0000 & 4\\
johnson8-4-4 & 70 & 13 & 322.5 & 14.0000 & 14\\
johnson16-2-4 & 120 & 7 & 637.0 & 8.0000 & 8\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Clique number for different graphs}
\label{tabclique}
\end{center}
\end{table}
To explore the limits of our approach we tried a few more instances of the stable set problem. We tried Paley graphs, known to mimic some properties of random graphs, with some degree of success, and a few small-sized instances of graphs derived from error correcting codes, available at \cite{slo05}. The results are much worse in this family, with our algorithm failing in small instances, as can be seen in Table~\ref{tabstab}, where our results are reported under the column ``result", and the true stability numbers are presented under the column ``$\alpha(G)$". One word of caution is that the entire procedure is highly unstable, and simply changing the solver from MOSEK to SDPT3 can result in changes in the result, e.g. Paley$_{137}$ becomes exact in SDPT3.
\begin{table}[h]
\begin{center}
\begin{tabular}{|c | c |c |c | c|c|} \hline
graph & vertices & iterations & time(sec) & result & $\alpha(G)$ \\ \hline
Paley$_{137}$ & 137 & 4 & 977.4 & 5.0000 & 7\\
Paley$_{149}$ & 149 & 6 & 1841.6 & 7.0000 & 7\\
Paley$_{157}$ & 157 & 6 & 2254.1 & 7.0000 & 7\\
1tc.16 & 16 & 6 & 15.7 & 7.0000 & 8\\
1tc.32 & 32 & 10 & 85.5 & 11.0000 & 12\\
1dc.64 & 64 & 7 & 235.8 & 8.0000 & 10\\
1dc.128 & 128 & 13 & 2491.0 & 14.0000 & 16\\
2dc.128 & 128 & 4 & 823.6 & 5.0000 & 5 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Stability number for different graphs}
\label{tabstab}
\end{center}
\end{table}
\bibliographystyle{plain}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 36 |
## Contents
Cover
Also Available from Titan Books
Title Page
Copyright
Epigraph
Prologue
Book One: Between Desire and Darkness
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Book Two: Between Mystery and Madness
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Book Three: Crimson Peak
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
About the Author
### ALSO AVAILABLE FROM TITAN BOOKS
_Pacific Rim: The Official Movie Novelization_
Crimson Peak: The Official Movie Novelization
Print edition ISBN: 9781783296293
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First edition: October 2015
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Copyright © 2015 Legendary
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, not be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
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_"Love looks not with the eyes but with the mind."_
— WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE,
_A MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM_
## PROLOGUE
LOVE.
Death.
_Ghosts._
The world was drenched in blood.
A scarlet fog veiled the killing ground, then dripped down through the greedy, starved mineshafts into the tortured vats of claret clay that bubbled and gasped on the filthy, bone-white tile. Crimson earth seeped back up through the walls of mud. Allerdale Hall was ringed with brilliant red—a stain that clawed toward Edith's bare feet.
But that was the least of her troubles.
Hell's own child was coming for her. Implacable, unstoppable, a creature fueled by madness and rage, that had maimed and murdered and would kill again, unless Edith struck first. But she was weak, coughing blood and stumbling, and this monster had already claimed other lives—other _souls_ —stronger and heartier than hers.
Snowflakes blinded Edith's swollen cornflower-blue eyes; red droplets specked her golden hair. Her right cheek had been sliced open; the hem of her gauzy nightgown had soaked up blood, rot, and gore.
And crimson clay.
Limping on her injured leg, she moved in a slow circle, shovel raised as her chest heaved to the rhythm of the machine that had been built to plunder the earth of treasure. A clanking contraption that might still serve as the means of her destruction.
The sound pounded in her ears as she braced herself for the last battle. Nausea rolled through her as her heart skipped a beat. Sweat beaded on her forehead and her stomach clenched. Her bones ached and throbbed, and she could barely walk.
Everywhere she looked shadows loomed, red on red, on red. If she did survive, would she join them? Would she haunt this cursed place forever, enraged and afraid? This was no place to die.
_Ghosts are real_. _That much I know._
She knew much more. If only she had pieced the whole brutal story together sooner, heeded the warnings, followed the clues. She had uncovered the truth at a terrible cost, but the ultimate penalty now awaited her and the one who had risked so much for her sake.
Behind the snow and scarlet gloaming, she caught a flash of running feet. Her grip on the shovel was slick in her clammy grasp. Her ankle throbbed and she was freezing, yet her insides burned so fiercely she expected smoke to plume from her mouth.
She backed up, whirled around, eyes searching, breath stuttering. Then time stopped, and her heart froze as she caught sight of a blur of sodden fabric, and bare feet sucking at the red muck as they came at her. The sharp blade, fingers smeared with blood, the fury that wielded it. Death was no longer coming.
Death was here.
And her mind cast back to how it was that she, Edith Cushing, had come here to fight it.
_Once upon a time..._
_"For now we see through a glass, darkly;
but then face to face: now I know in part;
but then shall I know even as also I am known."_
— 1 CORINTHIANS 13:12
## CHAPTER ONE
### BUFFALO, NEW YORK, 1886
_T HE FIRST TIME I saw a ghost, I was ten years old._
_It was my mother's._
* * *
It was snowing on the day they put Edith Cushing's mother in the ground. Large wet flakes wept in a leaden sky. The world was colorless. Dressed for deep mourning in a black coat and a hat that framed her stricken white face, little Edith leaned back against her father's legs. The other mourners wore black top hats, heavy black veils, ebony coats and gloves, and jewelry wrought from the hair of their own beloved dead. The living folk of Buffalo owned entire wardrobes of fashionable ensembles designed for weeping and tossing clods of earth and rose petals on freshly dug graves.
The coffin—locked—gleamed like obsidian as the pallbearers conveyed the corpse of Edith's mother to its final resting place beneath the monument raised in hopes of eternal repose for the members of the Cushing family. Swirls of weeping angel wings enfolded generations of the dead.
Her mother's shriveled body had been so black that it looked as if she had died in a fire—or so Edith had overheard Cook describing it to DeWitt, their butler. Edith had been struck dumb by the horrific revelation, but had no way to confirm it. In the Cushing home, no one spoke to her about her terrible loss; all the servants fell silent whenever she walked into a room. She felt as invisible as a ghost; she wanted, needed someone to see her, wrap their arms around her and rock her, and tell her a story or sing her a lullaby. But the staff kept their distance, as if the little mistress was bad luck.
Now, in the churchyard, she spotted Alan McMichael and his sister Eunice. A year older than Edith, yellow-headed Alan with his ruddy cheeks was Edith's boon companion in all things. His blue-gray eyes, the only spot of brightness in the graveyard, found her gaze and held it, almost as if he were holding her hand. Beside him, Eunice was fidgety and a trifle bored. Though Eunice was but nine, she had already been to a plentiful number of funerals. They were Victorian children and death was not uncommon.
But Edith had only one mother to lose, and that was new and bewildering. Heart-crushing. Tears wanted to come, but they only hovered at the rims of her eyes. She was not to make a fuss; well-bred children were seen and not heard, even when their worlds were falling apart. Alan, watching her, seemed to be the only one who understood her unbearable grief. Tears sparkled in his eyes.
Eunice shifted her weight and played with one of her ginger ringlets. Alan tugged gently on his sister's wrist to make her stop and she batted at him. Their mother smiled wistfully down on them both as if she had not seen Eunice's unseemly display. Mrs. McMichael was still pretty, still alive.
Alan kept hold of Eunice's wrist. She thrust out her lower lip and their mother reached in the pocket of her sable coat, offering her daughter what appeared to be a sweet. Eunice grabbed it, jerking free of her brother's grasp. Now it was Alan who pretended not to notice what was going on—or perhaps he truly did not see it. All his attention was fixed on Edith as a huge sob threatened to burst out of her aching chest. There would be no more sweets from Mama, no smiles, no stories.
Black cholera had taken her. A horrible death, agonizing and slow. Edith's father had ordered a closed casket, and asked her not to look. So there was no parting kiss, no goodbye, no last words.
* * *
_That is, until she came back. Three weeks after she died._
* * *
Time did not heal all wounds.
Her mother had been dead for almost a month, and Edith missed her more than ever. The black wreath still hung on the door and the servants wore armbands in the mistress's memory. Cook had not wanted the maids to remove the black drapes from the mirrors. DeWitt said she was too superstitious and Cook had answered that she was merely _careful_. That you couldn't be too sure when the dead were concerned. Back in Ireland, the spirit of a maiden aunt got stuck in a mirror in 1792 and had been haunting the family ever since. DeWitt had replied that as the drapes had gone up before Mrs. Cushing had expired, and she was now buried, there was no chance that the mistress was trapped.
Yet the drapes stayed up.
Edith was lying in her little daybed, weeping quietly in the dark with her stuffed rabbit for company. The hurt in her heart seemed deeper and more painful with each passing night. Shadows of snowdrifts mottled the dusty covers of the books her mother and she had read together, a few pages every night. She could not bear to open them.
The grandfather clock at the end of the hall ticked between her sobs like an axe striking wood. Outside her bedroom window, the ever-present snow fell silently over the eastern shore of Lake Erie and the headwaters of the Niagara River. The Erie Canal had fostered the fortunes of Edith's family. Wind and frozen water. The beautifully appointed Cushing home was cold that night, as it had been every night since Mama's death. Edith felt as if it were she who had turned to ice, and could never hope to be warm again.
_I wonder if she is cold, down in the ground._ Edith couldn't banish the thought, even though she had been told a dozen times—a hundred—that her mother was in a better place.
She remembered when her room was the best place: the soft, gentle voice of her mother reading as she snuggled beneath the coverlet with a cup of hot chocolate and a hot water bottle.
_Once upon a time._
Playing lullabies on the piano when Edith couldn't sleep.
There was no music tonight.
Edith cried.
The clock ticked, counting off the seconds, hours, nights of life without Mama. Endless. Relentless. Heartless.
Then Edith heard a strangled sound that was halfway between a sigh and a moan. She jerked and clapped a hand over her mouth in surprise. Had she done that?
Her heartbeat stuttered as she cocked her head, listening hard.
_Tick, tick, tick._ Only the clock.
There it was again. A sad, low keening. A whisper of grief. Even... agony.
She bolted upright and slipped out of bed. As she crept across the chilly floor, the floorboards creaked and the rustle of silk caressed her ears. She was not wearing silk.
Cook had told DeWitt that Mama had been laid out in her finest black silk gown, and that her skin had turned just as black in the hours before she died. Cook had used words like "revolting, ghastly. A horror." She had been speaking of her mistress like a monster.
Of _Mama_ , who had been so beautiful, and smelled always of lilacs, and loved to play the piano. Who told her the most wonderful stories about plucky princesses who thwarted evil sorcerers and the princes who adored them. Who promised Edith that her own life would hold a "happily ever after" with a man who would build her a castle—"with his own two hands," she would say, smiling very dreamily, then add, "like your father."
But now, as Edith stared into the gloom, she couldn't keep that Mama in her mind's eye. Her thoughts kept returning to the monster, the horror, and she wondered if the shadows kept shifting of their own accord, or if that was the play of snowflake silhouettes on the wallpaper. She looked from the wall to the end of the hallway. It was not quiet there. The air seemed to flutter, and then to thicken.
Her blood chilled as a shape began to emerge from the gloom—a figure cloaked in shadow, floating at the end of the hall. A woman, swathed in once-fine black silk now tattered like the aging wings of a moth.
Was it just her imagination? A trick of the light?
Edith broke out in a cold sweat. _It's not there. It's not._
She's _not._
Her pulse raced.
It was not gliding toward her.
She was _not._
With a gasp, she turned away and darted back toward her bedroom. Her skin prickled and her cheeks felt hot. She tried to listen but could only hear a roaring in her ears and the thud of her bare feet on the carpet runner.
Edith did not see the thing that was trailing after her as she ran, or feel the skeletal fingers of a shimmering hand as they caressed her hair. Moonlight shone on finger bones, revealed a quicksilver glimpse of a tormented face, flesh eaten away.
No, Edith did not see. But perhaps she _sensed._
A shade. A spirit compelled by inextinguishable love to return, by desperation to speak. Gliding, with the rustle of silk, and the clack of bone and withered flesh.
Edith saw none of that as she scrambled under the covers and clung to her bunny, quivering in terror.
But seconds later, as she turned on her side, she went absolutely rigid with shock. She felt the decaying hand wrap around her shoulder, smelled the damp earth of the grave, and heard the desiccated lips, a hoarse distortion of the voice she had known better than her own as it whispered into her ear:
_"My child, when the time comes, beware of Crimson Peak."_
Edith screamed. She shot up and grabbed her eyeglasses. As she looped them over her ears, the gas lamps came back on. She hadn't even realized they'd gone out.
There was nothing—no _one_ —in the room.
Until, alerted by her shrieks, her father rushed in and gathered her up in his arms.
* * *
_It would be years before I heard a voice like that again—a warning from out of time, and one I came to understand only when it was too late..._
## CHAPTER TWO
### BUFFALO, NEW YORK, 1901
IT WAS MARKET day, and puffy white clouds tatted the sky like fine lace as Edith sailed over the muddy yard in her high-buttoned shoes. She had selected her burnished gold skirt, a white blouse, and a black tie to wear on this auspicious occasion. The skirt most closely matched her blond hair, which she had wound into a smooth chignon and topped with a smart new hat adorned with a modesty veil that identified her—to her way of thinking—as something more than a fashion plate and something less than a Bohemian. A bright young woman with ambition, then. And _talent._
For the first time in her life, she had something she had created, a product to sell—and a potential buyer. She hefted the heavy parcel and smiled secretly to herself.
Livestock, street vendors, carriages and the occasional motorcar threatened to splash mud on her clothes. Unblemished, she crossed into the busy commercial building where she, Miss Edith Cushing, had business to conduct, and started up the stairs.
She took it for a good omen when Alan McMichael, now Dr. Alan McMichael, hailed her as he came down the stairs, stopping to meet her as she ascended. They hadn't seen each other in ages; he'd been in England studying to become an eye doctor. She was rather startled to realize that he truly was all grown up, his face angular in that way adult men's faces were—baby fat gone—and his shoulders quite broad beneath his coat. He was not wearing a hat, and his hair was nearly the same color blond as hers.
"Edith," he said delightedly, "you know I'm setting up my practice?" He seemed to assume that she knew he'd returned.
_Eunice never said a word to me_ , she thought, a bit put out. But on the other hand, Edith hadn't been calling on the McMichaels. She hadn't been calling on anyone, and in polite society, that was rather rude. One asked after one's friends. Except that Eunice was not friendly, not in the least. One called on one's acquaintances, then. One inquired after their health and kept up with the important events in their lives—which in Eunice's case would include the minute details of parties, balls, and galas.
_How extraordinarily dull_ , Edith thought. _Oh, dear, I'm only twenty-four, and it appears that I'm already a crotchety misanthrope._
"At ten I'm going to see Ogilvie," she informed him, regaining her sense of excitement. "He's going to look at my manuscript and see if he wants to publish it."
She had begun the book before Alan had left for medical school, reading sections to him when they chanced to meet—rather more often than one would have anticipated, given that they were only friends. He had been the one to whom she had confided her mother's ghostly visitation, although of course Eunice had eavesdropped and told the whole world. And the whole world had mocked and ridiculed Edith. From that day to this, Edith had decided to exploit the wild imaginings of her grief-stricken ten-year-old self—for such they must have been—as the metaphor for loss in her novel. Though the memory of that nightmare still haunted her, she was grateful for the terrifying experience, as it had provided riveting grist for the mill.
His smile grew at the mention of the completion of her book. "You do know that it's only nine o'clock," he ventured.
"I have a few corrections I wish to make first." She began to go through a mental checklist of her revisions, then became aware that Alan had just asked her to stop by his new office soon, and was saying something about some uncanny pictures he wished to show her.
She gave him her full attention. She truly was glad to see him. So perhaps she wasn't precisely a crotchety misanthrope. Perhaps she was simply selective about whose details to keep track of. New business ventures were far more exciting than the latest fashions—although she did not consider herself a frump.
"I'm to help Mother," he was saying. "She's throwing a party tomorrow for Eunice's suitor. Why don't you come?"
As if on cue Eunice, some of her social-climbing hangers-on, and her mother, Mrs. McMichael, appeared on the stairs. They were dressed to the nines, and Eunice was glowing.
"We met him at the British Museum," Mrs. McMichael announced. "Last fall, when we were visiting Alan."
"You wouldn't believe it. He's so handsome," Eunice gushed, all rosy blushes.
Edith was able to feel happy for Eunice. The other girl's dream was to be well married. She would lead a husband a merry dance, that was for certain.
"And he has now crossed the ocean with his sister only to see Eunice again," Mrs. McMichael continued, preening.
"Mother, he's here on business," Eunice protested mildly, but her words were only for show.
"Or so he _says_ ," one of Eunice's sycophants trilled, and Eunice blushed. If she'd been carrying a fan, she would have fluttered it like a butterfly to cool herself.
Mrs. McMichael pressed on. "It seems he's a baronet."
"What's a baronet?" another of Eunice's companions asked, and Mrs. McMichael shrugged with studied nonchalance.
"Oh, well, an aristocrat of some sort—"
"A man who lives off land that others work for him. A parasite with a title." The sharp words tumbled out before Edith had a chance to hear herself. Alan grinned behind his hand. But Mrs. McMichael arched her brows.
"I'm sorry," Edith began.
But Mrs. McMichael could clearly hold her own when any sort of challenge was raised regarding a matter close to her heart. Or more accurately, her pride.
"Well, this _parasite_ is perfectly charming and a magnificent dancer. But that wouldn't concern you now, would it, Edith?" she added with asperity. "Our very own Jane Austen."
"Mother," Alan remonstrated her gently.
"Though I believe _she_ died a spinster." Mrs. McMichael's gaze was flinty, her mouth set in a tight, insincere smile.
"Mother _please_ ," Alan said.
"It's quite all right, Alan," Edith assured him. She met the older woman's gaze full on. "I would prefer to be Mary Shelley," she said sweetly. "She died a widow." Savoring her sally, she took her leave.
She found a space in the public library's reading room and set down her manuscript, pushed her glasses onto the bridge of her nose, took out her pen and ink, and set to making her changes. Her pen leaked and smudged her fingers, so that when she smoothed back tendrils of her hair, she unknowingly left her own fingerprints on her forehead.
She had no idea of her somewhat disheveled state when at last she made her way to Mr. Ogilvie's office. Early. Which the great and powerful publisher pointedly mentioned as she took a seat before his desk. She churned with well-concealed anxiety as page by page he read her cherished magnum opus.
She could have sworn she heard a clock ticking. Or maybe that was her knees knocking.
He sighed. Not a good sign.
"A ghost story. Your father didn't tell me it was a ghost story." Each syllable was laden with disappointment.
She was determined not to give up hope. "It's not, sir. It's more like a story... with a ghost in it."
She pointed at the manuscript with her ink-stained fingers. He pulled away. Undaunted, she said, "The ghost is just a metaphor, you see? For the past."
"A metaphor." He could not have sounded less enthusiastic. He read on a bit. "Nice handwriting. Firm loops."
_Oh, no. He hates it._
He put the manuscript down and rearranged it slowly, rather like a child's nurse folding up a soiled nappy.
"So, Miss Cushing, how is your father?" he asked. "In good health, I hope?"
* * *
"He said it needed a love story. Can you believe that?"
Edith was incensed all over again. She leaned forward in her chair, which sat catty-corner to her father's in the golden dining room of their home, where they were taking their evening meal together. It was sunset, and light spilled over the damask wallpaper and alabaster sconces. The silver serving dishes glittered.
"Everyone falls in love, dear," he ventured. "Even women." He was dressed for dinner, every hair on his head carefully combed, his beard immaculately trimmed. Though her father was nearly sixty, the pains he took bore fruit: he looked considerably younger.
"He said that just because I'm a woman," she grumbled as the maids carried in elegant platters. "Why? Why must a woman always write about love? Stories of girls in search of the ideal husband—being saved by a dashing young prince? Fairy tales and lies."
An expression she couldn't read flittered across his face. Then he said, "Well, I'll have a word with Ogilvie on Monday morning at the club."
Edith huffed. "You most certainly will not. I will do this. Alone."
The look he gave her was gentle, and she braced herself for his objections—which she had no doubt he would intend as fatherly concern and nothing more, but which could certainly not sway her from her decided course. Then he frowned slightly and leaned toward her, as if examining her under a microscope.
"When you met Ogilvie, were your fingers ink-stained like that?"
She grimaced, recalling the smudge on her forehead as well. She had only discovered it after her appointment. "I'm afraid so. It won't come off."
He brightened. "Aha." Then he set a small package before her with a flourish. "I was hoping this would be a celebratory gift but..."
She opened it and lifted out a beautiful gold fountain pen. It was the most magnificent writing instrument she had ever seen, and evidence of his faith in—and support of—her ambition to become a writer. Deeply touched, she kissed his cheek. Though he was flustered, the color in his face assured her that he was equally pleased.
"I'm a builder, dear. If I know one thing, it's the importance of the right tool for the job."
"Actually, Father, I would like to type it in your office," she informed him sweetly.
She almost missed his flash of disappointment as he regarded the gleaming pen, which was suddenly obsolete. "Type it?"
"I'm submitting it to _The Atlantic Monthly_ ," she said. "I realize now that my handwriting is too feminine."
"Too feminine?"
"It gives me away. I'll sign it E.M. Cushing. That'll keep them guessing."
He looked pensive. "Without a doubt."
## CHAPTER THREE
_T HIS DAY IS mine._
Despite yesterday's rejection, Edith was light on her feet. Her hopes buoyed her on confident wings. Once she had a fair hearing—her work read by someone who was not prejudiced against her gender—she was confident that publication would be hers.
She almost—but not quite—imagined how proud her mother would be if presented with a book her own daughter had written. But she held that thought at bay, refusing it a place to land. The image of that blackened hand on her arm, that stench, that horrible voice—
_It was only a nightmare. I was mad with grief._
_No, you weren't. You know exactly—_
She had arrived at last at her father's busy engineering offices. Dominated by huge models of buildings and bridges encased in glass, the airy rooms with their high ceilings proved a beehive of activity as engineers, clerks, and assistants examined miniature models, executed blueprints and measured drawings, and conducted the vast business of Mr. Carter Cushing. Her father had built some of the finest buildings in Buffalo, and in many other cities as well. Buildings of stone, brick, and iron that would carry his name and his vision down through the centuries. He was as much an artist in his world as she hoped to become in her own—in her case, the world of books and stories.
To that end, she sat ensconced in the chair of her father's secretary, her manuscript at her elbow, as she peered through her small round glasses at the alphabet keys, which were arranged in no discernable pattern. Hunting for each letter, it took a span of time to peck the title and opening line of the story. Several spans more to fill a page. Then, with a bit of coaching from the secretary, she touched the return lever and the carriage zipped across the top of the contraption with thrilling speed. Edith was delighted.
"It'll take me all day, but it does make it look rather handsome, don't you think?" she said.
The secretary busied herself with hefting a box file onto a shelf. Edith settled back to staring at the odd arrangement of letters on the keys when she became aware that there was some sort of shadow being thrown on the typewriter. She squinted, the merest bit vexed.
"Good morning, miss," said a voice. Male, English.
She looked up.
The bluest eyes she had ever seen were focused on her. She blinked, riveted. The visitor's face was chiseled, his dark hair neatly arranged, yet some curls had refused to be tamed. Her writer's brain conjured words to describe him: _astonishing, elegant, winning._ He was dressed in a blue velvet suit that had at one time been resplendent—yes, another good word—perfectly cut to mold his slim build, but was now nearly threadbare at the cuffs. His ensemble did not speak of poverty, precisely, but he was certainly not well off. Yet he acknowledged her look with a sort of courtly grace that did speak of good manners and a cultivated upbringing.
Other words sprang to mind: _uncommonly handsome_.
She revealed none of this as she waited to see what he would say next. For her part, the secretary was quite breathless. The man also carried a box, wooden and polished, under his arm. It looked heavy; he would have made short work of the task.
"Forgive the interruption," he said, his upper-class British accent falling tantalizingly on her American ears, "but I have an appointment with Mr. Carter Everett Cushing, Esquire."
Her father, in other words.
"Goodness. With the great man himself?" Edith asked, assuming a bland tone. She was rather taken with him, but it was not considered proper for a lady to behave too warmly to a man she did not know. And on occasion, Edith had been known to behave properly.
"I'm afraid so." His smile was a bit tentative and she realized that he was nervous. That only added to his attractiveness, as far as she was concerned. Dashing as he was, he was still human. She kept her eyes fastened on him as he produced a business card and presented it to her.
"Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet," she read aloud. Then it dawned on her that this was Eunice's aristocrat. Her _parasite_. Good Lord, she _was_ a crotchety misanthrope. She was the Elizabeth Bennett of her day. In _Pride and Prejudice_ , Jane Austen's heroine had come to the exact same foregone conclusion about Mr. Darcy, who had been rakishly handsome and debonair—yet upper-class, and therefore worthy of Elizabeth's middle-class contempt for a do-nothing snob.
"I will call him." The secretary moved swiftly to do just that.
Sir Thomas Sharpe crooked his neck as he looked down at her desk.
"You're not late, are you?" Edith asked. "He hates that."
"Not at all. In fact, I'm a bit early."
_A man after my own heart. So to speak._
"Oh. I'm afraid he hates that, too." She wasn't certain why she was teasing him so. It didn't matter; she was failing to get a rise out of him. His nervousness had dissipated. In fact, he seemed rather distracted. She was a bit crushed.
"I'm sorry, I don't mean to pry. But—" he gestured at her manuscript, and she realized then that he'd craned his neck in order to read it "—this is a piece of fiction, is it not?"
She nodded, concealing her consternation. She wanted to explain that the ghost was a metaphor, and to assure him that she had already decided that it was just too silly for the heroine to fall in love with Cavendish on page one and she was going to change it back to the way it had been before Ogilvie had turned it down. She shouldn't have listened to him, even if he was a famous publisher. Love stories _were_ fairy tales and lies as far as she was concerned and... good Lord, he was reading more of it.
"Who are you transcribing this for?" he asked, genuinely interested. But she couldn't tell if he was intrigued or horrified by the text on the page.
She decided to dodge his question. If he hated it, that would be altogether mortifying. "It's to be sent to New York tomorrow. _The Atlantic Monthly_."
He took that in. Read another page. "Well, whoever wrote this is quite good, don't you think?"
Delighted, she tipped back her head, the better to read his reaction. "Is it?" she tested.
He shrugged as if to say, _Isn't it obvious to you that it's good?_ "It's captured my attention."
He was being sincere. He truly liked it. He liked her book. Not since Alan had anyone read any of it... until Ogilvie. And Alan had listened carefully, but hadn't provided commentary except to say things such as, "That's a nice description of the countryside," or, "I'm sorry, I'm confused. Is the ghost real or not?"
But Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet, had pronounced it _quite good._ No doubt he'd attended superior boarding schools and studied at a great university such as Oxford. He probably had a vast library in his castle and had read Virgil in the original Latin. How could her little book compare?
Favorably, that was how. He had said so himself. She was galvanized. Here was a kindred spirit.
Should she confess? Why not?
"I wrote it. It's mine." She heard the pride in her voice.
He brightened measurably. His lips parted and he was about to say something more when her father's deep voice boomed out.
"Sir Thomas Sharpe. Welcome to our fair city."
Carter Cushing approached. As he regarded the Englishman, a cloud crossed his face, then vanished when he turned his attention to her.
"I see you've met my daughter, Edith."
Edith enjoyed Sir Thomas's flicker of surprise and smiled at the speechless man as her father escorted him toward the meeting room. The younger man carried his wooden box as if it were a precious object, and Edith determined to find out why he was there. Everything about him was immensely interesting. She rose from the desk, leaving her manuscript where it lay.
By then the two men had entered the meeting room. She peered through the open door and saw that some of the most prominent businessmen in Buffalo had taken places at the polished desks positioned in a circular arrangement. It was a high-profile gathering; she spotted Mr. William Ferguson, her father's lawyer. All eyes were on young Sir Thomas Sharpe, who stood in the center. No wonder he'd been nervous. It was like facing a dozen Ogilvies.
"The Sharpe clay mines have been Royal Purveyors of the purest scarlet clay since 1796." His voice was firm and authoritative, all traces of the jitters utterly vanished. He held up another wooden container, this one much smaller than the box. Inside lay a deep scarlet brick with some sort of seal on it. He passed it around to the august bewhiskered men, and each examined the intensely hued clay.
Intrigued, Edith walked into the room and shut the door after herself. Her father's colleagues were used to her observing from the perimeter and paid her no mind. But Sir Thomas's gaze flickered, and she was both abashed and pleased that she had proved a distraction.
"Excessive mining in the last twenty years caused most of our old deposits to collapse, which crippled our operations and endangered our ancestral home," Sir Thomas continued.
_He has an ancestral home. Just like Cavendish in my novel_ , Edith thought.
"You leeched the life out of the land, is that what you're saying?" her father asked sharply. "Bled it dry—"
"No," Sir Thomas protested, still quite calm. "New clay shales exist but have proved elusive to reach."
_Well said_ , Edith thought approvingly. Her father was even more intimidating than Ogilvie. She decided to observe Sir Thomas in action and learn what she could of the fine art of salesmanship. Authors often watched the world so that they could properly render it on the page.
However, during her musings on the subject of being more observant, she had missed a portion of Sir Thomas's demonstration. He had opened the larger wooden box and pulled out a scale model of what Edith recognized from her many days in her father's office as a mining drill. He had connected the drill to a little brass boiler and with a theatrical hiss of steam, the burnished brass levels and gears started moving. The drill spun. The miniature was charming, and clearly also quite impressive, for the men leaned forward as they studied it. Little buckets crept upward and she could just picture them scooping out ruby-red clay and depositing it on a wagon.
"This is a clay harvester of my own design," Sir Thomas said. "It matches the output of a ten-man crew. Transports the clay upwards as it digs deep. This machine can revolutionize mining as we know it."
The men began to applaud, and Edith was pleased for the earnest young aristocrat. What a clever inventor he was. Clever and handsome, then. Eunice was a lucky girl... though Edith doubted her impeding engagement to this man had anything to do with luck and everything to do with her mother's ambitions. If she knew Mrs. McMichael, the lady had lain in wait for Sir Thomas at the British Museum and "happened" to engage him in some way that, while perhaps somewhat forward, would not have been considered indiscreet or ill-mannered. And the hours Eunice had likely spent primping just in case the meeting was successful would have been time well spent. She _was_ a very beautiful young woman.
Then Edith noted that among all those present, her father was the only one _not_ applauding. In fact, he was scowling.
"Turn it off," he barked, then softened his command, "please. Who built that?"
Sir Thomas inclined his head. "I built and designed the model myself."
_I'll bet he could build a more sensible typewriter_ , Edith thought. _Honestly, the arrangement of the letters makes no sense at all._
In the ensuing silence, the other businessmen regarded her father, whose cold smile bespoke his skepticism.
"Have you tested it? Full scale?"
"I'm very close, sir, but with the funding—"
"So all you have is a toy and some fancy words," her father interrupted.
Sir Thomas's face fell, and Edith felt a rush of protective indignation on his behalf. Carter Cushing had every right to question him, of course, but his tone was quite biting. Dismissive. _Just_ like Ogilvie.
Her father picked up a document that had been lying at his elbow and scrutinized it before he spoke again. "You have already tried—and failed—to raise capital in London, Edinburgh, Milan."
The Englishman raised his brows just a bit, obviously surprised. "Yes, sir. That's correct."
Her father stood. "And now you're here." His voice held a sharper edge, and Edith unconsciously pushed away from the wall. However, she was in no position to argue whatever point her father was about to make. This was Sir Thomas's battle, and if she spoke up, it would only embarrass him.
"Correct again," Sir Thomas replied.
"The men at this table, all of us, came up through honest, hard work. _Almost_ all of us. Mr. Ferguson is a lawyer, but even he can't help that."
It was a tired joke, but the titans of Buffalo industry laughed anyway. They gave each other looks that indicated that Cushing had a point. They _had_ "come up" through honest, hard work. By implication, Sir Thomas had not. The men in this room held the same inverted snobbery Edith had held herself until very recently—perhaps an hour ago at most.
The titled, very English Sir Thomas stood alone in a room filled with hardscrabble Americans who put stock in results and not in charming presentations. Edith sensed that the tide was turning in favor of her father and his disdain, though of what—Sir Thomas's invention or the man himself—she wasn't certain.
"I started out a steel worker, raising buildings so that I could own them," her father went on. He approached Sir Thomas with raised hands. "Rough. They reflect who I am. Now, you, _sir_..."
He gripped Sir Thomas's hands; the younger man's back stiffened slightly, and Edith recalled reading that English people were more standoffish than their American counterparts. Perhaps he didn't like to be touched. She wondered what it would be like, however, to touch his fingertips. Perhaps even his unsmiling lips.
And _she_ should not be thinking of such things.
"You have the softest hands I've ever felt," her father announced. "In America, we bank on effort, not privilege. That is how we built this country."
_But he is being unfair_ , Edith thought. _Sir Thomas told him that he designed and built the model himself. It must have taken some doing to visualize and construct such a revolutionary device._ It occurred to her that he was a creative person like herself—and he too was about to be rejected.
Her father moved away from Sir Thomas. The baronet's deep blue eyes flared with passion, and he raised his chin.
"I am here with all that I possess, sir." He spoke most respectfully and with humility, a counterpoint to her father's patronizing, judgmental tone. "A name, a patch of land, and the will to make it yield. The least you can grant me is the courtesy of your time and the chance to prove to you, and these fine gentleman, that my will, dear sir, is, at the very least, as strong as yours."
_Well done, so very well said_ , Edith thought, and as Sir Thomas glanced toward her, she sensed that it was time for her to withdraw. Sir Thomas was intent on standing his ground, and perhaps he might feel his speech constrained by a lady's presence. He was in total command of himself and fully prepared to stand up to her father. Many other men had withered in the attempt.
_He is not going to wither. I can feel it._ A shock jittered up her spine. _I have strength of will, too. I am like him._
What she felt was more than that. It was something she had only read about, and before now, never believed in. She blushed and turned away. As she left the room, she began to tremble, and it took all her own strength not to turn back for one last gaze at Eunice McMichael's suitor.
## CHAPTER FOUR
EDITH LOOKED OUT on a great and dirty city. Dickens would have termed it thus, a city saturated with gloom and soot. Slanting torrents of rain turned the streets of Buffalo into fields of mud as thick as clay.
Huddled in their greatcoats, under umbrellas, pedestrians hurried past Cushing Manor, anxious to avoid the deluge, while inside the Cushings' servants turned on the gas lamps. A warm glow emanated from the prosperous redbrick building, dissolving into the gloaming.
Edith wore a mustard-yellow dressing gown as she fondly regarded her father, while he scrutinized his reflection in the mirror. He looked dapper in his tails, and his waistcoat was her favorite gold one. His birthday was in a couple of weeks, and she had a wonderful surprise planned for him—a bound presentation book of watercolor sketches of his most important building projects. It was being completed now.
"I need a corset," he said with a sigh as he appraised the slight girth of his middle.
His vanity touched her because of the vulnerability it revealed. She went to him and tied his bow tie.
"No, you don't."
"I wish you'd change your mind and come along tonight. Mrs. McMichael's gone to a lot of trouble." He grunted. "Little Lord Fauntleroy will be there."
She almost chuckled at his choice of names, but didn't. He had been too stern with Sir Thomas, and she didn't want him to think she shared his contempt. Far from it.
"You mean Thomas Sharpe?" she said pointedly.
" _Sir Thomas Sharpe_ , _baronet_. Apparently he has taken an interest in young Eunice."
And she wondered if Eunice appreciated him beyond the allure of his title and charm. He was an intelligent, innovative man who would thrive when matched with a partner who enjoyed the life of the mind. Eunice preferred shopping and dances. But perhaps that was all _he_ expected from a wife. Her father had raised her differently. As an heiress, she could afford to be quite particular about what she wanted in a husband. In all honesty, she had very seriously entertained the notion that she might never marry. Were Sir Thomas free, she might consider it. But he was not.
Even so, she couldn't stop herself from rising to his defense. "Was his proposal so outrageous as to merit such a harsh answer from you?"
"It wasn't his proposal, my love, it was _him_. There's something about him that I don't like. What, I don't know." He shrugged. "And I don't like not knowing."
"You were cruel," Edith insisted.
"Really? Maybe that's how I conduct business, child."
"What I saw was a dreamer facing defeat. Did you not notice his suit? Beautifully tailored—but at least a decade old. And his shoes were handmade but worn." _And I'm not sure I'm helping his case. My father is a successful businessman who deals with other successful people._
"I can see you observed far more than I did." He quirked an eyebrow and she fought down her flush. "At any rate, he'll have his chance. The boardroom wants to hear more about it. In spite of my reservations."
That pleased her. She was about to say so as she helped him on with his jacket when the doorbell rang.
"That'll be young Dr. McMichael," her father declared with real warmth. "He's brought his new motorcar to collect me. Come and see it. Say hello to him. He's just opened his new practice." He headed toward the hallway. "He's always been awfully fond of you."
They descended the staircase together. "I know that, Father." Alan had been her childhood playmate and had grown up to be her friend. She knew that there was no romantic spark between them. After all, she was about to welcome a visitor wearing nothing but her dressing gown. If he were a serious suitor, her father would not have permitted such a breach of etiquette.
_Nonsense. He never even notices such things._
The door opened to pouring rain and Alan, who cut quite a figure in his formal wear. His blond hair was swept back and neater than usual, and his eyes shone when he caught sight of her. She grinned back at him, not at all embarrassed to be seen looking less than her best.
"Good evening, Mr. Cushing. Edith."
"My, don't we look smart, Alan," she said easily.
"Oh, you like it? It's just something I threw together," he bantered.
"It's Edith who should be the belle of the ball, don't you agree, Alan?" said her father. A servant brought his hat and coat and Edith hoped his good mood lasted long enough for him to be a bit kinder to Sir Thomas.
"I was rather hoping it would be so." Alan cocked his head. "But Edith takes a dim view of social frivolity."
"As I recall, you're not so keen on it yourself," she shot back.
He made a face. "Tonight, I have no choice. Eunice would never forgive me."
_That's true_ , Edith thought. _If anyone can hold a grudge, it's Eunice McMichael._ She had watched Eunice shun former best friends for the flimsiest of imagined slights.
Edith regarded the two men fondly. "You lads enjoy yourselves." Then she whispered sotto voce to Alan, "Please don't let him drink too much."
* * *
The door to Cushing Manor closed as firmly as Edith's refusal to attend the soirée. As Alan held out an umbrella for Mr. Cushing and they walked toward his motorcar, he was disappointed but not surprised that she was staying home. He would have skipped the party, too, if it weren't being held in his home, by his family. Still, if Eunice married the young aristocrat, she would leave home and perhaps then Edith would call on the McMichaels more frequently. He certainly understood why she kept her distance. He loved his sister, but she could be quite mean.
"So she's not coming." It wasn't a question. It was an opening gambit to find out precisely why. He had his opinions, but it stung him a bit that though he was but newly returned, she had not found that sufficient reason to put on a pretty dress and take a turn on the dance floor with him.
"I tried," Mr. Cushing said. "Stubborn to the bone."
"And where does she get that from?" Alan jabbed playfully. "I like it."
Her willfulness indicated that Edith had a mind of her own, and he did like her mind. She was a prodigious wit and very creative, too. He was a man of science, not given to flights of fancy such as hers. He'd loved hearing her read passages from her book so long ago, but had never known exactly what to say in response. "I like it" had always sounded so weak.
"So do I," her doting father admitted.
They climbed in and Alan guided the car into the rainy street. Next stop: social frivolity. If only Edith had consented to attend. She would have brought a ray of sunshine into a tedious, rainy night.
* * *
_I couldn't go, of course. I had so much to do: I was busy reading about clay mining in the north of England. And about the Sharpes' home, Allerdale Hall. One of the most elegant homes in Northern England._
* * *
Edith knew that she would never see Sir Thomas's ancestral home, but she was curious about it. And about him. She had already decided to rewrite Cavendish so that he more resembled the inscrutable young man—a common practice of authors she had learned from her research about the literary life. After her father and Alan's departure, Edith lay sprawled on her large bed and studied a thick book replete with maps of England and intricate engravings of daily life. Cumberland, England, was the location of the Sharpe clay mines and their "family seat": an enormous, castle-like building. Carriages entered and exited via a porte cochère; ladies with parasols strolled alongside gentlemen in top hats carrying walking canes.
It was enchanting. She imagined Sir Thomas drinking tea and discussing his invention with beautifully dressed visitors in a room decorated with oil paintings of his noble ancestors and a coat of arms over the mantel. She had never been to England, although she had read all the important British authors and some of the popular ones as well. She liked Charles Dickens very much, and her secret guilty pleasures were the ghost stories of Sheridan Le Fanu and Arthur Machen. She and her mother had read the Shakespeare plays, of course. Her mother's favorite had been _A Midsummer Night's Dream._ But for her money, she would take _Hamlet_ or _Macbeth._ Stories with ghosts in them. She could imagine Thomas taking her to see a Shakespeare play in London.
Sir _Thomas, you twit_ , she remonstrated herself. _And he's practically engaged to Eunice. They'll probably make the announcement tonight._
Which was the real reason, of course, that she was not attending the ball. One must be philosophical about these things. And while she had no hopes of being with him, she fully intended on escaping into the charming, mysterious man's world, even if just for a few hours, by burying her nose in these books. The old world. Titles and privilege. So much depended on the accident of one's birth. If you were the oldest son, you got everything. But if you were a younger brother, or a sister...
She wondered if Sir Thomas had siblings. She imagined him with doting parents. And a dog. Several. Hunting dogs, perhaps, though the notion of actual hunts repulsed her. What were they called? Blood sports.
Outside, raindrops spattered the windows. Thunder rumbled. The sky was unnaturally dark, and a sharp wind whistled down the lane. Father and Alan would be at the party soon, where there would be crackling fires and hot rum punch, and candles everywhere. She could just see Sir Thomas in his white tie and tails.
She smiled wistfully as she memorized the lines and angles of his grand family estate. Her father had visited many of the opulent homes of American tycoons, some even designed to look like English castles.
The handle to her door turned slowly.
Edith raised up on her elbow and watched it. It kept turning, as if by someone whose hands were too full to push open the door.
She rose from the bed, more curious than afraid.
"Father?" she called. "Did you forget something?"
She heard no reply. The handle kept moving, jittering wildly. Then suddenly the door swung open.
She jumped. No one was there. Wary and confused as long-buried memories bubbled toward the surface, she moved into the hall toward the upper-floor parlor, telling herself that she wasn't afraid, that every chill down her spine was not an echo of something that had happened to her fourteen years ago.
When her mother—
She balled her fists and kept walking along the hallway.
Halfway down, she froze. She saw a shadow; she could _see_ a woman in black, a dead woman, a _thing_ of bones and decay and grave dirt—
_No. I do not see her. I am not seeing this. I am asleep on my bed thinking of Macbeth._
But she was awake, and though the shadows were very deep, she _was_ seeing something...
Gasping, Edith turned on her heel and raced back to her room, shut the door and held firm to the handle. She trembled, teeth chattering, trying to make sense of what she thought she saw, trying not to panic. Denial was her instinctive response.
_I did not see that. It was my imagination, like that first time. It was—_
Her heart pounded. There was no pressure on the handle. No sound on the other side of the door. She listened harder, ear pressed close to the wood.
Then came the rustle of silk...
And then... the turn of the handle once more, this time moving against her fingers.
Chills raced down her back as she held the handle with both hands, fighting to keep the door shut. If the door opened—
If she saw—
"What is it?" she cried. "What do you want?"
Two withered hands burst straight through the door and grabbed her by the shoulders. They were burning cold blocks, sticks of ice, painfully strong. Then a horrible, blackened head that stank of the grave crashed through the wood, the figure's features crushed, the face a ruin.
No, not crushed; the face was _rippling_ , like water.
And the voice that had read her to sleep so many childhood nights, the voice that now rushed forth from long-dead lungs was likewise quavering, distorted almost beyond recognition.
_"Beware of Crimson Peak!"_
Edith fell backwards and scrambled away. The room tilted, then whirled. She couldn't breathe, could only gape. There could be no doubt this time it was her mother, her long-dead and buried mother.
Then her face, her hands vanished. The door was unmarred. Edith heard herself gasping.
The door handle turned again, and Edith choked back a scream as Annie, one of the maids, cracked it open and leaned in.
Mute with horror, Edith could only stare at the girl.
"Are you all right, miss? Whatever is it?" the maid asked anxiously.
"Nothing. You—you startled me, that's all."
_Oh, my God, I saw a ghost. Or else I am mad._
Annie did not press her mistress for further explanation.
"There's a Sir Thomas Sharpe at the door," Annie said. "He's dripping wet and most insistent on coming in."
"Thomas Sharpe?" Edith fought for composure. "At this hour? Did you tell him Father was out?"
Annie bobbed her head. "I told him that, miss. He won't go away. He wants to talk to _you_."
Edith was stunned. "It's out of the question, Annie," she said, forcing the quaver out of her voice. Beyond the impropriety of receiving a gentleman in her dressing gown and without her father in the house, Edith felt barely coherent. She had just seen a ghost.
Had she not?
"Send him away."
The maid shrugged helplessly. "I tried."
"And?"
"He won't go away."
Nonplussed, Edith found herself in a kind of fog descending the stairs. The situation was untenable.
_I saw a ghost. She was here._
But she had no proof of that. Her door was unblemished. She had been working very hard on her novel—revising with a sharper, tougher eye since Sir Thomas had commented on it, she had to confess. A dream would have churned up horrific images, memories. She had read of the lengths to which her fellow author, Edgar Allan Poe, had gone to wrest the grotesque and phantasmagorical from the humdrum, mundane outer life he had endured as a magazine editor. And Samuel Taylor Coleridge had smoked opium to bring such deeply buried visions as the Ancient Mariner to life.
_So perhaps this simply means that I am digging into my own mine—into a rich vein of metaphors for my own loss, as I told Mr. Ogilvie. Perhaps this happened because I am changing. I thought never to leave Father's side, as he would then be alone. I believed I had no interest in a husband of my own. I had assumed I would be content to serve as Father's hostess for as long as he lived._
_Perhaps this is my fear that my father will not always be here. His birthday is coming, and he is growing old, no matter how he may try to disguise it. And I have a true calling to write. I cannot deny it. I should embrace these specters that I see. They are a gift._
Still, she was quite shaken. But good breeding and manners took over as she saw Sir Thomas in the foyer, his long, wavy hair damp with rainwater. He was wearing a black coat, perfectly cut, a white vest and tie, trousers revealing the polished tips of a pair of leather dancing boots. No more elegant man had ever crossed the threshold of Cushing Manor in her lifetime, not even her father. She was confounded.
_He is spoken for_ , she reminded herself. _Well, almost._
"Miss Cushing, are you all right? You seem quite pale." His deep-set eyes narrowed with genuine concern.
_If I summoned the courage to tell him what just happened upstairs, he would no doubt think me hysterical, or mad._
"I am not all too well, Sir Thomas, I'm sorry to say. And Father's not home." She spoke in a clipped fashion in an attempt to maintain her control.
"I know that. I saw him leave." He paused and then added, "I waited in the rain for him to leave."
Despite her distress, she understood, with a shock, that he was calling on her.
"Oh?" Edith managed.
"I know he is going to the reception at the McMichael house," he continued. "Which is my destination, too."
Now she wasn't quite following again. Concentrating took a supreme effort. Too much had happened. Was happening.
"But that's Bidwell Parkway, sir. This is Masten Park. You are very, very lost."
"That I am," he concurred. "And I desperately need your help."
"Help with what?" she asked cautiously.
"Well, Miss Cushing, the language, for one." His smile was rueful. "As you can plainly see, I do not speak a word of American."
At that, she mustered a small smile. He had a wit. The master of Allerdale Hall had come calling. He cut a breath-catching figure in his evening clothes. And yet...
"Sir Thomas, I simply can't."
"Please, am I to make even more of a wretch of myself?" he beseeched her. "Why would you want to stay here, all alone?"
Why indeed? She gazed back up the stairs toward her room. Had that happened? Had it really happened? Perhaps she had dreamed it.
_I know that I didn't. I know what I saw._
Fear bubbled up.
She swallowed it down.
_They are gifts_ , she reminded herself.
## CHAPTER FIVE
_This party can't get any worse_ , Alan McMichael thought as he gazed around at the glittering assembly of Buffalo high society. The ladies were dressed in the finest fashions from Paris, bare-shouldered, draped with pearls and glowing, the gentlemen in their tailcoats and gloves. Candles gleamed and a profusion of artfully arranged flowers lent an air of magic to the McMichael home. _Poor Eunice._
For his sister, the night could not get any less magical. Though she was holding her own, chin high, it was becoming quite apparent that the guest of honor, her suitor, Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet, had stood her up.
She and Mother had presided over a frenzy of home preparation—the floor polished, the piano tuned, and the lavish midnight supper arrayed in all its splendor: caviar, truffles, snipe, partridge, oysters, quail, grouse, pressed beef, ham, tongue, chicken, galantines, lobster, melons, peaches, nectarines, and specially imported jams and biscuits. Champagne, of course, flips, toddies, and the punch Alan had learned to make in London while in medical school. Eunice had insisted that he recreate it in their sterling silver punchbowl, and the few sips he had taken to test it had set him back on his heels. Tea, coffee, lemonade, white wine, claret, and sweet Madeira were also going to be served, along with negus, orgeat, and ratafia, accompanying the proper courses. There were towers of fruit, sugared almonds, and marzipan, custards, and cakes.
They had gone to all this effort and this expense, publicly declaring the regard in which the McMichael family held Sir Thomas and his sister, and the blackguard was not here. After having accepted the invitation Sir Thomas was duty-bound to appear. He had not sent his regrets—though nothing short of a death in the family would have excused him—and Buffalo society was left bearing witness that he was snubbing Eunice on the most special of evenings. It was the height of rudeness, and sufficiently hurtful to break even the flintiest of hearts. And Eunice was not precisely flinty. She was spoiled, yes, and jealous when it came to focusing attention on herself. And on occasion, less than sweet to Edith.
But she did not deserve this humiliation.
Alan had inquired of Lady Lucille Sharpe, Sir Thomas's lovely dark-haired sister, where she thought her brother might be. Discreetly, of course, and phrased in such a way as to not embarrass her. Lady Sharpe had been unconcerned, nonchalantly assuring him that Sir Thomas would arrive soon. He knew he should not press, but he was angry. Then Alan's mother had announced that Lady Sharpe had graciously consented to play some pieces on their piano, and any further conversation on the subject was terminated. Mercifully so, for it really was bad manners of him to put her on the spot.
Lady Sharpe's upswept hair was a rich chestnut; it was dotted with scarlet stones too impossibly large to be actual rubies. A similar gem graced her finger, a garnet, deeply red and rich. Perhaps it was real. Her green eyes were enormous, set in a porcelain face of striking features. As she seated herself on the piano bench, the rich folds of her antique gown seemed to shimmer, drenching the fabric in deeper shades of jewel-like crimson. She looked almost Elizabethan, the back of the dress elaborately laced, with a high-necked ruff the color of fresh blood.
The lush, romantic strains of Chopin drifted from the keys beneath her fingers and the partygoers, most of whom were standing, drew a collective breath. The English beauty sat very straight, bending slightly toward the keyboard. Her musicianship was flawless and she played with depth between the swelling crescendos. Yet, surrounding the lady herself was an air of unapproachability, almost coldness. Alan knew from having lived in London that the upper classes of English society were raised to betray very little emotion in public, and perhaps that was what he was observing. It could be that she, too, furtively glanced at the gilt clock above the mantel and silently cursed her brother's name.
Lady Sharpe concluded the piece with a flourish. Alan realized then that there was real passion in the soul of Lucille Sharpe, expressed through music. She was more than the decorous traveling companion of her brother. He wondered what she dreamed of, what she wished for. She was two years older than Sir Thomas and, apparently, unmarried; certainly she must have had chances. Perhaps she had been widowed? Would she welcome an American girl into the family, step aside as Sir Thomas's hostess and allow his new wife to shine?
As the assembly broke into applause, Lady Sharpe rose and dipped in modest acknowledgement. Then attention turned from her and murmurs rippled through the room. Like the others, Alan turned from the lady to see what the cause was, and his lips parted in surprise.
Sir Thomas Sharpe, the hallowed guest, had arrived at last.
And Edith, stunningly dressed in a gown of champagne satin that Alan had never seen before, was on his arm. Their appearance bespoke a couple, and Alan was bewildered. She had said she was not coming, yet here she was. He looked to Carter Cushing and found he too appeared astonished at his daughter's arrival. What was Sir Thomas's part in all this? Did they not see that this dramatic entrance was rather scandalous?
_I should see to Eunice_ , he thought. _This will upset her, and she has every right._ But he couldn't stop staring at Edith. She was a vision, cheeks rosy, hair tenderly gathered up to reveal the slender column of her neck, the smoothness of her shoulders. The little girl who had wept at her mother's grave had grown into a beautiful woman, and he could not help the way his heart played its own melody of yearning. He doubted, however, that her heartstrings were strumming a tune for him. He was still her childhood playmate, not a man who might win her affections. Certainly no match for the dark-haired aristocrat before whom the crowd parted like the Red Sea before Moses.
Someone who, he feared, may have already won her affections. As they joined the party, Edith's smile was mysterious, like the Mona Lisa's. As if they had shared a confidence before crossing the threshold of Alan's home and had sworn to keep it always to themselves.
He swallowed his consternation as the pair approached. Edith regarded Alan gently as she and Sharpe faced him together. She said, "Alan, may I introduce Sir Thomas Sharpe?" Then she turned to Sharpe and said, "Sir Thomas, this is Dr. McMichael. The best man in town if you're feeling poorly."
Perhaps she meant it as a compliment, but Alan felt damned by faint praise. Was that all he was to her? However, he said politely, "That's quite a glowing presentation. I'm Eunice's brother, sir. I've heard so much about you." There. He had reminded Sharpe that the baronet had offered Eunice hope back in London, and politeness required that a gentleman treat her with decorum now.
"A pleasure." Sharpe bowed slightly.
Sharpe gestured to his own sister, who joined them. Eunice and their mother approached on Sharpe's other side, their faces carefully composed. "And, Edith, this is Lady Lucille Sharpe—my sister."
"Charmed, Miss Cushing," Lady Sharpe said. "You've managed to delay my brother quite a bit." She waited for that to sink in, and then she continued. "Eunice was growing awfully desperate. You see? She claims that no gentleman in America knows how to dance a proper waltz."
She kissed Sharpe's cheek. "I trust you will oblige."
Out of the corner of his eye Alan saw his sister smile. So all was mended then. Good. He felt so relieved. And now Edith would be released to consent to a dance with him; he savored the prospect. The bright side was that she was here now, and that was delightful.
"I will if you play it for me, dear sister," Sharpe said.
Lady Sharpe regally inclined her head. "With pleasure."
When Edith moved to stand beside Eunice, Alan noticed the distance she had put between them. Then Mr. Cushing stepped close.
"Interesting development, don't you think?" he said in a low voice.
Alan heard the disapproval in his voice and wondered if he had missed something. He nodded. And then he tensed as his mother approached Edith. Her smile was forced, and her eyes were hard as diamonds.
_Mother, please don't stir up a hornet's nest_.
"Edith, what a surprise this is," Mrs. McMichael bit off.
Edith flushed, indicating that she knew that she was rather in the wrong. She had already sent her regrets, and to show up on the arm of Eunice's suitor was an affront.
"We were not expecting you for dinner," his mother added, in case Edith did not fully understand the gravity of her social faux pas.
"I know," Edith said contritely, "and I am terribly sorry for this imposition. I am sure there is no place for me and—"
"Oh, don't worry, my child," she interrupted her. "Everyone has a place. I will make sure you find yours."
Alan inwardly winced at the barb.
Over at the piano, Lady Sharpe arranged herself and flashed a tiny, complicit smile at Eunice. With a theatrical sweep of his hand, like a magician, Sir Thomas took a candle from a nearby candelabrum.
"The waltz," he began, playing to the gallery. "Not a complicated dance, really. The lady takes her place slightly to the left of the leading gentleman. Six basic steps. That is all."
Alan's sister and their mother were attentive, eager. What woman wouldn't be, about to be swept into the arms of a true-life Prince Charming?
"However, it is said that the true test of a perfect waltz is for it to be so sweet, delicate, and so smooth, that a candle flame will not be extinguished in the hand of the lead dancer. Now _that_ requires the perfect partner."
_Eunice, of course_ , Alan filled in. His sister would be so enthralled that he doubted her dancing shoes would touch the ground.
Sir Thomas turned... and held out his hand to _Edith._
"Would you be mine?"
Everyone in the room gasped. Edith's eyes widened, and then she looked demurely down. Alan saw her lips move, but he could not hear her reply.
* * *
Edith looked at Sir Thomas's outstretched hand and wondered if he had any idea of the scene he was causing. A brewing scandal, and the shame it would bring on her. There were murmurs among the guests, and she couldn't make herself look in Eunice's direction. In the heat of Sir Thomas's gaze as he had challenged her to come with him to the party, Edith had thought of herself as a New Woman, freed from the strictures of the old century. But now that she stood before him with eyes downcast, wordlessly begging him to observe propriety, she realized she wasn't quite as modern as she had supposed herself to be. These were her friends, and she wanted their good opinion... no matter how desperately she would love to dance with him.
"I don't think so, thank you," she said in a voice meant only for him to hear. Ladies _never_ refused a gentleman's invitation to dance. However, this was beyond the pale. Yes, she had arrived on his arm, but she was not here _with_ him. She had felt almost Bohemian, an artistic nonconformist making an entrance... but having anticipated that Sir Thomas would propose to Eunice tonight, she had fully expected to bid him adieu soon after. "But I'm sure Eunice would be delighted," she added bluntly, further bolstering her awkward but nonetheless sincere desire to put right her foolish indiscretion.
His smile did not waiver. "I daresay, but I asked you." To the onlookers, he said, "Please make some space."
Somehow she found herself moving to the center of the ballroom. Which was worse? To stand there while he stretched out his hand for an eternity while everyone awaited the apparently inevitable outcome? Or to get it over with? Eunice and her mother were stricken, and Edith didn't blame them.
"Eunice is a very sweet girl, you know," she murmured. "Kind and loyal. I am flattered, but—"
"Is it so hard to accept that you're beautiful?" he said softly. "As well as delightful and intelligent?"
"I can't do this, I can't. Please," she protested.
Lady Sharpe put her hands to the keyboard. And Sir Thomas's gaze was unwavering. Insistent.
"I've always just closed my eyes to things that made me uncomfortable. It works wonderfully. Won't you try it?" he urged.
And she knew that she was going to waltz with Sir Thomas Sharpe.
"I don't want to close my eyes," she replied. "I want to keep them open."
A sweeping melody rose from the piano as Edith's fingers descended lightly into Sir Thomas's outstretched palm. His touch electrified her, and the dance—their dance—began. Gliding, his hand firm on her back, he led her in the simple but majestic steps. Gazes locked, his face swimming before her, his expression confident and... joyous? He was finding real pleasure in waltzing around the ballroom with her. And she with him.
The flame on the long white taper in his grasp fluttered but remained lit, attesting to his mastery as he traveled the floor with her. Her hand in his, his smile, the grace with which he moved and caused her to move. She felt so different. The connection she had felt in the meeting room held, grew, binding them as they glided together, perfectly matched. Faces blurred and the requirements of civility no longer took precedent; they had entered a private world where no one else existed. At least, not until the last notes of the dance drifted away and then, of course, it was over.
The candle Sir Thomas held still glowed, and Edith, utterly transformed, made a wish deep inside her heart and blew it out.
What that wish was, she would never say out loud, but Sir Thomas's satisfied smile and courtly bow seemed to answer it with an unspoken _yes._
Then Sir Thomas's sister rose from the piano and left the room. With one more gentle look at Edith, he took his leave and followed her out. He took Edith's heart with him.
Surely he knew that.
## CHAPTER SIX
CARTER CUSHING STOOD before the mirror in the shower room of his club. His shaving things and a fine breakfast of ham and eggs, coffee and a small glass of port were spread before him. The attendant, one Benton, had just hand-cranked the phonograph and it played an old sentimental tune that his dear, departed wife used to hum. Her voice had been so sweet; he had loved to close his eyes and listen to her singing lullabies to Edith. And reading to her. The nursery had been a refuge from the hard dealings of the male world—a world he had tried very hard not to deny his headstrong daughter, since she was determined to make her way in it. But in this instance, he must protect her if there was anything to protect her from.
And after Sir Thomas's display at the McMichaels' ball, he was even more sure that there was.
_Unwelcome business, this_ , Carter Cushing thought as he detected the familiar footsteps of the odious man about to enter his employ once more. _I wish I felt no reason to proceed._
As if on cue, the gaunt, young figure of Hezekiah Holly approached, gingerly making his way across the tiled floor in hopes of keeping his nice leather boots dry. He wore spats and imagined himself quite the dandy. He was not.
"Mr. Holly," Cushing said. "I like the club first thing in the morning. I have it all to myself."
"A great way to start the day, sir," Holly replied officiously.
"Isn't it? And perhaps a good time to end certain things, too." He paused, but he had come to a decision, even if it might lead to crushing disappointment for his beloved daughter. "There is a young gentleman and his sister. Something's not quite right about them."
He handed Holly a slip of paper with _Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet_ and _Lady Lucille Sharpe_ written on it. "These are their names. I need you to investigate for me. Spare no expense. I want results." He handed Holly a check. "As soon as possible."
_No sense prolonging her agony, if that is what it comes to._
* * *
It was a brilliant day in Delaware Park, the most recent in a number of brilliant days Edith had spent in the company of the Sharpes. A band played; families picnicked. The weather was absolutely glorious. Edith strolled with Lady Lucille Sharpe, a parasol protecting their complexions from the bright sunlight. She wore her burnished gold skirt accessorized with the belt of two ivory hands clasped one over the other, a personal favorite because it reminded her of the illustrations in her cherished childhood copy of _Beauty and the Beast_. The Beast's enchanted castle was populated by magical servants who did his bidding, and although they were supposed to be invisible, in the pictures, they were shown as spectral white hands outlined in black. When first they had read the story together, Edith had asked her mother if they were ghosts. Mama had replied that there were no such things, and if anyone—perhaps Cook, who was Irish and therefore superstitious—told her otherwise, she was not to listen.
The Sharpes were both dressed in deepest coal black, which reminded Edith of Dickens' many descriptions of the impenetrable soot that hung over London. Lady Sharpe's costume was punctuated with a large red flower at her breast and a lace collar and cuffs. Sir Thomas was a tall black shadow with a slice of white collar and a dangling silver watch chain. They both wore round black spectacles to shield their eyes from the sun.
Thomas sat a ways apart with Alan, Eunice, and a few of Eunice's friends. Heads turned as Edith and Lady Sharpe promenaded; Edith's head was buzzing with excitement, though she maintained a pleasant yet placid exterior. Lady Sharpe had come with tweezers and a specimen jar, and was busily collecting butterflies.
" _Papilio androgeus epidaurus_ ," she announced, as she placed a pretty, fluttering insect into a jar.
"They're dying," Edith murmured, somewhat stricken.
"They are," Lady Sharpe concurred. "They take their heat from the sun, and when it deserts them, they die."
"That's so sad."
"Not sad, Edith," Lady Sharpe riposted. "It's nature. A savage world of things dying or eating each other right beneath our feet."
Edith grimaced. "That is absolutely horrid."
"Not all of it." Sir Thomas's sister plucked up a cocoon attached to a tree limb, and examined it.
"Look at this. Everything it needs is in there. A perfect world. If I keep it warm and dry, a pretty little thing will hatch. A dollop of sunshine with wings." She smiled at Edith as she held it up. "Back home we have only black moths. Formidable creatures, to be sure, but without beauty. They thrive on the dark and the cold."
She wrapped the cocoon in a handkerchief and folded it carefully.
"What do they feed on?" Edith queried.
"Butterflies, I'm afraid." She sounded almost bored.
She was gazing down at something on the ground, and Edith followed her line of sight. An army of ants had pinned down a lovely butterfly; they were devouring it as it quivered. Edith was repulsed.
But Lady Sharpe watched avidly.
* * *
_"The specter started to move in a hunched posture, as if in pain... and it was then that she realized, both with horror and relief, that the specter was that of her mother."_
Sir Thomas read aloud from Edith's manuscript as she, Lucille, and Alan picnicked on the grass.
Lady Sharpe arched a perfectly shaped brow. "Ghosts? Really? I never imagined that's what you wrote about."
"Edith saw a ghost when she was a child," Alan said, and the long-suppressed heat of embarrassment rushed up Edith's neck and spread across her cheeks.
Lucille blinked. "Really?"
"But now she's more interested in a love story," Alan said, and Edith's flush deepened. Was he teasing her?
"The ghosts are a metaphor," she replied.
"They've always fascinated me," Sir Thomas said, catching Edith's eye.
"It seems to me the only people who witness such apparitions are those who feel themselves in need of consolation or reproach," Lady Sharpe declared.
"I assume you're beyond both," Alan said, and she raised her chin as if looking at something in the distance. Soon the Sharpes moved away and were deep in conversation.
"Visit me, Edith. Come to my office," Alan said. "I'm still setting up but I think you would find some of my theories quite interesting."
Theories? Edith wondered if she had missed something. About what? She replayed the conversation. Was he speaking of ghosts?
* * *
Shaded from the blazing American sunshine, Lucille said quietly to Thomas, "I don't think she's the right choice."
He leaned closely toward her, murmuring, "You have to trust me."
He was different; this was different; this was not what they had agreed on. It was too bright out; she could not think. Trust was so hard to come by in this world. But of course she trusted Thomas.
Who else was there?
* * *
Carter Cushing was an observant man; details were important in his line of work. And so, a few days later, as Mr. Holly approached him, he knew that the man had information for him, and that it boded ill.
_Ah, child, I am sorry_ , he thought.
"It's not often I am the bearer of bad news," Mr. Holly said by way of greeting. "But when I am, I insist on bearing it myself."
He was holding an envelope, which he extended to Cushing.
"Open it alone," he advised.
More money changed hands, and Mr. Holly left.
* * *
Edith was so proud of Alan. Though his office was still half in boxes, he was consulting with an actual patient, and he moved with the authority of a trained scientist. In dimmed light, he was using a device to examine the eyes of an elderly gentleman, and Edith politely stayed on the sidelines. She recalled observing Sir Thomas showing off his mining machine to her father and her cheeks warmed. Occupying herself, she began to scan his bookcases and other belongings.
"You have not been using the drops regularly," Alan said gently. "I must insist you do so." He turned and saw Edith, and she smiled at him. He began to write on a pad of paper. "Take this to the druggist and ask him to prepare it exactly, then resume the dose."
The man departed, and Alan turned his full attention to her. She beamed at him.
"What are you reading?" she asked him. " _Morphology of the Optic Nerve. Principles of Optical Refraction._ And..." She touched the spine of another book. "Arthur Conan Doyle? Alan? You fancy yourself a detective?"
He shook his head. "No, not really. But he is a doctor. An ophthalmologist, just like me."
She smiled. "Just like you."
"I met him, in England. I attended one of his lectures."
"You did? How was he?"
"Fascinating. The lecture was not on fiction, but on spiritualism. Let me show you something that might interest you."
Sitting, she watched as he arranged a wood-and-brass projecting device. The color of her dress with its mutton-chop sleeves matched the brass hue of the device's fittings. Alan busied himself arranging a tray of photographic plates.
"Photographic work is simple," he began. "The image is captured using a coating of silver salts and it stays there, waiting, invisible to the naked eye. It's called a latent image. Then we use a developing agent: mercury vapors, say, to reveal it."
He gestured to the glass plate before them. The primary image, darker, was of a little baby in a crib. Then Edith's blood turned to ice as she spotted a blurry shape hovering above the baby: a stretched, eerie face with black holes for eyes and a mouth caught in a scream, whether in fury or agony or both, she did not know. She looked back down at the baby, and suppressed every impulse in her to snatch the child out of the crib, unreasonable as that was.
"It is my belief that houses—places—be it by the chemical compound in the earth or the minerals in the stone, can retain impressions, just like this plate. They can record an emotion or a person that is no longer alive. It's called an 'impregnation.'"
_Can that be what has happened in our house?_ Edith thought anxiously. And what she had seen... _twice_... within its walls? They were not products of her imagination, but things that were actually present?
"But not everyone can see them," she said quietly.
_I did see them._
_I saw her._
Her stomach clenched.
"Right." Alan went on, unaware of her discomfiture. "That man that just left, amongst other ailments, is color blind."
More of his collection of phantom images paraded before her—cloudy and half-formed, increasingly disturbing, elongated and unreal... Were they aware, these _things_? Were they memories, recordings? Did they have a reason to come back?
"He will _never_ perceive the colors red or green," Alan went on blithely. "He only accepts their existence because the majority around him does."
Ghosts, did they exist? Were these images of real ghosts?
_And in that picture, that one... did one just move?_
"These... _specters_ —" he used her word deliberately, favoring her with a quick nod "—may be all around us and only the 'developing agent'—those with the specific aberration—can see them."
"Or perhaps we only notice things when the time comes for us to pay attention to them. When they need us to see them," she said. Then she realized how intently he was staring at her, and she colored and looked away. He had been her confidant, the one she had entrusted with her whispered secret that Mama's ghost had appeared to her. He had been the witness to her humiliation at his sister's hands when she had learned of it. And he had seen Sir Thomas relish every spine-tingling word of her manuscript, and beg for more.
"Conan Doyle spoke of an 'offering,'" Alan continued. "A gesture—an invitation to communicate. 'Knock once if you mean "yes,"' or, 'Touch my hand if you are here.'"
She was perplexed as to why he was bringing this up. She had not spoken a word of the most recent... appearance to anyone, so it seemed strange that he would revisit a past event that had proved so painful. But he had seen how interested Sir Thomas was in her ghost story. Could this be an attempt to draw her attention away from the Englishman in order to compete for her affections? Or had he realized that in the past, as her friend, he had not been particularly supportive of her work?
"You've never spoken to me about these interests of yours, Alan," she said, and waited for his reply.
His face softened. "I feel sometimes, Edith, as if you can only think of me as that childhood friend that climbed the orchard trees with you."
She took that in. Was this something more than an invitation to see his new practice?
"Edith, I understand your fascination with the Sharpes, but..." He hesitated a moment and seemed to come to some kind of resolution. "In your own best interest, proceed with caution is all I ask."
_I am right_ , she thought, a little dazed. _Alan has feelings for me._
"I can take care of myself, Alan. Don't presume too much." Did she sound defensive? "You've been gone a long time and now..." She tried to couch her words more gently. "I've managed somewhat."
His face was unreadable. "You're right, Edith. I am sorry. My deepest concern has always been for you. If you are happy, then I am happy."
_And you are a true friend_ , she thought, grateful that he cared enough to be concerned for her. He had certainly given her something to think about. She had assumed these... what could she call them—visitations? nightmares?—were the product of a creative imagination. But what if Mama really had been there?
Her blood ran cold.
_Those pictures aren't proof_ , she thought, perhaps a little desperately. _The process of making the images could have been manipulated. And I don't really know where Alan stands on the subject. He is a scientist of the eye, of vision, and the repair of distortion. He said that Conan Doyle believed, but he did not say that he did. For him, this may not be more than an interesting puzzle._
She thought to pursue the topic, but another patient was announced. And it was with some frustration, but more relief, that she took her leave.
* * *
In his grand boardroom, Carter Cushing had convened a group of geologists to observe Sir Thomas's machine. The Englishman's miniature was rattling away, and he had brought a topographical model of Allerdale Hall complete with hills and valleys, and crowned with a model of his house. The geologists were agog.
"The new deposits lie right beneath and around the house," Sir Thomas elaborated, "in this stratum here—the reddest clay. The purest. And with enough ore in it to make it steel-hard after baking."
Cushing watched as Sir Thomas managed the questions and took every opportunity to put forward his plans.
William Ferguson came up beside him and murmured, "I don't know about you, but I am impressed."
"I must say that so am I," Cushing replied. _But not in the same way. Most definitely not._
Sir Thomas smiled at him, having overheard the exchange. Cushing decided to make the next move.
"Gentlemen, we should continue our discussions tonight at dinner. At my house," he said warmly, returning Sharpe's smile. But his mood was anything but warm; he felt positively glacial. "Who knows? We may have a toast to make."
The group broke up and walked in twos and threes out of the room. His secretary drew him aside, and there he found Mr. Holly with the additional document he had asked him to acquire. He perused it. So. It was true.
"Well done, Sir Thomas," Ferguson said to Sharpe as he passed by him on his way out. "Well done."
_Not so fast_ , Cushing thought grimly.
## CHAPTER SEVEN
GUESTS MILLED; SERVANTS bustled. Dinner at Cushing Manor was to be a grand affair. The fragrant scents of meat and wine tantalized Thomas's senses as he and Lucille prepared to enter the dining room. The atmosphere was charged with the same excitement that had accompanied his demonstration this afternoon, and he knew that, at last, success was to be his.
Edith's home was lovely, so different from their own. Yellow light gleamed from the candles; gas lamps shone through panels of stained glass. It was the palace of a fairy princess, and Thomas could well envision a younger Edith and her mother reading stories, blond heads knocked together as they pored over pictures embellished with all the colors of a butterfly's wings.
_We are going to get the funding from these good men of Buffalo_ , Thomas thought. _There is no need to go elsewhere._
And then there she was, Edith, golden and glowing like the sun. Romeo had said the same of Juliet; that love had been doomed, but for them—
Beside him, Lucille murmured in his ear, "Give her the ring."
The Sharpe garnet no longer graced his sister's hand. He remembered how it had gleamed on her long slender finger when she had played the piano at the McMichaels' ball. It had been meant for Eunice, but once he had met Edith, he had known in his soul that Eunice had not been the proper choice. He knew Lucille was not entirely convinced that Edith was better, and that she had only acquiesced because she loved him so much.
Now as his sister moved apart from him, he felt a twinge of guilt, for he had not been entirely honest with her. He would give the ring to Edith, oh, he would, but not in the manner they had imagined. Not for that reason. Life was new for him. The sun had come out at last, and all those years in darkness—
—those secrets—
were over.
Such a weight rose from his shoulders, it was almost as if he himself had wings.
Before he grew too nervous, he approached Edith.
"May I have a word?"
She looked from him to the throng of guests and back again. "Right now, Thomas?"
_She has stopped using my title_ , he thought, very pleased. He had asked her to do so, and at first she had demurred. To hear his name on her lips...
"Yes, now. I am afraid I can't wait," he replied. He sighed, genuinely twitchy, and fumbled in his pocket for the ring. She was waiting, attentive. He had to do this well.
"Miss Cushing... Edith," he amended, "I really have no right to ask this, but..."
Then, of all times, Edith's father suddenly appeared. Thomas put the ring back in his pocket.
"Sir Thomas, may I see you in my study? You and your sister? If you would be so kind as to fetch her?" Cushing asked. He turned to his daughter. "Child, please see that the guests are seated. We will join you shortly."
The skin of Thomas's face prickled. He watched Edith recede into the distance like the sun sinking beneath the horizon. And then he went to find Lucille, as Mr. Cushing had asked—no, more correctly, _ordered_ —him to do.
* * *
_I take no satisfaction in this_ , Carter Cushing thought, as Sir Thomas and Lady Sharpe joined him in his study. But truth was, he did. He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, and each time he won out over any challenge, he felt a thrill of victory. Perhaps it was petty of him, but it was the truth.
"Now, Lady Sharpe, Sir Thomas." He regarded them both. So pale and dark, the two of them, practically twins. "The first time we met, at my office—"
"I recall it, sir. Perfectly," Sir Thomas assured him.
Cushing raised a brow. "I imagine it wasn't hard for you to realize I didn't like you."
Sir Thomas took his frank statement manfully. "You made that plain enough, sir. But I had hoped that now, with time..."
"Your time, Sir Thomas, is up." _And thank God for that._
"Could you speak plainly, Mr. Cushing?" Lady Sharpe cut in. "I'm afraid I don't follow you."
He was astonished at her brass.
"Plain I will be, missy. Plainer than you might like to hear. I have no idea what your implication is in the matters at hand, but in the past few days, your brother has deemed it fine enough to mix business with pleasure by repeatedly engaging socially with my daughter. My _only_ daughter," he added for emphasis.
"Sir, I am aware that I have no position to offer," the young man said. "But the fact is..."
He fumbled, and Cushing regained the upper hand.
"You love my daughter, is that it?" He restrained his anger. There was no point to it. He had an end game in mind, and the sooner there, the better.
Sir Thomas matched his gaze. "Yes, sir, it is."
"You play the part well." An honest statement. "A few days ago, my daughter asked me why I didn't like you. Honestly, at the time, I had no good answer. But now I do. I obtained some interesting records on you. English peerage, property records..."
He pulled out the envelope from Mr. Holly containing the documents he had paid an extra sum to acquire, and slid the contents across the table, toward the Sharpes. As he had anticipated, the corner of one piece in particular attracted Sir Thomas's attention.
"But that document there, the Civil Registry, that's the real find," Cushing declared, nailing the coffin lid shut. A single glimpse of the seal was sufficient; the young man turned stark white.
"I believe that's the first honest reaction I've seen from you."
There was silence. Lady Sharpe was impossible to read, but Sir Thomas was a study in misery as he ground out, "Does she know?"
"No," Cushing answered. "But I will tell her if that's what it takes to send you on your way."
Sharpe's expression broke as he leaned forward, perhaps unconsciously. He said, "I am sure you won't believe me, but—"
"You love her. You're repeating yourself." He opened his book of checks and wrote out the one on top. "Now you..." He held it out to Lady Sharpe. "You seem to be the more collected one, dear."
Her eyes widened as she saw the amount. He took grim satisfaction in her avarice as it reinforced his very dim view of this nefarious pair.
"It's more than generous, I know. But if you want that check to clear, there are two conditions." He handed them two train tickets. "A train for New York City leaves first thing tomorrow morning. You and your brother better be on it. Do we understand each other?"
"We do."
She was angry, and that made him angrier. She had no right to any emotion except shame. She took the check and the civil certificate. That damned, damning certificate. He was astonished at their arrogance, assuming that a foolish American from a backwater town wouldn't think to check their credentials. Their days were not only numbered, they were over.
"What is the second condition?" she asked.
"That concerns my daughter." He looked hard at the lecherous parasite that was her brother. "Tonight, you must thoroughly break her heart."
* * *
The banquet was served, and Edith was busy ensuring the comfort of all her father's guests. She had been the manor's hostess ever since her mother's death, and she was quite skilled at it. But tonight she was preoccupied, aware that Sir Thomas had begun to ask her a very important question—perhaps the most important question a woman was asked during the course of her entire lifetime—only to disappear with her father for a private discussion.
Which signified to her that she was correct about the nature of that question.
Her heart was fluttering in her chest; there were legions of butterflies in her stomach. She was unable to read Thomas's expression as he and Lucille, seated as the two guests of honor, ate but little. If she _was_ right, then Thomas had every prerogative to lack an appetite. According to her reading on the matter, men about to propose marriage tended to be very jittery. Could it be that his sister shared his anxiety because she wanted him to be happy? Edith had never had siblings, but had often wanted them. Lady Sharpe could be her sister, then. She was overjoyed at the prospect.
_Stay calm, Edith_ , she told herself, but the very air crackled around her.
Her father raised his glass.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we have an unexpected announcement to make. Sir Thomas?"
_Oh, God. Here it is. But he would speak to me first, yes? So am I wrong? Perhaps it's not that at all. Perhaps the announcement is about their business partnership. I shouldn't get my hopes up. It is too soon, and I am swooning like a foolish heroine in an Ann Radcliffe novel._
But no, he was looking straight at her and he raised his glass. Lingering on her face with those soulful blue eyes. He looked like a man about to announce a partnership of a far different kind.
"Thank you, Mr. Cushing," he said. "When I came to America, my heart was brimming with a sense of adventure. Here the future actually seemed to mean something."
She met his gaze. He was speaking of the future... their future?
"I have found warmth and friendship among you all. And for that, I am ceaselessly grateful." He fell silent for a moment. Edith lived a lifetime in that pause.
His expression shifted, his gaze steady as before, but now it was sad. A tiny flash of alarm darted through her. Something was amiss.
"But for now, farewell. May we meet again. Perhaps on a different shore. My sister and I depart for England just in time for the winter."
His little joke brought laughter and cheers around the table. But not from Edith. He was not proposing. He was _leaving._ Passing her by exactly as he had passed by poor Eunice.
_But I thought... I thought he... loved..._
Devastated, she murmured her excuses and escaped.
She did not know he had followed her until he spoke her name.
"Edith."
She swallowed down her pain as she had on another snowy day, as true a death as this one visiting upon her breaking heart. She had thought... she had hoped...
"You are leaving us." Each syllable was a struggle, but she betrayed nothing. Her voice was as steady as his gaze had been seconds before he delivered the killing blow.
"We must go back immediately, tend to our interests," Thomas said. "The pit digging must commence before the depth of the winter." There was another beat. "And with nothing to hold us in America..."
Could he be any crueler? Did he know that he was?
"I see."
She had reached the stairs; she caught sight of her father hovering in the background. Her dear father, perhaps aware that this decision would cause her pain, was standing sentry in case he was needed. She was not unloved.
"Your novel," Thomas said. "I read the new chapters. I will have them delivered in the morning."
"That's good of you." Her mind spun back in time to their first encounter, his admiration of the as-yet-unknown author of her novel. There had been a connection between them, there _had._ The pain in her heart ratcheted up to agony.
"Would you still like to know what my thoughts are?" he asked.
She nodded, and he reacted with a bit of a start, and then took a breath, as if the entire conversation had become nothing more than an odious and perfunctory task.
"Very well. It is absurdly sentimental. The aches that you describe with such earnestness... the pain, the loss. But you have not lived at all. In fact, you seem to know only what other writers tell you."
She could not have been more mortified than if he had spat in her face. What was he saying? How _could_ he say such things in public? Humiliate her in her own house?
"I thank you for your frankness, sir," she said tightly.
He took a step toward her, an act of aggression. "I am not done, child. You insist on describing the torments of love when you clearly know _nothing_ about them."
Why must he be so awful to her? Had her gestures of familiarity... of hope... embarrassed him? Was she... did he see her like Eunice, all misplaced presumption, beneath serious consideration for his affection?
"You've made yourself more than plain." Was that her voice? Were those her words? She sounded like an ice princess, cold and hard and angry.
The guests were wandering in, attracted by the quarrel and now witnesses to her humiliation. He was relentless, approaching her, mocking her:
"...I advise you to return to your ghosts and fancies. The sooner the better, Edith. You know precious little of the human heart or the pains that come with it. You are nothing but a spoiled child playing with—"
That was as much as she could take. _She_ knew nothing? At least she had a heart.
She slapped him hard; he flinched but took it.
She turned and fled.
* * *
Darkness. Her room. Tears.
The door handle moved, and Edith, lying in her bed, tensed.
Then it opened, and there stood her father. She longed to be comforted, but her feminine pride lay in tatters already. He had called her a child, and so had Thomas. But she was a grown woman who had endured an excruciating rejection, and her father was not the person to offer proper comfort at such a time. If there was anyone who could, which she doubted.
"I am not blind, Edith," he said delicately. "I know you had feelings for him. But give it time. Perhaps you and I... we could go to the West Coast. You could write and I..." He trailed off, and she saw a future in which he was a widower and she was a spinster, and they kept each other company, and she could not bear it.
"I love you, Father. But can't you see? The more you hold me, the more I am afraid." She didn't want to speak the words she was thinking. "I just don't want to talk any further tonight. I just can't." Weariness overcame her. "Good night."
He was sorrowful as she closed her door, shutting him out.
For now, anyway.
* * *
_"My love is like a red, red rose..."_
The next morning, the sweet old tune that had been his love song to his wife played on the phonograph. Cushing stood in the locker room of the gentlemen's club in his robe, pensive and triumphant. Edith had been prevented from making the mistake of a lifetime. If Sir Thomas Sharpe had managed to pull off his loathsome scheme, Edith would not have _had_ a life. The scandal would have ruined her.
That morning, Cushing felt especially close to his dear departed wife. When he gazed into the mirror at his gentlemen's club, he could almost see her beautiful face. Not the horror that they had buried, but the sweet girl she had been when they'd wed.
_I've kept our daughter safe all these years_ , he silently told her. _She is still safe._
Edith was an heiress, and he supposed there would be other Sir Thomas Sharpes who would come sniffing after her money. He would do whatever it took to protect her. But he hoped he would never again plunge her into such pain and suffering.
Morosely, he prepared to shave. The attendant arrived with clean towels, making all ready for Cushing with a twist of the washroom basin's hot water faucet.
"How's the water today, Benton?" he asked with forced cheerfulness.
"Piping hot. Just the way you like it, sir," Benton replied as he turned on one of the showers as well. The room began to steam up.
"Very well, then," Cushing said. "Be kind enough to order me some ham and eggs. I'll start with coffee, if it's hot. And a sip of port."
"Right away, sir. And the _Times_?"
"If you'd be so kind." Perhaps there would be a short squib about the departure of Sir Thomas Sharpe, baronet, from the fair shores of America. And good riddance.
Mist clouded his vision as he prepared to disrobe. Then a shadow flitted behind him, startling him, and he turned to see if Benton had returned.
There was no one there.
But there had been someone. And he had the distinct feeling that he wasn't alone. Any member would announce himself. It was curious and rather off-putting that they had not.
Perhaps it was his imagination.
And still...
Feeling rather silly, he checked the lockers. Of course they were empty.
Hot water was spilling over the basin; in his distraction he had let it run too long. His flat razor fell, the soap brick too. With a grunt, he bent to pick them up, nicking his finger. Clay-red blood swirled down the drain.
There it was, the shadow again. Then someone grabbed him by the cuff of his robe and the back of his head. Before he could react, his head was slammed down against the basin's corner. There was no pain, only shock. He staggered, went down. The figure loomed over him, grabbed his head, and smashed it again and again against the porcelain. He heard his bones crush as his nose shattered.
_Edith._
As his forehead fractured.
Again.
_Edi_ —
As gouts of scarlet blood gushed out of the ruin of his skull.
Again.
_E_ —
As he did not move, and the blood plumed into the clear, boiling water.
## CHAPTER EIGHT
HOW SHE HAD managed to doze off, Edith had no idea. But she woke slowly to awareness sprawled on top of her sheets in her bedroom, still fully dressed. What a trite cliché; she had cried herself to sleep.
Annie was in her room, and she was holding a sheaf of papers that Edith recognized at once: the most recent chapter of her now-hated manuscript. Thomas had made good on his promise to return it, and the sight rekindled every bad feeling that had haunted her that night.
"What is it, Annie?" Edith murmured.
"This was delivered this morning, miss. But I didn't want to wake you up any earlier."
"It's all the same, Annie, thank you." She indicated the wastebasket, but the maid hesitated.
"The letter, too?" Annie asked.
"The letter...?" Edith fished for her eyeglasses and looped the ends over her ears. Red wax in a coat of arms with a skull design sealed the flap of an envelope of thick parchment paper. Her name was written across the front in a bold but elegant hand. Edith didn't know if she dared read it, but she ripped it open anyway. The room seemed to dim as she devoured the lines:
_Dear Edith_ ,
_By the time you read this, I will be gone. Your father made evident to me that, in my present economic condition, I was not in a position to provide for you. And to this I agreed. He also asked me to break your heart—to take the blame. And to this I agreed too. By this time, surely I have accomplished both tasks._
_But know this: When I can prove to your father that all I ask of him is his consent—and nothing more—then, and then only, will I come back for you._
_Yours_ ,
_Thomas_
Elation surged through her; euphoria. He had not abandoned her, had not proven a heartless cad. But when had this been delivered? What time was his train?
_Am I too late?_
Frantically, she rushed for the stairs, shouting for Annie. She dashed out into the hall, crying, "Annie, my coat!"
Then through the streets, past so many monuments to her father's pride, through traffic and crowds, fighting to get to the hotel where the Sharpes had been staying; dodging, weaving, then into the lobby and at last to the front desk.
"Thomas and Lucille Sharpe?" she asked breathlessly.
The manager studied the guest registry. "One-oh-seven and one-oh-eight," he said, "but—"
Edith bolted, rushing past some guests and a porter; at last she reached the door to one hundred and seven, to find it ajar—
—and two young, dark-skinned maids inside a room devoid of luggage or personal belongings, making up the bed.
One of them said, "They checked out this morning, miss. In time for the early train."
Edith stood stock-still, panting, defeated. No, it couldn't be. To have found out, to _know_ , and to have missed him... it was too cruel.
"Are you all right, miss? Miss?" the other maid asked.
Would she ever be all right again? Would she—
She became aware of another presence; someone standing close by. She turned her head.
It was Thomas.
Unimaginable joy blazed inside her. She managed to rein in her instinct to throw herself into his arms as his dear face sought understanding in hers. Forgiveness. Hope. Her heart thundered in the silence. Surely he could hear it.
"Lucille has gone," he began, "but I could not. Your father bribed me. To leave."
He reached into his pocket and produced what she recognized as a bank check. Then he tore it in half.
"But I cannot leave you, Edith. In fact, I find myself thinking of you at the most inopportune moments of the day. I feel as if a link, a thread, exists between your heart and mine. And that, should that link be broken by distance or time... well, I fear my heart would cease to beat and die. And you'd soon forget about me."
Edith found breath to speak. "Never. I would never forget you."
She looked in his eyes and melted. This was happening. This was real, a dream after the nightmare.
He pulled her close, and kissed her. Her world became Sir Thomas Sharpe. His arms, his wild heartbeat. The softness of his lips as they brushed her mouth, then pressed harder. Edith closed her eyes, waltzing again, her wish come true.
She felt his restraint, as if holding back; she was about to open her eyes to assure him that there were liberties that he could take now. He had broken her heart, and only he could mend it. Then he relaxed against her and gathered her up, and all was right, so very right, with this beautiful new world, this shining, golden day. Perhaps Ogilvie had been right to insist upon a love story. The endings were so wonderful.
_But this is not the end of our story_ , she thought. _It is only the beginning. He declared himself in his letter. He has asked me to marry him._
Arm in arm they took their leave of the room, and Edith couldn't even care where they went, or what they did next. She supposed he would present himself to her father and they could begin again, on better terms. Surely Papa's consent would be given once he saw that an honorable man stood before him. A man who could not be bought, and who prized her, Edith Cushing, above the wealth he required to fulfill his mining plans. He could have kept the check and made his way back to England where any number of young ladies were no doubt waiting in line to become Lady Sharpe. But he loved his American commoner with his whole heart. What father would not wish such a man on his only daughter?
_I am so incredibly happy._
But as they crossed the lobby, she saw her father's lawyer, Mr. Ferguson. And her maid, Annie, stood with him, pointing at her. She and Thomas slowed and her heart thudded so hard she felt her pulse in the soles of her feet. The agonized looks on their faces, wrenched, horror-stricken... hollow eyes, speaking of tragedy. She had seen that same expression on her father's face when he had come to tell her that her mother's suffering had ended.
Of her _death..._
* * *
Of death.
Here was proof that a terrible mistake had been made: Her father, who so loved grandeur and elegance, could not possibly have been taken to such a filthy, disgusting place. The Buffalo City Morgue was more vile than a stable, anyone could see that. No one who knew him would have brought him here. And so... there had been an error and someone else's poor father lay dead inside.
And though it would be a simple thing to enter and point out the blunder, she found she could not do it. Fear was drowning her denial: Mr. Ferguson would not make such an error; and in the lobby, Annie, who had been with them for three years, had burst into tears and embraced Edith as soon as she had come within arm's length.
_But this is my day of greatest happiness_. _It cannot be. It cannot._
Thomas and Mr. Ferguson stood with her, and she felt the warmth of Thomas's body through the frozen block of terror encasing her.
There was a clatter of footsteps, someone catching up to the trio. It was Alan, quite out of breath, and his appearance gave weight to the reality she was fighting so hard against. She stared at him as if through a snowstorm, barely able to see. She couldn't sense her feet on the ground. She began to feel as if she were dissolving, as insubstantial as one of the specters in Alan's spirit photographs.
"I'm so sorry," Alan said. "I came as soon as I heard."
_No, don't say that_ , she silently begged him. And then Thomas's hand gave her substance again, and some modicum of courage. She must be here for her father. If a mistake had been made—
— _Please, please, please let it be a mistake. Oh, please._
She started holding her breath.
Alan faltered as the coroner opened the door to the morgue. Edith turned to follow the man.
"Wait," Alan ordered. "Don't look."
Edith's throat was so tight that it took a great effort to speak. "I am told that I have to."
Alan appealed to the coroner. "No. Please. I'll give you a positive identification. Don't make her look. I was his physician." He turned to the family lawyer for support. "Ferguson, you know that."
That wasn't the truth; perhaps Alan had fitted him for eyeglasses. He was trying to spare her.
_Unless Father was ill and didn't want anyone to know... and that is what has happened... some kind of seizure..._
The renewed possibility that they were all supposed to be here squeezed her chest even tighter. She was afraid she was going to faint.
_No. It is not he. Please, if it is not he, then I will do anything. I will give everything I have or want. I will not marry Thomas..._
But her heart wailed in anguish at the thought of losing the man who was holding her up even then. Whose arm encircled her and protected her as she swayed forward.
Mr. Ferguson set his jaw and gave his head a little shake. "And I'm his lawyer, Dr. McMichael. I am sorry. It's not just a legal formality. It's obligatory, I'm afraid."
_I'm afraid._ The words echoed in her mind. She was so very, very afraid.
Thomas was there, and he loved her.
Alan was there, and he was her dearest and oldest friend.
But in her fear, she was all alone.
Her knees wobbled. She couldn't breathe enough to remain conscious. She could not draw sufficient air to hold body and soul together.
_I am afraid._
She and the men walked across a tile floor that was slippery, pitted, and dirty. The room stank of blood. There were flies. An abattoir. Carter Cushing could not possibly lie beneath that stained winding sheet, on that steel table.
And yet, the profile was his.
Time stopped utterly. This moment must last forever. This must be where she existed for the rest of eternity, because right here, her father could still be alive. Right here, they were together, and Thomas too. In this ticking heartbeat, this strangled breath, this sunlight in amber. Her world hanging in the balance, teetering until the pendulum swung back the other way. Balanced on the head of a pin. This was where she must always _be_.
Then the coroner took hold of the sheet, pausing a moment as if he, too, wished that the earth would stop spinning. That he could spare her. Then he lifted the drape.
And everything stayed frozen, everything: heart, thought, breath. Edith only stared as Thomas's hand tightened, tightened...
He did not look like her father.
He did not look human.
His face, destroyed. The bones crushed. Blood pooled and coagulated. The damage to the features beyond her ability to comprehend. A mistake, a mistake. This was not her father.
_It is._
_Oh, dear God, it is._
If she gave a sign that it was her father, she was unaware. But the tension in the room thickened; she felt a heavy weight pulling her downward as if she would sink through the floor, and the men grew even more somber as they shifted and someone cleared his throat, as if signaling that it was time to move to the next step in a hellish ritual. Was Thomas keeping her on her feet? She could not tell. The candle that they had held on the night they had waltzed... _Night's candles are burned out. Thomas... oh, Thomas, this cannot be happening._
What had she wished for when she had blown that candle out on the dance floor? Could she have not wished for long life for her father?
"How did it happen?" Alan asked hoarsely.
"An accident," Mr. Ferguson said. "The floor was wet."
Alan's brow furrowed as he scrutinized the body... her father... _Papa._
"May I, sir?" Alan said to the coroner. "Help me turn him."
Edith watched numbly as Alan inspected the poor, ruined head. The head that could not be her father's. Then, with the aid of the other man, he began to turn the deceased on his side and she saw shaving cream on his cheek. _Shaving cream. An accident. A wet floor, like this one. Slipping. The porcelain sink._
The sheet began to fall away, revealing—
_This is my father. It is, it is!_
"Stop it, stop!" she cried, rushing forward. "Don't handle him like that, please don't."
Alan drew back. "Forgive me, I was trying to—"
She strangled on her tears as Thomas drew alongside, steadying her, though hardly steady himself. His face was stark white; he was as horrified as she was. But now she must act; she must shield her beloved father from their eyes and their poking and prodding. Cook and DeWitt had gossiped about her mother—
— _Black as a charred lamb shank, she was. Sight of her is going to give me nightmares for years, I can tell you that. And the stink! They don't pay me enough to lay her out; I told her lady's maid to do it, and she up and quit and so I got the belowstairs to take it on. Master says the young lady is not to see and I'm all for that. One look and she'll grow up in an asylum, sure as my family's in Dublin. Are all the mirrors covered, DeWitt? Because you cannot be too sure. You certainly cannot. They hate the grave, the dead. And when you leave behind a sweet little girl like our Edith... well, you just don't go._
"This is my father," she said staunchly. She took possession of him. He was hers. She moved through the haze and took her stand as his daughter. "He—he is turning sixty next week, and he is afraid of looking his age, you see? That's why he... dresses so well, why he loves taking long walks with me." She cradled and kissed his hand. "It feels cold. Why is it so cold?"
They looked at her with such pity. And then as the horrible reality finally sank in—that he was truly dead—she crumbled.
## CHAPTER NINE
THE CEMETERY, AGAIN. Fourteen years vanished like phantoms as Alan once again regarded his dearest friend lost in grief. It seemed only yesterday they had gathered to bury Edith's mother, who had died horribly. And now her father, too. Alan could not support the coroner's cause of death: There had been far too much damage, and at the wrong angle, for a fall.
But that was a matter for another day. Now he must be there for Edith. She should have never been forced to see that. Ferguson and his obligations be damned. There were things that once you saw them, you could not unsee. Such had it been when he had witnessed his first surgery upon a human eye, popped from the cadaver of a beggar woman in the operating theater in London. Only the certainty that by observation he might save the sight in others gave him the fortitude to remain at his place, although the fellow beside him had covered his mouth and excused himself, running for the door.
He remembered the way Edith had looked to him for comfort when she was but ten and he eleven. Even as a callow lad, he had known how her heart was aching, seen the tears that would not fall.
What had Conan Doyle said during his spiritualism lecture? "Of all ghosts the ghosts of our old loves are the worst." Alan had loved Edith Cushing all his life.
But today she wasn't even looking at him. Too much a boy back then to think of marrying her, he was also here today to bury his hopes as a man. Upon her finger glittered the large red ring that had graced Lady Sharpe's hand the night Edith had waltzed with Sir Thomas. A family heirloom, clearly; for Edith, a new acquisition, and it sucked in the watery light of the gloomy day, casting no reflection. Alan knew what it signified: She was engaged to be married to Sir Thomas Sharpe.
Sharpe, whose pale English face seemed to vanish into the sleeting rain as he sheltered her beneath an umbrella. In tribute to the man who would have become his father-in-law, the Englishman wore deep mourning, and Edith was likewise swathed in black from head to toe. Alan remembered her childhood story of seeing a woman in black in her nursery, likely her mother, and how Eunice had laughed at her and called her mad. Now Edith was a woman in black, and as she leaned against Sir Thomas's chest, dazed and unfocused, Alan knew that she would haunt him for the rest of his life.
Sir Thomas's arm was around her, which would have been a breach of propriety had they not been affianced. It was all too soon, under circumstances too horrible to comprehend, and perhaps he was looking through the prism of his jealousy, but when he regarded the way Sir Thomas held Edith, it seemed that the man was determined to keep her in his grasp rather than to ease her suffering. She looked trapped, not protected.
Then Sir Thomas noticed his gaze and held it, steadily. It was an unspoken duel. Edith saw none of it. Alan knew that he had already lost, and so he tipped his hat, as one would do under such a circumstance to salute a grieving relative of the deceased. Encumbered by umbrella and fiancée, Sir Thomas was unable to return the gesture, and so, inclined his head. Sharpe was the model of gravity and sorrow, and Alan wondered if he himself was being unfair because of his jealousy. Sir Thomas's feelings for Edith could be pure. It _was_ possible to fall in love deeply and quickly.
Just ask Eunice.
* * *
_Three short weeks later, a few of the same guests who mourned my father's passing would attend my wedding at Asbury-Delaware Church. It was a small affair, the details of which I now struggle to recall._
* * *
Edith the bride was dressed and veiled in white, like a phantom. The bouquet of red roses that she held as Ferguson walked her down the aisle reminded Alan of a beating heart, and of her father's favorite song, "A Red, Red Rose," which Cushing had listened to nearly every morning as he showered and shaved at his club. She looked dazed. Like every man present, Alan included, the groom wore a mourning band. It was macabre that they should marry now, and when the minister asked if there were any present who knew of any impediments to their union, Alan wanted to speak up. He wanted to say that it felt wrong, her father had not approved and Edith was making a terrible mistake, but he held his peace. He wished her well, he truly did.
But as Sir Thomas kissed his bride, her garnet ring cast a slash of red light against her pale, wan cheek, and it looked so much like a wound that Alan gasped. Heads turned his way, including Eunice's, and she favored him with a sad, tight smile. She was sending him a signal: He must accept that the kiss sealed the two as husband and wife and the hopes of the McMichaels were dashed. Eunice would love again, of that he was sure, and he tried to convey confidence in her future happiness by taking her hand and giving it a squeeze.
And he was equally sure that he would never stop loving. He would go to his grave married in his heart to Edith Cushing, and perhaps, if there were such things as ghosts and the fates were kind, he would be able to watch over her, and her children, and her grandchildren and keep her free from danger.
_Let her be happy, and I will be happy_ , he thought. _It is all that I want out of this life._
_"No ghost was ever seen by two pair of eyes."_
— THOMAS CARLYLE
## CHAPTER TEN
### CUMBERLAND, ENGLAND
THE HILLS WERE barren and the sky was clotted with fog. Warmed by blankets and her traveling coat with the magenta bow, Edith, who was dozing in the open carriage, got lost in a hazy dream that she was riding in a hearse toward a cemetery. Not so much riding as being conveyed to the graveyard, which signified that she was the one who had died. The last of the Cushings. But she was a Cushing no longer. She was Lady Sharpe.
Through the chill, she felt the warmth of her husband and knew that she was dreaming, and roused herself. Then Thomas said, "Edith, Edith, wake up. We are here."
When her eyes opened, she saw Thomas. His dear face, the angles as keen-edged as the facets of her garnet ring, his eyes bluer than the exquisite cameo Wedgwood belt clasp she had eyed, then rejected, while shopping in London. Thomas had encouraged her to allow the purchase but she wanted all possible funds to be spent on developing his clay-harvesting machine. She had a wonderful trousseau that would stand her until his own fortune was restored.
If only her father could be there to see that.
The horse brought the carriage closer to the gates of the Sharpe family seat, and in some ways, the place matched the engravings she had studied in her book. The bones of the grounds and the house were still there. Short columns supported an iron arch dominated by the family crest, which was often wrought in pictures in brilliant red as a nod to the crimson clay from the Sharpe mines, and included the image of a chained skull, very dark and Gothic, in her view. The crest had been impressed in the red wax seal on the back of Thomas's desperate love letter. Below the crest wrought in iron were the words ALLERDALE HALL.
The bleak house stood at the end of a red clay path, surrounded by dead brown grass and skeletal trees and backed by a dark gray sky. Gone were the boulevards lined with trees and topiaries. No porte cochère to shelter aristocrats' coaches as they disgorged visitors; indeed, no visitors. No servants, either, just one man, she had been told. Thomas and Lucille could no longer afford staff, and so had given up entertaining.
_I will change all that._ Upon the death of her father, control of the family fortune had passed to her. She would restore Allerdale Hall and its master to their former glory. The worry lines on her beloved's dear face would disappear. They would waltz in their own home surrounded by friends and family. And children.
She blushed.
As to the hall itself, two Gothic spires of unequal height dominated the asymmetrical silhouette as it sat wedged between life-size versions of Thomas's mining equipment. It had been built on over the centuries, in many styles of brick and stone; there were walkways, turrets and towers, numbers of which had deteriorated so badly as to fall. Glazed glass panes stared at her beneath eyebrows of arched brick. Allerdale Hall looked at once to be simultaneously unfinished and too tired to go on, as if it were alive and slowing dying. What was the saying? Giving up the ghost.
Thomas had prepared her, but the sight of the once-magnificent estate now fallen into such terrible ruin stunned and saddened her. There was a desperate dignity about her new husband as he gazed at her taking it in. Like his beautiful but dated clothing, his home spoke of a life begun in refinement and elegance, but without the means to maintain it. It spoke of loss. She remembered what he had told the captains of Buffalo industry: that he was possessed of an indomitable will. It seemed to her now that Allerdale Hall stood aboveground only through the sheer force of that will; that if owned by a lesser man, it would have disappeared into the fog like a mirage.
The carriage rolled to a stop and a manservant approached and greeted Thomas deferentially, bobbing his head to Edith. He was arthritic and quite old, his eyes milky, and his homespun clothes were even more threadbare than Thomas's dark blue suit.
"Hello, Finlay. How have you been keeping?" Thomas asked him warmly.
"Never better, Sir Thomas. I knew it was you a mile off."
"Finlay, this is my wife."
"I know, I know, milord. You've been married a while," the man—Finlay—replied. Then he went round the carriage to fetch the luggage.
_Poor thing_ , Edith thought. _His mind is giving out._
Thomas handed her out of the carriage. Together they walked toward the front steps of the house she was now mistress of. Thomas opened his mouth to say something, but at the same moment, a cute little dog scurried around the carriage and yipped in ecstasy at the sight of them.
Edith cried, "And who is this? You never told me about him! Or is it a she?"
"I had no idea," Thomas murmured.
Edith bent to examine the bouncy creature. She could feel its delicate bones beneath its icy, matted coat. "It has a collar. Is it a stray, do you think?"
"Impossible," he said, wrinkling his forehead. "There's no other house for miles and the town is half a day's walk away."
"Well, the poor thing is in a terrible state. Can I keep it? It looks famished."
"As you wish," he said indulgently. "Now, Your Ladyship, may I have the honor?"
With a flourish, he picked her up and carried her over the threshold of their home. They both burst into happy giggles. _Married._ And home at last from their honeymoon—if one could properly call it a honeymoon. They had not shared the marriage bed as yet. She was so grateful that Thomas had respected her mourning—and yet, she was ready to be a proper wife to him.
In all respects.
He set her down just inside the foyer, and as he slowly took off his top hat she was reminded of a magician drawing back the curtain of a magic trick. She had her first glimpse of the interior of the great house. There was a huge foyer, paneled in dark wood, and above it three stories of lacy balconies and Italianate galleries, profusions of finials, and Gothic arches decorated with quatrefoils. Portraits of centuries of Sharpe ancestors in gilded frames compounded Edith's impression that she was standing in the ghost of Allerdale Hall, a memory of lost vibrancy, that the actual house was gone. Yet there seemed to be a birdcage elevator of moderate size, able to hold perhaps three people—a single note of modernity—and it reminded her of Thomas's ingenious mining machine. This place _would_ live again, and it _would_ come into the present. She would see to that.
"Lucille!" Thomas called, his voice practically echoing. "Lucille! Lucille!"
The little dog barked a delighted chorus. Snowflakes drifted from the holes in the ceiling, soundless and melancholy. Edith found herself thinking of the rose petals she had scattered over her father's casket—their skin-like texture and dying scent—and shivered.
She said over her shoulder, "I think it's colder inside than outside."
"It is an utter disgrace," Thomas responded. "We try to maintain the house as best we can, but with the cold and the rain and the mines right below... it's almost impossible to stop the damp and erosion."
Indeed, there was evidence of damage everywhere, rust and mold and streaks and pools of red clay. Her father could have set all to rights with his engineering expertise, of that she was certain; she spared a moment for another, deeper pang of grief, felt it as palpably as if it were creeping up her body, then set it aside for her dear new husband's sake.
"How many rooms are there?" she asked him.
He blinked, surprised. "Why? I don't really know." Then he grinned at her, and there was the charm that had won her over so quickly. "Would you like to count them?"
She laughed. "Oh, I will. But how can you sustain this house, just you and Lucille?"
Mr. Finlay entered with some of her trunks. "Take it upstairs, young master?" he asked. She smiled at the old man's slip in speaking to Thomas as if he were still a child, his affection for Thomas evident. Edith's father had always told her that if you wanted to measure the character of a man, then watch how he dealt with his servants. Thomas treated Finlay quite civilly, and there was a real bond between them. That pleased her deeply.
"Yes, Finlay, please." Thomas brushed Edith's lips with a kiss and returned his full attention to her. "It is a privilege we were born into and one we can never relinquish. But we manage, darling, somehow. My workshop's in the attic. I can't wait to show you."
He turned with a "wait-for-me" air and disappeared into the gloom. To locate his sister, she supposed. It was uncanny how, with a few quick steps, he seemed to vanish. How the house appeared to swallow him up. Despite her book of engravings, she hadn't realized just how enormous it was. It could contain several Cushing Manors and a few copies of the McMichael home as well. She didn't understand Thomas's slavish devotion to it, but he came from an old family in a country steeped in tradition, custom, and duty. She couldn't imagine enduring a life in this house for any other reason than love. And love would keep her here.
With Finlay upstairs and Thomas off to find his sister, she was ostensibly alone in the large, cold room. Except for the cute little dog, of course. The pup had grown so quiet that she had almost forgotten it was there. Now, as she looked at it, she realized that its tail was curled fearfully between its legs. Slightly uneasy, Edith drew her coat more closely around herself. The dog continued to cower, and she looked around, trying to see what it saw. But there was nothing. What was it frightened of?
As if in answer, the wind slammed the front door shut with a boom. She jumped. The dog hunched lower.
With the door closed, the great hall descended deeper into darkness, and she lost sight of many of the architectural details. It was enormous, and it dawned on her that one could look down from above without being seen. What that signified, she had no idea, and she tried to shake off her presentiment of doom. She was very tired, and this was the final destination of the day's long, cold trip. This was her home now.
So she took off her hat and gloves, settling in, then spotted a large mirror, where she checked her hair. She wanted to look presentable for Lucille, whom she barely knew. Because Lucille had already left for England on that terrible day when Edith's father had died, she had missed the wedding.
Her hair looked fine; Edith recalled the day she had gone to see Mr. Ogilvie with ink smudges on her fingertips and forehead. So much had happened since then, but the one constant was that she was still working on her novel. She had packed plenty of paper and the exquisite gold pen her father had given her; aside from the garnet ring Thomas had placed on her finger when he had proposed, the pen was her most cherished possession.
The dog was still cowering and as she looked down at the poor mite, she heard a strange, soft buzzing. She glanced down at a tray by the mirror to find, to her astonishment, a handful of dying flies. She frowned; it was so odd and unexpected. She couldn't imagine how they had ended up inside the frigid house, nor why they were dying at this precise moment. She studied them and scanned the shadows for evidence of food or perhaps a dead animal.
Then the little dog trotted back into the room, startling Edith, who hadn't even noticed that it had left. The house was freakish in the way it absorbed sound.
The pup was carrying a bright red rubber ball in its mouth and trotted up, wagging its tail as an invitation to its new friend to play fetch.
"You? Where on earth did you find that?" she asked it. She could not imagine any reason for there to be such a dog-sized ball in the fabulous ruin.
The dog persisted. She was about to stretch out her hand when in the mirror, she spotted the dark shape of a woman on the far side of the room. At last Thomas's sister had emerged. Edith felt a little flutter of nerves. They were strangers who now were family.
She raised a hand, but the figure stayed well away from her, so cloaked in the shadows that Edith couldn't really make out her appearance. She seemed to be moving strangely... or perhaps that was due to one of Lucille's tightly corseted Victorian gowns, which constricted movement. Edith far preferred the more modern full skirts and mutton-sleeved blouses of the New Woman, which coincided with her image of herself as a lady novelist.
"Lucille?" she said by way of greeting.
The lady moved away, and Edith was perplexed. Should she follow after her? Was there some reason Lucille was not speaking to her? And—dear Lord, was she _smoking_? The light caught some sort of trail wafting behind the woman in a strange way, faint strands that appeared to be glowing as they floated upward. She simply could not imagine such a refined lady as Lucille Sharpe puffing away on a cigarette.
"Excuse me," Edith called, walking toward her. It was not Lucille; she could tell that much. For one thing, her height was wrong.
Ignoring Edith, the stranger entered the elevator cage. The mechanism hummed to life and the elevator ascended as Edith hurried over to it and peered upward. Too late; all she saw was the bottom of the cab.
Then Thomas walked back in, and Edith waved her hand at the lift just as it stopped at the top of the house. Or at least so she assumed. The machinery had stopped humming, but she wasn't certain that the elevator door had opened yet.
"A woman, Thomas, in the elevator," she told him.
He raised a brow. "You mean Lucille?"
"No, no, Thomas, it wasn't Lucille," she insisted.
"That contraption seems to have a mind of its own," Thomas said, almost fondly. "The wiring gets affected by the dampness in the house. It connects to the clay pits, you see. Promise me you'll be very careful when using it, and never, ever go below this level. The mines are very unstable."
She wanted to make it clear that there _had_ been a woman in the elevator. It hadn't just "decided" to go up.
As she opened her mouth, the little dog started barking and bounded toward the foyer. The door opened and Lucille walked in, wrapped in gloves and heavy woolens, and her eyes widened when she saw the dog.
"What is this thing doing here?" she asked curtly. "I thought that you—"
"Dear Lucille," Thomas broke in happily. "It's so good to see you!"
As he went to embrace her, she threw off her cape, preventing him. Then she regarded Edith with a cool eye.
"I see you made it, Edith," she said, which was a rather strange thing to say. "How was London?"
"A blur. A dream," Edith said, putting aside her concerns about the woman. Perhaps Lucille had engaged someone from the village to prepare the house for their homecoming. And truly, London _had_ been a dream. Despite her father's wealth and position, she had not traveled much. She and Thomas had seen many of the sights that had been in her book about England, just as depicted, and Thomas had seemed so happy revealing his country to her.
Thomas said happily, "We went to the Albert Hall, Lucille. A concert. So grand. So wonderful."
Indeed, they had listened to a Chopin program, and Thomas had remarked that Lucille would have loved it. He had spoken often of his sister during their excursions, and Edith had been touched by his devotion to her. It had reminded her of Alan and Eunice, and she had felt a pang of homesickness. She occasionally caught herself talking about her father, and would cut herself short because she did not want Thomas to think she wasn't happy. But Thomas had encouraged her to talk about him, reminding her that she was still grieving.
Lucille bristled a little. "I see. Well _I_ went to the post office. Your machine parts are here from Birmingham. Two heavy crates. You'll need Finlay to fetch them." She spoke stiffly, clearly a bit jealous of their fine time. But one went on a honeymoon with one's bride, not one's sister. Surely Lucille understood that. Perhaps they could take a trip together, the two Sharpe sisters-in-law, while Thomas worked on his machine. It would be difficult to be parted from Thomas for even a few days, however.
Lucille cocked her head. "Edith? Is there something the matter with you?"
Thomas looked at Edith too. His warm glow dimmed a bit. "Give us a moment," he told Lucille. "She's a little shaken."
Lucille hung up her winter things. "Goodness. Why is that?"
He shrugged. "She saw something. A shadow, a reflection. It frightened her."
Lucille favored her with a condescending smile. "A shadow? Oh, darling, all that lives in this house are shadows and reflections and creaks and groans. So you'd better soothe that boundless imagination of yours from now on."
Edith considered. She was tired and Allerdale Hall _was_ filled with "shadows and reflections and creaks and groans." After all, she had imagined that the woman had been having a cigarette, yet she smelled no smoke.
And as she turned her head, she caught her own reflection in another mirror, and she had to admit that despite presentable hair, she looked a sight: pallid complexion, dark circles beneath her eyes. She barely recognized herself.
She determined not to pursue it, at least not when they had just arrived home and she needed to create a bond with her new sister-in-law. However, the house was much more unsettling than she had expected, and she _would_ have to rein in her imagination.
"I need a proper welcome, that is all," she declared, embracing Lucille. "From this day forward, the house will contain nothing but friendship and love and warmth."
From Lucille's posture, Edith could tell that her new sister-in-law was looking over Edith's shoulder at Thomas. Smiling at him, she hoped. Letting him know that she was pleased by Edith's overture.
"Warmth would be an excellent start," Lucille said. "Thomas, your bride is frozen."
Lucille unhooked the key ring from her waist and turned to go. She seemed harried and a bit tired.
Thomas smiled at Edith. "I'll take you upstairs, my darling. Start a fire at once. You can run a hot bath. You'll need to let the water run. The pipes will carry some red clay at first but then the water will clear."
Abashed that Lucille should perform housekeeping tasks while she bathed, Edith thought to reject the bath in favor of assisting her. But truthfully she _was_ frozen, and so exhausted that she would be of no use to anyone. She vowed that she would lift the weight from Lucille's shoulders, or, at the least, take on her fair share. She herself was not used to performing work customarily given to servants, but she was game to learn, and did know how to run a house.
"Lucille, whenever it's convenient, may I have a copy of the house keys, please?"
"You don't need one," Lucille said quickly. Then, in a more measured tone, she added, "For now. There are parts of the house that are unsafe. It will take a few days for you to familiarize yourself. Then, should you still feel that you need them, I'll have copies made."
Edith let herself be satisfied with that answer, but she made a pledge to herself to be useful to Lucille. The other woman had carried the burden of maintaining this enormous house for too long, and it was clear to Edith that the house was winning.
_We shall turn that tide together_ , she vowed.
Then she followed her bridegroom toward the lift, anticipating a nice hot bath and then, perhaps then... the bridal chamber.
## CHAPTER ELEVEN
IT WATCHED.
The bride was in the bathroom, standing in her chemise and corset as she turned on the taps. Steam spilled from the faucet and the first few sputters were red as blood.
"Oh, God," she cried.
_There is no God here_ , it thought. _Abandon hope, all ye who enter here._
The recalcitrant heaters on both sides of the tub began to knock, the pipes vibrating like a death rattle, then growing louder, a horrible sound. Rude and demanding. Then the water ran clear and hot. Not everything was ruined and decaying. Not yet, anyway.
She removed her eyeglasses and placed them in the basin. She climbed into the tub. Quite a dainty thing. Blond hair, a distinction. American. A novelty.
Above her glasses, in the mirror, a handprint bloomed.
Busy tonight, then, inspecting the bride. What was she like?
* * *
Belowstairs, in the scullery, it made another observation:
"What is this?" the sister asked. Her voice was clenched with worry, a tinge of panic. "What is she playing at?"
"I have no idea," the brother replied, graduating the flame in the copper heater. Ah ha: caring for the comfort of the innocent in the tub. Making sure her bath was hot, and the water for her tea as well. Laying the traps. These two, these dark two. How it loved them. Wind them up—
"The dog." The sister was agitated. There were beads of perspiration on her forehead. "You said you'd killed the dog."
His face tensed. Was it with apology, or excuse? "I left it on its own," he confessed. "I thought..."
"How has that thing survived? All this time?" she wondered aloud. "On scraps, I suppose. As we all do."
Then his face softened, and the love he bore his sister came through. "We won't have to do that anymore." His voice held promise, certainty.
"Won't we?" She scowled. "The money is not here, is it?"
"Not yet, but soon."
She stomped to the stove and readied a kettle of boiling water. Then she selected a red tin of tea and poured the water through the leaves into the pot. Next she inspected the cups and rejected the one with a chip in it, placing perfect cup and saucer together. The tea service was _cloisonné_ , a family heirloom. Beautiful. There were so few treasures left.
Lucille moved close to her brother, perhaps as close as his bride would stand, and he did not move aside. Distracted, perhaps, as she prepared a tea tray for him to take upstairs to Edith. Perhaps... guilty.
Haunted.
"Once she signs the final papers, she will be gone," Lucille said. "In the meantime, don't make another mistake."
Looking troubled, yet saying nothing, he put away the red tea tin and picked up the tray.
* * *
Edith would never have thought it possible, but she was beginning to warm up as she soaked in the claw-foot tub. It had been lovingly cleaned and she had added a few handfuls of the fine bath salts she had packed in her trousseau. The scent of roses brought vague memories of their wedding. She had moved through the ceremony like a sleepwalker, and she wished she remembered more of it. She had still been in shock.
The wind blew past the windows, howling; the panes rattled in the round leaded window above her. Edith sank a little deeper into her bath.
Then she thought she heard a noise: a whisper, perhaps, or someone... crying? She tried to hear over the sudden triphammer of her heart. Lucille had been right about the need to rein in her active imagination. She leaned back and allowed the steam to relax her. Yet she found herself replaying the episode with the elevator. It _was_ an enormous house, and Lucille had not been there when they'd arrived. Someone could have slipped into the house while Finlay was unloading Edith's trunks from the carriage. True, there were no other homes for miles around, and the village was far away, but a disgruntled servant, perhaps, or some other person... Thomas and Lucille hadn't shown the slightest bit of curiosity about the possibility of an intruder.
_They've lived here all their lives_ , she reminded herself.
There was a rustling in the bedroom. She jerked, listening.
"Thomas?" she called. He had promised to bring her some tea.
Then the little dog trotted up to the edge of the tub with the red rubber ball in its mouth.
"No, not now," Edith murmured.
But the winsome pup whined and wagged its tail, insistent. She smiled; she could see how the plucky little thing had survived out on the heath.
"Oh, all right." She reached out—the air was bracing—and took up the ball. "Fetch!" She threw it and the dog took off like a shot, flying out of the bathroom into the gloom.
Edith thought she heard the rustling again. But still no Thomas. Perhaps he hadn't heard her call. They had yet to be... _familiar_ with one another. He had never even seen her in her nightdress. The mysteries of the marriage bed remained such. But now, in their home... perhaps he was laying a hot water bottle between the sheets and stoking the fire. It moved her that a baronet should perform such menial duties. This would not stand. As soon as she could transfer her funds, the Sharpes would live as they once had.
The dog returned victorious, miniature jaw champed down on the ball, and it dropped the prize at the base of the tub once more.
"Shh, quiet now," she told it, still listening for Thomas. She wondered what she should do; she had not brought all her nightwear in the bathroom, assuming she could slip into the bedroom to make herself more presentable. Or not, if Thomas was of a mind...
The dog yipped and tapped its nails on the tile, impatient.
"Oh, all right, fetch," she said again. And she threw the ball once more. It ran off; in a flash, the furry creature reappeared, ball in mouth, barking, even more excited.
She threw the ball yet again and the pup ran after it _again._ She waited, one ear pricked for the sounds in the bedroom. She could still hear someone in there. Dear Lord, could it be Finlay? If he was the only servant, he might even be unpacking her clothing. The thought embarrassed her. She would have to do something. But first, she'd gather up the dog and keep it with her. There was no telling which parts of the house were unsafe, as Lucille put it, and she wouldn't want the pup to crash through a weak section of the floor or lose itself in a warren of cluttered rooms.
Seconds ticked by, and the dog did not return. Perhaps a full minute. Her anxiety began to rise. She half-rose from the water, absolutely certain that someone was in the bedroom. Someone who by now should have made their presence known.
_This is off_ , she thought. _This is strange._
She thought again of the woman in the elevator, and gooseflesh broke out all over her body, even the parts submerged in the steaming water. Then the dog trotted back into the bathroom. But this time it did not have its toy. It sat proudly, awaiting praise.
"Doggie? Come on, silly. Where is the ball?" she prompted it. It just stared at her in its merry way.
She heard a _thump_.
And the ball came bouncing back.
By itself.
* * *
It watched.
Blurred by shadow, a slender figure moved in the bedroom. Dark, ghostly, lurching awkwardly, long scrawny arms groping the air like a blind beggar, movements spectral and disjointed. Staggering, unnaturally stooped, as if this time and place were not its time and place.
The bride, so innocent, rose like Venus from the tub and reached for her spectacles. Her trembling made her clumsy and she only succeeded in dropping them. They clattered on the hard tile but did not break.
In the bedroom, the figure jerked. Then, drawn by the sound, it peeked around the corner, almost timidly, and pulled the sliding door open.
Would they see one another?
The bride finally succeeded in retrieving her foggy, wet glasses and she looped them around her ears. As the condensation cleared, she stepped from the tub and wrapped herself in a robe.
Half-hiding, the figure watched her draw near and crouched.
Still, surely she would see it.
But why? Others had not seen it.
Did not see it.
It glided away.
And as the bride entered the room, she saw no one there, until her husband entered with a tray.
"Lucille made you tea," he told her with a smile. Then he stared hard at her. "Are you all right? You look rather pale."
She did not tell him. She did not confide. After all, while she loved him, she didn't know him all that well. She still had a lot to prove.
A lot to discover.
* * *
Creeping along, creeping along, creeping along.
Bathed in blue midnight, leaves scattered along the floors of the galleries; curtains shifted. Creaks and groans, reflections, shadows.
In the snow, on the heath, Allerdale Hall stood by itself against the hills, holding darkness within.
* * *
Edith was relieved and happy to be nestled in bed with Thomas, who was fussing over her—raking the fire, pouring and bringing her tea in a lovely cup that spoke of fine things and better times for the Sharpes. Then she took a sip and found it quite bitter. He raised a brow at her grimace, and she was abashed to disappoint him.
"You don't like it?" he asked.
"What is it?" They had never had anything like it in London.
"Firethorn berries. Very good for you," he said.
"It's a little bitter," she confessed, and his face took on the haunted, sad expression that seemed to appear at the strangest times—often, when he should be happiest. She did not know what caused his melancholy, but she had promised herself she would wipe it from his face once and forever. She would make him so blissfully happy that he would forget whatever it was that threw a shadow over his spirit.
"I'm afraid nothing gentle ever grows in this land, Edith," he said. "You need a measure of bitterness not to be eaten. To survive."
It was so queer, the words he spoke, contrasted with the way he spoke them. But it frightened her a bit, and reminded her of what Lucille had said back in Delaware Park when she had collected butterflies to feed her cocoon. That all they had here were insects that thrived on cold and darkness. Black moths. And wintertime flies as well? So Cumberland produced moths, maggots, bitter berries, and blood-red clay?
What was this place she had come to?
Like a reply, a low, agonized moan filled the room. It raged from one end to the other, lifting up the hair on the back of her neck. Edith was so startled that she nearly dropped her cup as she clung to her husband.
"What is that?" she cried.
"When the east wind picks up, the chimneys form a vacuum and, with the windows all shuttered, the house..." his features became pinched, as if he were embarrassed to go on "...well, the house _breathes._ Ghastly, I know."
She shuddered. It _was_ ghastly. It was almost too much for her to take in. The sound was horrible enough, but what it implied was too strange. A breathing house—how terrifying, for children especially. How had Thomas endured it as a little boy?
"Can something be done about that?" she asked hopefully. She was certain that if he knew it bothered her so badly, and he could repair it, he would. And what of their own children, should they be so blessed, once the two of them consummated their marriage?
"Nothing," he replied. "I cried every time I heard it as a child. You'll learn to turn a deaf ear."
So it _had_ frightened him as a boy. She concluded that he wasn't happy to be home, and that made her sad, too. As his wife, her life's work would be to bring him gladness. He had lifted her from the abyss when her father had died. She would do all she could to keep him from that dark, lonely place where she had been.
The infernal racket ceased and they settled in together again. As she sipped the very bitter tea, he placed a large wooden box in front of her with an unexpected flourish. She looked from it to him, pleased to see that his smile had returned. It was like the sun breaking through clouds, and it warmed her.
"What, pray tell, is that?" she asked.
He had dimples when he grinned. "Ah! This is a surprise. I wracked my brains for a suitable wedding present."
She was touched by his thoughtfulness. They had married quickly, and he had been stretched for funds. He had purchased beautiful mourning attire for her father's funeral, insisting that he could not embarrass himself by accepting her charity in purchasing it for him. Yet he had somehow also managed to procure her a wedding gift.
On the box was a plaque engraved with the initials E.S. How had he pulled that off so expeditiously as well?
"Edith Sharpe," he said unnecessarily. For of course she had practiced writing her new initials, as any young schoolgirl would have done upon accepting a suitor. This, too, pleased her, and she sat for a moment, savoring the sound of her name on his lips.
Then she opened the box and caught her breath at what she saw: Inside sat a stalwart typewriter. The memory of their first meeting came rushing back and emotion rolled over her in waves. She embraced him; he held her back to look at her, really look, and there was true joy on his face, mixed with... regret? Ah, yes; he was remembering that first encounter, too. It had been at her father's offices, she typing her manuscript, which he had declared quite good. Then how he and her father had sparred. Her poor father, in the ground now, with her mother.
_My mother, who walked our halls after she was dead. Who warned me to beware of Crimson Peak. Or was that she? What did I really see?_
She held back a sob, then wept gently in his arms over his goodness. She was safe, protected. He closed his eyes and she fell on the bed with him. Now, now it would happen. She was a little afraid, but passion began to overtake her. And the tenderest love for this man.
His kiss was tentative. He was still reticent. She wanted to tell him that she desired him, but perhaps this was not the time. Their moment had not yet arrived.
"It's been an exhausting journey," he murmured. "You better get some rest."
He rose, easing her firmly away. Perhaps he believed that this was best for her, and she was too shy to say otherwise. She really didn't know too much about such concerns; she hadn't had a mother with whom to discuss marital matters, and the things the other girls said didn't seem to make much sense. Eunice had stolen a copy of a book from a stack she'd found in a locked trunk in the McMichael attic and read bits aloud to a giggling assembly that had included Edith. It was mostly about whippings and canings and Edith had declared with certainty that these were not the normal acts that occurred between married people. Edith had been so vehement about it that Eunice had tossed the book at her and said, "Then tell us all about it, Edith, since you know so much. Tell us a story that begins 'Once upon a time, a trembling virgin married the ghostly lord of a haunted castle...'"
Here she was, married over a month, and all she knew was that when Thomas drew near, when he touched her, she grew warm and eager, and wanted to find out _everything._
"I'll have a bath now," he told her. "Finish your tea, and, if you fall asleep, darling, I won't wake you up."
_But I want you to wake me up_ , she almost said. _I want... you._
Yet as he took one more look at her, her eyelids had already begun to droop.
## CHAPTER TWELVE
IT WATCHED.
The sister spied through the keyhole in the door to their bedroom. She watched her brother refuse to perform his husbandly duties. She smiled and moved away.
It watched the house's breath scatter the dried leaves that drifted in, drifted by. The walls were bleeding from fissures in the wallpaper. Stab wounds, or a razor blade slowly drawn across a vein? Moths flew out; maggots fed.
The mad head of the house was rotting, and night was dragging her wings across the moon, tracing filigree on the floors. In the attic, more black moths were dancing because it was cold, because it was dark. Because they were hungry.
For the butterfly.
* * *
The clock struck midnight, and Edith half-stirred among the shabby elegance of the blue bedclothes.
Another noise, and she opened one eye. Someone was softly crying again. This time she was certain. She turned her head toward Thomas's side of the bed, but he was not there.
There was more sobbing, papery, whispering. She looked slowly around. The room felt busy; she saw shapes and tried to make out what they were, seeing faces and hands everywhere and telling herself that they were only chairs and her new typewriter and the fireplace tongs and her tea things. But ice water filled her veins as the memory of the black-faced phantom in Cushing Manor batted at her awareness, demanding entry. She denied it, would not think of it, but her subconscious mined the deep, consuming dread that had never left her since that night in the nursery. It had only lain dormant, waiting to emerge.
"Thomas?" she called. For perhaps it was he who was crying. She heard it distinctly now, yes, weeping, and she called to mind that he had seemed sad at intervals since they had first laid eyes on Allerdale Hall. An Englishman—a blueblood baronet—surely could not show such weakness in front of his new bride, and so of course he would conceal himself.
Then she heard footsteps, and the door to the room opened gently.
She got up. There was no one there—the loose door was simply more evidence of the house's decay, she reasoned—and she closed it.
It opened again with a slow, long _creeeeak._ A sharp chill rippled up her spine as she took a step back. Then, gathering her wits, she stepped out into the hall. Her little dog, which had been sleeping by the fire, followed her out. And she thought of the pup's little red ball, and the sounds emanating from the bedroom while she had been in the bath. Of the woman in the elevator.
In a house that breathed.
* * *
It watched.
Holding a candelabra, the bride stepped into the hall with the dog that should be dead jaunting along beside her. When did curiosity flow into dread? It was a question that waited to be answered, though it had been asked a hundred times within the walls of Allerdale Hall.
The floor was cold as a crypt, the boards and tiles frigid as stone coffin lids. Portraits stared down. Statues did not move until one looked away. And then... was it just the light?
Moths fluttered, fluttered, dipped and dove. So hungry.
Just ahead of the bride, a shadow turned the corner. Creeping, shambling. It knew its way around. It hadn't always. But there was a reason it moved in such a bizarre manner. Perhaps the bride would find out why tonight.
But no, she missed it. Didn't see it.
Or _couldn't_?
She glided on, and with her long, plaited hair and white gown, she looked like a ghost herself. Like she belonged at Allerdale Hall. Or would, soon.
_Bam!_ A door slammed shut.
The bride jumped, a cry dying in her throat. Then she stood stock-still, attempting to locate the source, to make it make sense. She was probably thinking that her husband must have shut a door. But she didn't call out his name. Fear kept her silent. She didn't want to call attention to herself.
Curiosity met dread.
Or perhaps she still insisted that her door had opened because the wood was rotting and the hinges were rusty; that, like the elevator, dampness and age threw everything off-kilter. Creaks and groans, curtains, snowfall, a house that breathed. There were rats.
Moonlight spilled; she opened one door in the hallway. Her candlelight flickered over the threshold. Furniture was covered with sheets; dusty ashes were heaped in a fireplace. On the mantel, a candleholder was thickly wrapped in cobwebs, and two crystal goblets stood before a vase of dried roses.
She shut the door and tried the next. A white marble statue missing a face was holding a human skull, perhaps pondering the mysteries of eternal rest. At the base of the statue carved letters stood out in relief, some of them obscured by clumpy red stains: B LOVE W FE. _Beloved wife._ Clearly a funerary monument. Perhaps she wondered if some of the bodies were moved from the family plot because of the mining operations. It was clear that the statue upset her, for she shut that door a bit more firmly.
She opened the next door. That room was completely bare, although the floor was littered with leaves and rat droppings. The fourth room as well.
It watched as she opened every door in the corridor. The bride was made of stern stuff. The dog withdrew, perhaps bored, but the bride moved on, her gown and hair billowing in the breathy sighs of Allerdale Hall. Her feet must be burning with cold. It could almost see her breath in the stygian frostiness.
Then she reached the last door. As she stood before it, she reacted to the scratching and whimpering. So desperate.
Coming from the other side of the door.
"You silly dog," she chided, but there was a quaver in her voice. She was fighting to stay brave. "How did you get locked out?"
She reached her hand around the knob and pulled—
—as, behind her, the little dog barked. She startled, then turned to see it—
—and behind the door, a linen closet, not a room; and crowded in, something, something, _something crimson—_
—whimpered; it whimpered and scratched incessantly.
Of course it saw; of course it knew what it was:
Rolling eyes, a clacking jaw, scarlet fear, a ruby-red woman shape, scratching with fingers of bone. A trail of brilliant, fresh blood floated up toward the top of the closet, defying space just as the monstrous apparition defied time.
But it wanted, needed to be seen; it was wild for her to turn her head back from the dog. However, she did not turn. She did not see.
But the door slammed shut!
That got the bride's attention. She stared at the door and for a moment, it seemed certain that she would run back into her room and dive beneath the covers. Others would.
Others _had._
But she took a deep breath, building up her courage. Excellent adversary!
Then she finally yanked it open.
The linen closet was bare of bed sheets and pillowcases—for how many did two people need when linens from Allerdale Hall could be sold for enough pence for a few buckets of coal—but it did contain a box. How it had wound up there was quite a story in itself—one best told on another night.
The bride examined the objects in the box and murmured, "Wax cylinders." She was a child of the new world; no doubt she knew that they contained recordings. Perhaps of music.
Perhaps of something else.
Her back straightened as she heard the sobbing again. Leaving the cylinders in the closet, she turned back into the hall, facing the way she had come.
It watched as she watched.
From the floor, pulling itself out, a specter of purest scarlet, a grotesque revenant, emerged painfully, struggling, sucking its essence through the floor: the spine first, like taffy, then the back of the head while an arm withdrew as from a viscous, sticky sludge. Bright red bones stretched in unnatural shapes, weirdly, wrongly jointed; the hand slapped down as if for leverage, purchase. Every part of it red; the second arm raising upward, digging itself out. And as the bride stared, paralyzed in horror, it began to crawl toward her. Faceless, scuttling. Implacable, coming to her, at her, for her.
Closer.
She bolted. The little dog that should be dead darted into the elevator and she flew in after it. With shaking hands she twisted the key and pushed the lever.
The thing was coming.
It watched.
The elevator did not move.
"Down, damn it, down!" the bride ordered the lift. Did not plead: it took note.
The elevator remained where it was as if complicit in her destruction. She was trapped now.
The crimson horror dragged itself toward her, hand over hand over hand. It was nearly there.
And then the cage jerked, swayed, and started a slow descent.
She gathered the dog in her arms; it thrashed, practically strangling in her grip. Down past the second story, then the first; down into darkness past the basement and then the cavernous walls. There was a gentle bump as the elevator stopped about two feet off the ground.
The bride set down the frantic dog and tried the lever with shaking hands, but the elevator would not budge another inch.
The things in this house had minds of their own.
At least, in some cases.
As the bride fought for breath, and sanity, it could easily read her face: Would that _thing_ come down here? What had it been? What had she seen?
Blood trickling upward, like the materialization in the linen closet. Because the phantom existed in time out of mind. It was a haunter of the dark, from a place where angles did not meet and natural laws did not work.
* * *
As Edith forced herself to continue to act, the sound of dripping water echoed in the blackness. She groped through the bars and found a switch. A twist of the knob, and a clutch of sepia-colored bulbs threw off dim light. Gazing fearfully up, she climbed down from the lift onto the earthen floor.
_Did I see that? Did I?_
Mine car rail tracks climbed upward into a tunnel. She felt a draft. Blood-red clay had seeped in through the walls, coating large portions of the cavernous space. Six enormous vats sat on the tile floor, three on each side of a trough puddled with scarlet clay. Beyond it lay a jumble of luggage and a mountain of women's shoes and clothes, boxes of papers, and a sturdy steamer trunk.
She gave the profusion of clothing a cursory inspection, then went over to the trunk. The brass plate on the lock said ENOLA. The initials on the trunk read E.S.
_Her_ initials.
She tried the lock. It required a key, which of course she did not have. Beneath her feet, several stones moved loose; she lifted one up and found gold trinkets such as a lady would possess—chains, a brooch, a lady's watch—and another stone revealed bones of small animals—rabbits? dogs?
What did it mean? She had almost reached her capacity to take in information. She kept looking up at the ceiling, and then the elevator. Trembling from head to toe, she—
_Tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_.
Edith jerked at the sound. It had followed her down! It was here!
_Tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_.
It was in the cavern. Shaking, she scanned, listening, the little dog skittering around on its toenails, snuffling. Edith's racing mind was split down the middle, one half obsessively replaying what had happened upstairs, the other focused on the noise. Trying to make sense of it, fighting to _understand._ She was a dervish of confusion and fear.
Who was here? What was happening? Why had that horror—
And then she froze. She had pinpointed where the tapping was coming from.
_Inside_ one of the vats.
A sealed vat.
Something was in there, trying to get out.
Terrorized, Edith fled.
* * *
As it watched.
## CHAPTER THIRTEEN
_W HY DID I agree to do this?_
The knot in Alan's chest tightened into a fist as stalwart workers loaded another crate onto the dray cart outside Cushing Manor. Books, engineering instruments, even Edith's beloved childhood library were being put up for auction. It was as if she had wished to blot out her entire existence here in Buffalo. To be sure, much of it was tragic—the terrible deaths of both her parents—but while his hopes that they would one day marry had dissipated, surely she had _some_ fond memories of their years as confidants and playmates. Was it so easy to put him from her mind as well? He would never forget her, ever.
He walked over to the cartons of her books and shook his head. He picked up a piece of stationery, wrote out an IOU for a considerable amount, and on a second piece of paper wrote SOLD TO DR. ALAN MCMICHAEL. DO NOT LOAD. In time, Edith would be sorry that she had let these books go. God willing, she would have children of her own. He could imagine her seated in a nursery—the one at Allerdale Hall must be charming—reading her fairy-tale books to a rapt little girl, a daydreaming boy.
He wished with all his heart that those children could be his, but as his own mother might say, _If wishes were horses, beggars would ride._
Mr. Ferguson, the Cushing family lawyer, regarded him with somber interest. He spotted the sold sign and gave Alan an approving nod. It was natural that the man had been put in charge of shutting down the house. He had been the executor of Carter Cushing's will as well. Edith was his sole heir, now quite wealthy. Alan had offered to help him go through all the Cushings' possessions; thanks to his long, intimate history with the family, he could assist with the cataloging and pricing.
"I spent a good part of my childhood in this house," Alan said, turning to him. "Our families were so close back then."
Ferguson sighed, just as heavy-hearted. "It's a pity. To liquidate all this. So quickly. So soon."
Alan cocked his head. "Too soon, don't you think?"
But Ferguson was ever the discreet retainer. He said neutrally, "It's all a matter of opinion, really."
Alan wandered over to Cushing's desk and began transferring the contents of the drawers into a carton. There he discovered Cushing's book of checks.
And saw in the register that the very last check Cushing had written before his death had been made out to Sir Thomas Sharpe for a very substantial sum. With a chill, he verified the date on which the check had been written: October 11th.
The day before Cushing had died.
_Or been killed_ , he thought, a terrible suspicion blooming in his mind.
Making his apologies to Ferguson, he left Cushing Manor and drove his motorcar to Cushing's club. It was a simple matter to gain entry to the locker room—he was known to the club secretary. He examined the scene of Cushing's death. A new basin had been installed. He studied it, and then the floor, trying to reconstruct exactly how such grievous injuries could have been caused by a mere fall. And even if Edith's father had hit the porcelain full on, the angle was all wrong. Alan had tried to explain that to the coroner, but the man had been affronted... and defensive. And it is very difficult to get a man to listen to reason if he is defensive.
_I should have tried harder to get Edith to listen to me_ , he chided himself. _I did not want to pressure her._ Sharpe had turned her head... and captured her heart. In grief, she'd been so vulnerable. At the cemetery, she had trembled beneath Sharpe's arm—more like a dying butterfly pinned to a board than a bereaved woman shielded by her beloved.
_This is all wrong_ , he thought. _All of it._
Dismayed, he left the club.
* * *
A piano.
A lullaby.
And for those drifting moments between sleeping and waking, Edith imagined herself back in her nursery, her beautiful mother playing to soothe her busy-brained child to sleep. _Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, all through the night._
Then she opened her eyes to find Thomas's head on the pillow beside her. Her first impulse was to wake him up and tell him about what had happened... but what _had_ happened? He had brushed off her insistence that she had seen a woman in the elevator. What would he say if she told him that a deformed, blood-coated skeleton had emerged from the floor of the second story of his house? She had no proof... but she could show him the trunk in the clay pit.
Except that he probably already knew it was there. But what of the tapping in the vat?
Again... she had no proof.
_Maybe I was dreaming. Maybe I am going mad._ Perhaps she had a fever; she felt her forehead. Her skin was clammy. And she didn't feel very well. Perhaps dinner had not agreed with her. She knew that Lucille had not been raised to cook her own meals, and they were stretching every penny when it came to food expenditures. Perhaps the meat had gone bad. Yet the Sharpes seemed well.
_I am a Sharpe. I am Lady Sharpe._
Perhaps too much wine, then; they had opened two bottles to celebrate their marriage followed by some brandy. Edith was not used to spirits; her father had been conservative in that regard and as his hostess, she had followed his lead.
Thomas lay so peacefully; she didn't want to disturb him with her strangeness. He had been reading her novel and professed that it had given him the shivers; it would follow, then, that the authoress of the piece would be equally affected. By the light of the early morning, she began to doubt herself. In all the wild rush of events, she never had sent her manuscript to _The Atlantic Monthly_ , and now she was glad. There was more to the story.
_More than I imagined_ , she told herself firmly. Lack of sleep, nerves, the shifting shadows of the house—she could not have seen what she thought she'd seen. A horror... that tapping.
The piano played on. Bright light filtered through the windows, casting sunbeams, speaking of a morning spent in slumber. Surely it was afternoon. Her stomach growled; she felt a cramp and decided she should get up. She put on her dressing gown and left the room. The little dog stayed behind with Thomas.
She followed the notes, going downstairs, until she wandered into an enormous room lined with books and glass curio cases. In the center, Lucille sat playing an antique grand piano. Oil portraits stared down from the walls. Beneath the Sharpe coat of arms over a fireplace, a Latin inscription spelled out _Ad montes oculos levavi._
"To the hills we raise our eyes," Lucille said, still playing.
Edith made a moue of apology. "Oh, I am so sorry. I interrupted you. I—"
"Quite the opposite," Lucille replied. "Did I wake you?"
Rubbing her temples, Edith confessed, "I slept very little. I..."
"You did?" Lucille asked. "Why?"
She made the same decision to keep last night's visions from Lucille—if visions she had truly had.
_Maybe my mother tapped inside her coffin_. _Perhaps the mirrors in this house were not hung with black crepe when the dead expired_.
The thoughts came unbidden, and they threw her. They were evidence of a fevered imagination. Perspiration beaded on her forehead and upper lip.
Lucille was still waiting for an answer.
"I'm still exhausted." Which made little sense, really. Someone who was exhausted would fall asleep easily, would they not? She determined to change the subject. "That piece of music. What is it?"
"An old lullaby," Edith replied. "I used to sing it to Thomas when we were little."
A much more welcome topic of discussion.
"I can imagine the two of you in here as children. You playing, Thomas coming up with his inventions."
Lucille's eyelids became hooded as she raised her chin. Her expression grew faraway. "We were not allowed in here as children. We were confined to the nursery. In the attic." She spent a moment in that other place, seeing things that Edith could not, and Edith had the sense that Lucille was holding tightly to precious memories that she did not wish to share. Edith had imagined that the two of them would giggle together over stories of Thomas as a young mischievous boy, forging bonds of family and history. But so far, Lucille had maintained firm possession of all her reminiscences as tightly as the household keys, and Edith felt rather locked out.
Lucille went on. "Mother had this piano brought from Leipzig. She played it sometimes. We'd hear her through the floor." She swallowed down another emotion. "That was how we knew she was back in the country."
That seemed so sad. Wouldn't a mother rush to their children, throw open her arms, and gather them in? Perhaps playing was her special way of announcing her return, like a secret code between the three of them. Her own mother's playing had been a sort of code: _Do not fear. I am near._
Edith had compassion for Lucille then. Of course she would be possessive of Thomas. They had only had each other to turn to. It must be difficult for Lucille to stand aside. Edith was expecting too much too soon.
Lucille motioned toward a large painting of an unsmiling, elderly woman with leathery skin stretched over a narrow, skull-like face. She had the coldest eyes Edith had ever seen, and her mouth was set in an angry, stern line. Lucille seemed to falter as the two gazed at it, and then she collected herself.
"Mother," she said.
Edith was shocked. The woman seemed more like a grandmother or a maiden aunt. Thomas had told her that their mother had passed when he was but twelve, nearly the same age she had been when her own mother had died. And her mother had been young and beautiful.
_Until the black cholera. I know what she looked like now. I saw her._
_And I saw something last night, as well._
There. She had said it. Admitted it. A pall fell over her.
"She looks..." Edith ventured, and had no idea how to courteously proceed.
"Horrible?" Lucille asked bitterly. "Yes. It's an excellent likeness."
Edith approached the painting and read a small brass label set into the frame: LADY BEATRICE SHARPE. Then she noticed the huge garnet ring on the ring finger of the withered left hand. It was the engagement ring Thomas had given her. It was on her hand now. She glanced down at it. Yes. The identical ring. It unsettled her.
"Thomas wanted us to take it down. But I didn't want to," Lucille said. "I like to think she can see us from up there. I don't want her to miss anything we do."
Was that a smirk? Lucille smiled at the painting as if she and that evil-looking woman were sharing a private joke.
"This is, I think, my favorite room in the house," Edith said, both to change the subject and because it happened to be true.
"Mine, too." Lucille smiled briefly, but it was a warmer smile than she had favored her mother's portrait with. "I read every book I could find. Specifically entomology."
"Insects," Edith filled in.
"Insects, yes. Jean-Henri Fabre. There's nothing random about insects. And I admire that. They do what needs to be done to assure their survival. Even their beauty and grace are only means to ensure their species—"
"Are these all your books?" Edith asked quickly. _Anything to stop her talking about how moths eat butterflies_ , she thought.
"Mother selected most of these. Had them brought from afar. She was not very mobile, you see. So the world needed to come to her."
Thomas hadn't mentioned anything like that, but then, he had been quite circumspect when discussing their parents. She had assumed at the time that he didn't wish to bring up an indelicate subject so soon after her father's death. The English were far more indirect than Americans. One had to listen for subtleties. Edith didn't mind. She could listen to Thomas talk all day. Perhaps she could find a more discreet way to bring up her experiences in the house. If she could get him to talk about the house's legends and ghost stories, perhaps, or its past. Who had died here, and how... and why.
As she considered that, she skimmed a few of the titles of the dozens if not hundreds of books, recalling how she had done the same thing in Alan's ophthalmology practice. It had crossed her mind a number of times to write her old friend, but it didn't seem proper. She was certain now that he had entertained hopes, and as such, he was—had been—her husband's rival for her affections. It would not do to correspond with such a person, no matter what place he had held in her earlier life. It would be disloyal.
And yet, she wished that etiquette decreed otherwise...
" _Oratory of a Pilgrim_ ," she read off the spine of one of the volumes.
Lucille almost grinned. "Sounds quite virtuous, doesn't it?" She paused as if for dramatic effect. "Have you heard of a fore-edge illustration?"
Edith shook her head, and Lucille took the book. "They are images hidden in the book's fore-edge, carefully dissimulated as a pattern until you bend the pages so..."
She bent the side of the book so that it curved, revealing a colorful painting of a Japanese couple in flagrante delicto—performing sexual acts upon each other. Edith was nonplussed.
"Oh, my. Are all the books...?" The books that Thomas's _mother_ had ordered?
"Surely that can't shock you now?" Lucille said. "Now that Thomas and you..."
Edith shook her head. She was actually beginning to feel close to Lucille. It was good to have another woman to talk to.
"No, no. He was so respectful of my mourning. We even traveled in separate cabins."
Lucille seemed to brighten at that. Or perhaps she was amused.
"How considerate," she drawled. "Well, my darling. In time, everything will be right."
Those were comforting words if they were true.
_They will be my lullaby_ , Edith thought, and smiled at Lucille. But the other woman had returned to her playing, and so did not see the smile. Edith glanced back up at the portrait of Lady Beatrice Sharpe, and was very grateful that so dour-looking a woman had not survived to become her mother-in-law, no matter how uncharitable that was.
## CHAPTER FOURTEEN
LUCILLE CONTINUED HER playing, and Edith went back to the bedroom, to discover that Thomas had dressed and gone out. She put on one of her favorite gowns, a dark green velvet with pumpkin appliques, and put up her hair. It was inconvenient, to say the least, to do without a lady's maid. She thought of home. Annie already had a new position; all the Cushing servants did. Her family's residence would soon be sold, and everything in it.
_I wish that I had saved my picture books_ , she thought. Perhaps she could write Mr. Ferguson in time to stop their sale.
Edith settled in front of her typewriter to work on her novel, but the day passed drearily without Thomas and she found herself easily distracted.
As the day wore into dusk, Edith gazed through the window and saw her husband with Finlay and a couple of men from the village at the base of his harvester. She knew what she was looking at. She had grown up around similar apparatus. There were actually several machines on the grounds, quite enormous, the derrick-like poppet head towering over all of them. She made out the drill and the harvester, the several conveyer belts, one placed beside an oven intended to bake the clay into brilliant bricks such as the one Thomas had shown off in her father's meeting room. The lumpy, industrial chaos was out of place in the yard of the great old house. A hodge-podge. But looks could be deceiving. The chaos reigned in the house. The arrangement of the equipment was actually quite efficient and logical, and would yield the best results once the new clay shales could be extracted.
Thomas was a visionary, a man who could see things that others did not. She reminded herself that he loved her, and that he was her husband, and his duty was to protect her. She would go to him. Perhaps she could make sense of her own visions by asking him about the history of the house.
Alerted by her rumbling stomach, Edith went down to the kitchen and nibbled a piece of bread and jam as she made some sandwiches, helping herself to rye bread that had gone a bit stale, cold ham, and cheese. Her stomach was not much better, and she was beginning to get a headache so she brewed some of the terribly bitter firethorn tea. Steadfastly, she packed a hamper and went outside.
Snowflakes fell gently from the steel-gray sky. The air was briskly chill, and she knew that the hot tea would be most welcome. The dog trotted briskly, bounding into and out of the snowdrifts, and Edith watched Thomas hard at work on the full-scale model of the machine he had demonstrated in Buffalo. Had Father not been so overly protective of her, he would certainly have funded the invention.
"Edith, my sweet," Thomas greeted her. He was attempting to connect a part of the machine with the rest of it. By the look of frustration on his face, it wasn't going well. "What are you doing here?"
"I want to see you," she answered. "I need to talk to you."
He looked from the machine to her. Finlay appeared to be stoking the engine. They were both very busy.
"Of course, of course," Thomas said.
"I don't know where to begin." She took a breath. "Thomas, has anyone died in this house?"
His answer was a quizzical smile. "Of course, darling," he said. "What manner of question is that? The house is hundreds of years old. I would venture that many souls have come and gone."
"I understand," she said patiently. "But I'm talking about specific deaths. Violent deaths."
He blinked. "This is not a good moment, Edith. This infernal contraption won't start. It's a complete fiasco. We've been at it all afternoon."
He returned to his task. But she would not be deterred.
"Can we take a moment, Thomas?" she said more urgently. "I brought you some sandwiches and a bit of tea."
"Tea? You made tea?" He made a little face and returned to his work. She recalled a comment he had made while in Buffalo—that Americans had no idea how to make a proper cup of tea. It had something to do with boiling the water or steeping the leaves just so. "What tin did you use?"
"I'm sorry?"
"What tin did you use?" he repeated. "The red or the blue one?"
"Oh, I don't know. It's all the same, isn't it? Tea is tea." Well, except for if one was English, she supposed.
"Try it again, Finlay," Thomas told his man.
Finlay stoked the fire on the steam engine and turned a valve. The machine rattled. Some gears gyrated a little bit but then spasmed violently. Edith was reminded of the bathtub taps and, despite being thwarted in her desire to speak with him, she crossed her fingers that this tremendous racket would resolve. Thomas grabbed onto a valve and held tight.
_Work, work_ , she told the machine.
The rattling increased tenfold, and still her husband did not let go. Then sprays of hot water and steam began to jet from seams between the pipes, then from the valve itself. Thomas held on tightly, trying manfully to hold the machinery together with his bare hands. She could see that it was hurting him. Yet he held it fast. His face was growing red from the exertion. Then a geyser of steam hissed violently, spraying Thomas's hand; he jerked back, pale face twisted in anguish as he screamed.
* * *
With Finlay's help, Edith conveyed Thomas to the kitchen. He was covered in red clay that looked like blood and she fought to remain calm as images of her dead father swirled through her mind. Even with the clay cleaned off his right hand, his skin blazed scarlet from his burns.
As was the case in many English country homes, the Sharpes kept a larder of salves and remedies, and Edith dutifully applied what was brought to her to tend her husband. She was reminded of Cook once mentioning to her that back in Ireland, they used honey for burns. In her mind she saw the ants crawling all over the butterfly during their promenade in Delaware Park, and she pushed away that macabre image as well.
"That should do it," she told her beloved patient as she finished bandaging his hand.
"My hands are getting rough. Your father would approve," he said plaintively. She nodded quietly. Did he comprehend the depth of her distress when he'd been hurt? The anxiety it would cost her from now on if he continued to work directly on his invention? He was so preoccupied that it would be difficult to steer the conversation to the topic she wished to discuss: Visions. Deaths. Ghosts.
"The machine will never work," he grumbled. "Never. Why do I keep deluding myself?"
"You shouldn't give up hope." She had to be supportive, no matter her fears for him. She believed in him, and when his own belief in himself faltered, she must sustain him.
"Hope?" He sighed. "Edith, hope is the cruelest of feelings. I normally stay away from it."
_And close your eyes to things you don't wish to see_ , she thought.
He sat next to her. As ever, his nearness shifted her attention as it fanned a flame of its own.
"But now, something has changed in me." He gazed at her. "Why did I bring you here?" He searched her face. "Who did you marry, my darling? A failure."
"You are all that I have." Caught up in her love for him, she kissed him. She felt him stiffen, as he usually did—mindful of her mourning—and then he... _relented_. Surrendered. She was thawing his reserve.
Thomas pulled away, eager to get back to work. "The men leave at nightfall and we are racing against the snow." They both stood and started heading back, and she told herself that tonight, she would make him talk to her.
They walked out to the kitchen and reached the foyer. "Soon we won't be able to make any progress," he continued. "That's when you'll find out why they call this 'Crimson Peak.'"
She froze on the spot.
"What did you say?" she asked tightly.
"Crimson Peak," he replied. "That's what they call it. The ore and the red clay reach up from the ground and stain the snow. It turns bright red. So... 'Crimson Peak.'"
Edith stood stock-still as Thomas moved past her. Her stomach cramped again.
_I was warned_ , she thought, stunned. _Twice._
_But I am here._
_Crimson Peak._
* * *
It watched the brother leave the bride's side. Then he stopped by the foyer, hearing a noise, and turned.
Yes, there was a shadow... and a noise... but there was no one in sight. Turning away, he left.
No one that _he_ could see, anyway.
## CHAPTER FIFTEEN
FLOWERS ON A grave, in the snow. The Cushing belongings had been packed up, yet for Alan, there was no sense of finality.
Alan placed his bouquet at the foot of the Cushing monument, wondering if the dead rested in peace. Not even a serene death would have prevented Edith's father from watching over her and protecting her, if such a thing as ghosts existed. Alan remembered how insistent little Edith had been that her mother's ghost had haunted her shortly after her hideous death. Edith had been nearly hysterical and Alan had pretended to believe her.
But he had been the only one. Her father had soothed his fearful child by reminding her that she possessed a "fevered" imagination, which Mrs. Cushing had fed with a steady diet of fairy stories that they read together. Ghosts were not real, he had insisted, and had bought her books with more sensible themes, such as home management.
"But they are real," she had told Alan, as they stood together making pretend spyglasses with their hands in their "pirate lair" up in the apple tree in his back yard. "Mama was there. I know she was." She'd shivered, her face puckering until she nearly cried. "And she was so scary."
He had listened, and nodded, and tried to make her happy. His mother had advised him that Edith might attempt to call attention to herself with wild stories and concocted illnesses out of sheer misery. It was a fact that her family life was now "imbalanced." The loving hand of a mother was absent, and girls required a strong maternal influence in order to grow into reasonable young women.
"The damage might be too great," Mrs. McMichael had speculated and Alan, alarmed, had tried to do all he could to help his fellow pirate mend. He had even secretly played at tea with her and her dollies, much to his shame.
But his sister had laughed at Edith and told all her friends about her ghost story. Girls could be so cruel; at school and church—everywhere, now that he thought about it—Eunice and the others had lain in wait for Edith's approach, then jumped out at her shouting, "Boo!"
They tortured and bullied her; and finally, one day close to her eleventh birthday, she came to Alan and said, "On the subject of Mama, Alan, I believe I was mistaken."
For years she did not mention it, and he had almost forgotten all about it. Then she had begun her novel, and he realized that she had only buried the memory. He had shown her those images of spectral visitation as an opening gambit to discuss it, but by then, she had become enamored of Sir Thomas Sharpe. Still, she had peered at the images with acute concentration, and he wondered what had been going through her mind.
_If you could come back from the dead_ , he told Carter Cushing, _would you tell me how you died? How did you come to write Sharpe a check for such a vast sum on the night before you left this world?_
His musings were interrupted by the crunch of footsteps in the snow. Mr. Ferguson had arrived.
"You asked to see me?" the elderly lawyer asked, as they tipped hats to one another. Then he studied the grave. "Perhaps it all ended well enough. Edith seems to have found happiness, don't you agree?"
It was clear to Alan that Ferguson was testing the waters. "I haven't heard a word," he replied.
"I have. She asked me to transfer all her assets to England."
_She is giving her fortune to Sharpe_ , Alan realized with a jolt. Which, as a married woman, was of course her prerogative. But he couldn't help his certainty that it was wrong. And dangerous.
"Are you really?" he asked.
"Every penny." Ferguson was trying to remain neutral, but it was clear to Alan that he was also troubled. "I've sent the papers and await only her signature. She seems to be investing all of it in those clay mines of his, and I have no recourse but to obey."
With Ferguson's frank admission, Alan decided to be more direct.
"The manner of Cushing's death—the impact on his head. He had shaving cream on his cheek. He was likely in front of the mirror. That is inconsistent with the diagonal injuries he sustained against the basin's corner." He paused, for now he was about to move into damning territory.
"And the last check was made out to Sir Thomas Sharpe, on the very night he announced his departure. You were there. The night Edith slapped him."
Something changed in Ferguson's face; he was dropping his air of impartiality and letting down his guard, as Alan had done.
"If I may confide," Ferguson began, and he leaned in close. "Before Cushing died, he hired a New York man, a Mr. Holly. Very hard to track down. He digs up unsavory facts, haunts places not suitable for a gentleman." A blush of color rose in the lawyer's cheeks. "I am afraid that even I have used him, from time to time. But the very fact that Holly got involved gives me pause."
Alan was intent. "What are you trying to say?"
"Look, Doctor, Cushing was no fool. And he liked you. Always mentioned you as someone worthy of his trust." He waited a beat, and then he added pointedly, "And, quite frankly, of his daughter."
Alan was moved, and conflicted. This mystery was far from over. Yet was he the one who should persist in unraveling it?
"I would love to visit Edith," Ferguson ventured. "But I am old and tired. A trip like that requires a younger man than me." He looked sideways at Alan, who gave him a nod.
They were agreed, then. There and then, a pact was made.
And Alan would not fail.
## CHAPTER SIXTEEN
_A S WINTER SET in and the days went by, a strange sense of freedom overcame me. I even started transcribing my novel again, inspired by the secrets Allerdale Hall seemed to hold._
* * *
Something had changed in Thomas, and Edith was glad. She knew he had been holding back affection because of her mourning, but a man had... needs, and this she understood. And welcomed. She wanted to be his wife in all ways. She wanted that closeness for herself. And then, perhaps, she could tell him about the terrifying things that she had seen and heard—although there had been no more of them. It was all over.
_And just because I saw them doesn't mean they were actually there, or that they are still there_ , she thought. _Or that anything is to be done about them._ As Thomas had observed, the house was centuries old. Many people had died in this house, and some of those deaths were bound to have been violent. He and his sister had seemed quite dismissive of the shadow she saw upon her arrival at Allerdale Hall, and a part of her was still that little girl who had confided the terrifying encounter with her mother's ghost to her friend, and been laughed at.
_Alan showed me those pictures. I'm not certain he put credence in them. But perhaps he thought of them only as scientific phenomena. Lingering presences, memories. He spoke of an "offering," an invitation to communicate. But was he truly speaking of that, or of a need to create a state of mind that would open one's eyes in a special state of receptivity?_
_Am I seeing things that are really here?_
Today she had dressed in shining golden satin and styled her hair much as she had worn it the night of the ball at the McMichaels'. She took a moment before she stepped into the elevator, then climbed in and pulled down the lever. As it rose she surveyed the house. Perhaps the wounded structure was letting its ghosts out just as moths and flies seemed to be emerging from cracks in the walls. In the same way that it breathed, maybe the house was simply exhaling old, poisonous histories that had nothing to do with the modern world.
The lift jerked to a stop. As with the more horrifying trip to the mine pit, the bottom of the cab did not stop flush with the floor. She had to step down. She was almost a little dizzy; she was at the highest accessible point of the house. It seemed terribly wrong to place a nursery up here. How had Lucille phrased it? "Confined." Like prisoners.
But there was no doubt that she had arrived at the nursery. The moldy, mottled wallpaper featured a little boy who appeared to be falling—Jack and Jill? The omnipresent moths clung to painted flowers and did not scatter when she approached.
The first room she entered was incredibly dusty and neglected. A cradle and toy chest occupied a corner near a window. A blackboard and student desk reminded her of her first days learning her letters at her mother's knee, before she was old enough to join the other children at school. Many more moths trembled, glued to the walls and the ceiling, staining it a deep brown. They shifted and flew, swooping close to her head. Under a skylight stood an old wicker wheelchair. As she turned her head, dust motes seemed to collect in the chair, thickening into a shape; she looked back and the illusion dissipated.
She heard the whirring of a drill and followed the sound into a dark but wonderful room full of gears and clocks and mechanical wonders. Automata of all sorts greeted her eyes—clowns, a lady in a French gown playing a harpsichord. A wigged gentleman with a flute to his lips. A comical little duck.
And there he was with his back to her, Thomas, ever the industrious inventor, refining the prototype of his mining machine, since the snow had precluded any work on the full-scale model. Still hopeful, then. He had a woolen blanket around his shoulders, putting the lie to her suspicion that her thick-blooded English husband was impervious to the cold.
"Do you like it, Edith?" he asked her without looking at her.
"It's wonderful." She raised her brows. "But how did you know I was here?"
He turned around and smiled at her winningly. "The creak of the floorboards, a shift in the light. It's easy to sense when you are not alone in this house."
She was tempted once more to speak of the things he had not seen but that she had, but held her tongue. Instead she pointed to the array of incredible fabrications.
"You made all these?"
He inclined his head. "I used to carve toys for Lucille, make her trinkets to keep her happy."
Dear Thomas. "Were you alone?" she asked him. "Here? All the time?"
"Father was always traveling. The family fortune didn't lose itself you know, Papa really had to put his back into it."
She allowed him his bitterness, for she shared it. The house had deteriorated so rapidly; the book she had perused back in Buffalo with the engravings of the hall had not been all that old. The upkeep of a home such as this must be constant; a few years of neglect and it would show its age; a few decades and it would be as if disease had ravaged it. Allerdale Hall was truly dying, and she wondered if even her fortune could save it.
But despite everything, this room was a happy one, and its occupant seemed truly joyful to see her taking it all in. He hovered over her as she investigated the figure of a white-faced gentleman with painted black hair, a red harlequin diamond outlining his left eye and two golden cups in his hands.
"This is the magician," he announced. "It takes fifty-eight clockwork movements for it to do its trick. To look human. To charm its audience."
Then he pushed a lever and the little puppet made a show of passing the cups over a tiny golden ball. Enchanted, Edith followed the passage of the ball beneath the cups until _pop!_ it appeared in his mouth and he pretended to drop it into one of the bowls. Of course there was another inside one of the cups, but Edith laughed at the clever feat of prestidigitation. Thomas grinned back at her, and then he touched her hair. A now-familiar sadness crossed his features, followed by a masculine hunger.
"You are so different," he murmured, still touching her. Studying her as if memorizing her.
"Different from whom?" she asked mildly.
He blinked, coming out of his reverie. "Everyone, I venture."
And then... at last, at last, he kissed her with real passion. Skin on skin, mouth on mouth, sliding over her cheek, her forehead, her neck.
Some held that women did not feel desire, not in the way that men did. But if Thomas felt more than she felt now, she did not understand how he could have held back all this time. For she wanted him completely, utterly. She could not breathe for wanting him. It was an ache, an insatiable need, and it had been building in this space he had held between them. She saw herself bursting free of her cocoon of innocence, ready to fly into his arms and his heart and he into her flesh, to join with her and _be_ with her. To forget death and tragedy and loss. She was his wife and it was her duty and her privilege to transform him with her devotion and her love.
He put his hands on her breasts, which were pushed up by the boning at the top of her corset, and she arched her back with a gasp.
"Edith," he managed, "you're still in mourning and—"
"No. It is time. It is time," she insisted.
He shoved tools and mechanisms from off his worktable and pushed her onto it, raining kisses on her face and above the neck of her dress. She knew that he wanted her; she raised her skirt as he moved to make them one flesh and she accommodated him, oh, yes—
Then he stopped and jerked away from her. He looked almost... _frightened._
"What's wrong?" she asked, sitting up.
"I heard a noise," he blurted, moving away from her. "I thought..."
"What?" She waited for his answer as she slipped off the table. "You thought what?"
Then Lucille swept into the room. She was carrying a tray of tea things. The _cloisonné_ pot was quite beautiful.
"I was hoping to find you here," Thomas's sister said, with as much warmth as she seemed ever to be able to muster. "I made you some fresh tea."
The English certainly loved their tea. Edith watched as Lucille put down the tray and handed her a steaming cup. There was a spoon on her saucer, though not on the others, and Edith figured it must have been intended for serving the sugar. Lucille did not comment on the mess on the floor. Too polite, Edith wondered, or disinterested?
Thomas was flustered. As he rearranged his clothes, avoiding her eyes, Edith thought he looked ashamed. Perhaps he was concerned that he had placed her in an embarrassing situation. If Lucille had come into the room any later... He was truly chivalrous.
But she wished he had taken his chances.
"You're too kind," Edith said to Lucille.
"Oh, don't mention it. I heard the elevator. I needed the company." She gestured to the bowl of sugar cubes. "One lump or two?"
* * *
_Sick. So sick._
Edith awoke, her stomach roiling with nausea. She had experienced a bout of seasickness on the crossing from New York to London. This was ten times worse.
"Thomas? Thomas?" she murmured urgently.
Moonlight revealed that she was alone. Hurriedly she lit a candle in the silver candelabra, and stared in shock at a bloodstain on her pillow, next to her mouth. She touched her lips.
She heard the rustle of silk.
In the air, the scent of:
"Jasmine," she said. Not her own fragrance. She wore essence of rose.
Her dog growled.
And suddenly she knew without an ounce of doubt that there was something in the room. Something with them.
Or someone.
But she saw nothing. Their boudoir, as she warily studied it, looked the same as always. On the rumpled bed, the indentation of her body as she had slept. And beside that, evidence that Thomas had been in the bed. Her empty teacup. Beside the fireplace, a half-full glass of deep burgundy wine. Thomas's, she assumed. A book. She wanted to see what he'd been reading but quite suddenly, she was afraid to cross the room to look.
She _felt_ it, sensed eyes on her, a near-caress on the nape of her neck. Nerve-deep tremors shuddered through her and knocked against her ribcage, the inside of her skull. Her cheeks and forehead prickled; her lips went numb. Was it behind her? Beside her?
Could it touch her?
She wondered if someone took a photograph right now of this room, would it reveal a stretched, blurred face staring straight at her, nose to nose? Or a crimson corpse pressed against her back, caressing her hair, showering her with ghostly rose petals, humming a lullaby? Images snapped in and out of focus like a kaleidoscope: decayed headstones neglected for centuries, the restless dead rising with the mists on the heath, and something here, right now, something that was made of hunger and longing and unrequited love. Of fury and vengeance and unsatisfied malice.
She was so sick; was she delirious?
Or was she dying, and thus able to commune with the dead of Allerdale Hall? Is that why she had been able to see her mother? A hidden sickness all her life?
_Why am I bleeding? Why am I so ill?_
Moon shadows stole across her curtains; did the wine in Thomas's goblet ripple against the rim?
Creeping, tiptoeing, gliding. Was there a furtive pressure on the hem of her nightgown? Did someone experimentally lift a tendril of her long, unbound hair?
The tension that gripped her was unbearable. It was making her stomach cramp and now a headache pressed hard on both sides of her head. If an invisible force was trying to contact her, she should make an effort, too. An image of her stuffed toy rabbit flashed into her mind. Rabbits and sick women could die from fright.
She swallowed hard and extended her hand. What had Alan called it? An offering, an invitation.
She would invite.
"If you are here, with me," she began. She almost stopped out of sheer fear. But she could not stop. She could not hover here forever; just as when she had been compelled to identify her poor father's ruined face, she stepped over her terror and acted.
"Give me a signal," she said clearly. "Touch my hand."
There was nothing, only the sound of her breathing and the soft whining of her pet. But the room still _held_ something, and she was trapped in here with it. She swayed, even more nauseated.
And waited.
Nothing. Her shoulders drooped but she felt no relief, none at all.
_Very well, then_ , she thought, _perhaps it is only my imagina—_
Then something grabbed her hand and half-threw her to the floor. Impossibly strong and violent. The impact jolted the breath out of her and yellow dots exploded in her vision. If she'd had time to resist it, her effort would have proved useless. Such was its power. The candle went out.
Trembling, she got to her feet and struggled to light it again. _There is something here. Oh, my God, there is no doubt—_
Screams of pain—shrill, horrible—emerged from the bathroom. Without a second's hesitation, Edith raced to the doors and flung them open. Utter blankness, blackness, nothing at all and then:
There.
In the tub.
Nightmare.
Insanity.
Submerged, partially visible above brimming crimson water.
Decayed, barely recognizable as a human corpse—an outline, blurring, transparent and then solid, in bits, and giving off wisps of red, smoke-like trails that trickled upward as the other _thing_ had done, the other _corpse_ ; clotted blood bubbling; dead, dead, dead; dead eyes and dead mouth rotted open; hands of taut stretched leather-skin splitting over knuckles, joints, bones. Clasping the sides of the tub as it soaked, head drooped forward, and Edith was paralyzed with horror.
The skull—its head was split with the blade of a meat cleaver, firmly and deeply embedded in the bone. She could see the red brain, the bone fragments, maggots crawling in the gore.
Edith could make no sound; she could only stare, only see. _I am seeing this. I can see this._
Then the ghastly figure twitched and moved. The scarlet water spilled over the sides of the tub as the figure rose. Its— _her_ —twisted face and sagging chest were covered in blood.
And Edith knew who she was.
"Oh, my dear God, no!" she shrieked.
She ran out of the room, down the corridor. "Thomas!" she screamed. "Thomas!"
Reverberating along the passageway, an unearthly voice hissed, "You! Leave now!"
The thing she had escaped was the thing she was now running towards at full speed. It stood at the far end of the hall: a naked red hag with a cleaver in its skull. Her eyes were wild with rage and madness. She pointed a skeletal finger straight at Edith.
"Edith! Leave now!" she rasped.
Edith backed away, wheeling around as she reached the stairs, and ran into Thomas as he was turning the corner. Her savior, protector. Safe now, safe. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing.
"Edith, Edith, what is it?" he demanded, embracing her.
She focused. Gazed around fearfully, seeing... nothing. Knowing now that it could be there, still be there, coming for them both, right this moment. Refusing to be seen. It had grabbed her.
It could kill them.
"That thing, that horrible thing!" she cried.
"Your hand's like ice." He touched her forehead. "Are you running a fever? Look at me."
And when she did, his lips parted. He must have finally seen how terrified she was.
"What, in God's name?"
"I saw a woman," she told him, and rushed on before he could contradict her. "Not a shadow, not a trick of the light. Scarlet, and full of rage. Her head was open—a horrible, gaping wound." Edith's skin was buzzing with electricity as if it were trying to crawl off her body. Her knees were rubbery and she would have fallen if he had not held her. She had to get him out of there, away.
He was stunned, but she went on.
"Her face was distorted, twisted, but I recognized her." She gazed hard at her husband, willing him to really listen to her. To see in her words what she had seen with her own two eyes. "She was the woman in the portrait. She was your mother."
He allowed her to drag him from the hall, down to the sofa before the great fireplace, where shadows could not lurk. Lucille appeared with tea; Edith was shuddering, nearly losing herself again, but needing desperately to get it all out. They could only see that she was sick and incoherent. Nothing she described made any impression on them.
"There was such hatred in her eyes. And intelligence. She knew who I was. And she wants me to leave." She ground out the words in sheer misery, in shock, desperate for their help. The cadaverous whispers still knocked against her eardrums, like a seashell whispering of doomed voyages and drowned sailors. Of horrors yet to come.
"Nonsense, my dear," Lucille soothed. "You are not going anywhere. You had a bad dream. You were sleepwalking." She poured a cup of hot amber liquid.
"But I am afraid I shall go mad if I stay." Flanked by her only two relations in all the world, Edith felt herself begin to descend into hysteria once more.
"You are imagining things," Thomas insisted. "Tomorrow we'll go out." He spoke to her as if she were a child. "To the post office. The fresh air will do you good."
_To the post office?_ She could scarcely believe what he was saying. She had crossed an _ocean_ to be here with him.
"No, I want to _go_ ," she demanded. And then, in case he misunderstood, she added, pleaded, "Away from here."
Her hands were shaking. Lucille helped her steady them so that she could drink her tea, forcing her to hold onto the cup. Giving her an anchor point so that she would not shatter.
"Edith, there is nowhere else to go," she said kindly, as one might speak to a lunatic. "This is your home now. You have nowhere else to go."
* * *
It watched the sister eye the brother. She was frightened. He was too.
_What mischief is this?_ her gaze demanded.
What mischief indeed?
Of course there was something in the tea to make the bride sleep. After she passed out, the two conferred in the hallway, dark clothes shifting in the blue night gloom like two black moths.
"What is she doing?" the sister whispered fiercely. "How could she possibly know?"
"I didn't tell her a thing," the brother vowed.
That scared the sister even more. "What is she trying to do, Thomas?" As if asking the question repeatedly would yield a different answer.
"I don't know," the brother said. "She is in quite a state. Tomorrow I'll go to the depot, pick up the machine parts. I'll take her with me. Let her get some fresh air."
"Yes," the sister agreed. "Get her out of here." She glared at him. "And soon as we get the final papers signed, I want this over with."
Things moved around them, _through_ them, but they did not see them. But as the bride had observed, just because they couldn't see them, didn't mean that they weren't there.
_Through a glass, darkly; once upon a time..._
## CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
MORNING IN CUMBERLAND was so different from Buffalo. The snowy mud was rutted from wagon wheels and the residences were nothing more than hovels. Thatched roofs were not uncommon, and the air between the snowflakes was a murky brown and gray. A few brick buildings stood staunchly upright but their walls were dotted with moss and smeared with smoke. There was a pub called the Red Hand; the windows were steamed up and as their wagon bumped past the door, Edith inhaled the greasy odor of boiled meat and cabbage.
"It's much more pleasant in the spring," Thomas said; then his brow furrowed and he returned his attention to some schematic drawings in a notebook across his lap. He hadn't spoken much on the trip, and she had been unable to engage him in a serious discussion of the horror of his mother's butchered corpse ordering her to leave Allerdale Hall. Like Lucille, he had patronizingly suggested that it was nothing more than a bad dream. Then he told her some ridiculous theory held by some that spoiled rye bread could bring on hallucinations. They had been eating rye bread of late, had they not? She had used some to make his sandwiches.
"Yes, and _you_ have not had any hallucinations," she'd countered.
"Well, perhaps I'm used to it," he said. Then he'd given her a look. "Have you been working on your novel?"
He knew she had. He'd read bits of it aloud mere days ago and found it quite wonderful. So now he was trotting out the "it's just your vivid imagination" rationalization, was that it? That perhaps she had _not_ seen a grotesque corpse shrieking her name. Rye bread, nerves, that huge, decaying house...
_That woman in the elevator. He and Lucille were so entirely unconcerned. Perhaps they've both seen things they could not explain and don't want to frighten me with the truth. But if they_ can _see them, and know now that I can too, wouldn't it be more reasonable for them to admit as much to me?_
But Thomas would discuss it no longer and she finally gave up. _None so deaf as those that will not hear; none so blind as those that will not see_ , she told herself. On the subject of hauntings in their stately home, Thomas could not be persuaded to entertain any other idea than that she had frightened herself.
_Then I will prove it to him_ , she vowed.
The snow was falling thicker and faster, and the postal depot bustled with horse-drawn farm wagons loading and unloading parcels and crates in advance of the impending storm. Finlay attended Thomas as he pointed Edith toward the back of the depot, where a small postal office stood. She had a reply to Ferguson's most recent update to send.
As she counted out some coins to pay for the stamps, the postal clerk noted her name and address.
"You're Lady Sharpe, then?" he said. "Forgive me, madam, but there's a few letters for you. One came in just this morning."
He disappeared for a moment, then returned with some envelopes. As he handed them to her, he said, "Two of them are legal—certified letters from your solicitor—and another one comes all the way from Italy."
Edith frowned quizzically, examining the postmark on the Italian letter: Milan.
"It's not mine," she informed the man.
"You are Lady Sharpe, are you not?" He pointed to the handwritten name and address on the envelope. "Lady E. Sharpe?"
She nodded. "But I don't know anyone in Italy."
"Respectfully, Your Ladyship, it's quite apparent that you do. Open it and find out."
He seemed a bit too inquisitive, and so she simply took the letters without opening them. Outside, the promised storm had arrived, and as she looked for Thomas, the prospect of returning to Allerdale Hall was even more disconcerting than before. She never wanted to set foot in that terrible place again, and to travel through this deluge to get there was more than she could stomach.
She found Thomas and Finlay at the loading dock. Thomas proudly showed Edith the contents of several wooden crates as Finlay diligently carried them and put them on their wagon.
"This is a valve controller," Thomas said, showing her a shiny part. Her father's daughter, she recognized its function. "I had it fabricated separately in Glasgow. This could make all the difference. Think lucky thoughts, Edith. The Sharpe Mines might reopen if this thing cooperates."
He laughed and embraced her, and she held her mail tight. He was so excited about his machined parts that she didn't want to change the subject by showing him the strange letter from Italy.
At least, that was what she told herself. Because he did not believe her, a rift was growing between them. She had thought he would be sympathetic, but he had gently mocked her. Marriage decreed that two halves became one whole, but she felt separated from him now. She didn't feel that she could bring her fears to him with the hope of obtaining relief. She must arm herself against them, then, in any way she could.
"Look at the storm," he said breathlessly. "Do you see? Just in time. In a few days we won't be able to leave the house."
The thought appalled her. There was nothing in this world that she wanted less.
The shipping agent overheard him and deferentially approached. "The storm is getting worse. I suggest you stay the night, Your Lordship. We have a small room downstairs, if you'd like."
Thomas looked to Edith, who happily nodded her consent. She would do anything to stay out of the storm.
And away from that house.
* * *
It _was_ a small room, just as the man had warned, but warm and cozy, with a humble quilt on the bed and a fire in the grate. To Edith, it was the most wonderful room she had ever been in, never mind the elegant hotels they had stayed at in London.
Now they were propped up in bed, still in their clothes, and she felt a bit shy at the prospect of readying for sleep in a more intimate manner. They had still not been _together_.
The depot manager had brought them tea and some broth and bread, and Edith devoured it, famished. Assuming that she would have to occupy herself on the return trip home once Thomas had his new valves and gears to examine, she had brought along her manuscript. Thomas had spotted it and asked to read it, and she was both flattered and a bit abashed. The ghostly subject matter would only serve to reinforce his belief that she had imagined the horrendous visitation of his mother's ghost. But he seemed most insistent upon reading her new pages, and began to read it aloud:
"'A house as old as this one becomes, in time, a living thing. It may have timbers for bones and windows for eyes and sitting here, all alone, it can go slowly mad. It starts holding on to things, keeping them alive when they shouldn't be, inside its walls. Things like memories, emotions, people.'"
He paused, then went on. "'Some of them good, some are bad... and some... some should never be spoken about again.'"
He kissed her on the forehead.
"This is rather good. I am so glad to see you're still at it. And this fellow 'Cavendish'—your hero—has he no fears? No doubts?"
Edith looked straight at him. "Of course he does. He's a haunted man."
"Well, I like him. There's a darkness to him. But does he make it all the way through?"
She shrugged. "It's entirely up to him."
"What do you mean?" He smiled quizzically at her.
"Characters talk to you. Transform. Make choices," she replied.
"Choices," he echoed.
"Of who they become."
He grew quiet. And then he gestured to their room. "This is quite dismal, I'm sorry to say. But at least it is warm."
She moved closer to him, hoping then, to close the rift. "I like it much better."
"Better than?" he asked.
Surely he must know what she meant. "The house."
He thought a moment, and then he laughed. He looked almost boyish, his cares lifting from him. "It _is_ much better, isn't it? I love being away too."
"Away from Allerdale Hall?" she persisted. She wanted him to say it. To realize that it was a real possibility. It would mean the world to her.
"Yes. I do." He exhaled. "I feel as if I can breathe."
They embraced and she laid her head on his chest. His heart thumped, then quickened. Perhaps her nearness was affecting him.
"You could sell the house." She mentally crossed her fingers, willing him to consider the possibility that would free them both. To emerge from that dank, terrifying place and live in the wide sunny world.
"Sell it? Impossible." Then he went silent for a moment, as if reconsidering. "As it is, it would be worthless."
Hope grew in her. He _was_ actually pondering it.
"Just leave it then." Close it up and walk away. Why not? All the money that they had planned to use to restore it could be put into the mine operations. Or traveling the world. Thomas could hire managers the same as her father did for projects that were too far away for him to oversee himself.
"That, too, is impossible, I'm afraid," Thomas replied. "It is all we have: our name, our heritage, our pride."
"I left everything _I_ had," she riposted, though her tone was very gentle. She wanted to bring him around to her point of view. This was a very serious discussion. "Everything I was. Behind." She let that sink in, and then she went on. "We could live elsewhere."
"Elsewhere?" He sounded genuinely puzzled, as if the thought had never dawned on him before.
"London, Paris," she tempted him.
His face softened and he took on a daydream expression, seeing their future in a different way. "Paris. Paris is delightful, yes."
"Anywhere you want." And then she thought of the letter and added leadingly, "Milan..."
He jerked. "Why would you say Milan?"
"Or Rome," she covered, but she knew then that Milan was significant. What _was_ in that letter? "Have you been to Italy?"
"Yes. Once." Then his mood shifted. Darkened. As if he was burdened by Allerdale Hall again. "But I can't leave Lucille. And the house. The house is all we are. Our heritage, our name."
He was saying the same thing over and over.
"The past, Thomas. You're always looking to the past," she murmured. "You won't find me there. I'm here."
He said softly, "I'm here too."
_Yes, Thomas. Yes._
Willing her love for him to make him listen, she daringly moved on top of him. Her gown clung to her body and her desire for him emboldened her as she kissed him and moved sinuously against him. True, she was chaste, but she was also this man's wife. So she kissed him passionately, and put her arms around him; and she felt his response. He wanted her as much.
No, more.
As in his workroom, their passion ignited. Seemingly oblivious to his scorched and bandaged hand, he pushed her onto her back and undid his trousers, snaking them down to avail himself of her body; she opened herself to him and then he was thrusting into her— _finally, finally_ —and the pleasure was indescribable.
_Oh, my Thomas, my love—_
They were one. Finally making love. And as bliss lifted her up to the stars, she believed that all would be well. They would love, and they would live.
Far away from Allerdale Hall.
* * *
In the morning, the world was new. There was more kissing and lovemaking, and Chinese tea and fresh bread still warm from the oven. Sunlight gave the village a charming luster; the snow, though falling, was gentle.
Edith didn't mind the ride back so much; she and Thomas talked the entire time. They were together now, all barriers down, and things would be different. They _would_ leave. They _would_ travel.
He kissed her when he helped her down in front of the house, drinking in the sight of her, reluctantly parting from her to assist Finlay with the crates. Gliding into the house, she gazed up at the opening in the ceiling and watched the snowflakes sparkle as they floated down, soft as feathers. She removed her bonnet.
"Lucille!" she greeted her sister-in-law. "Lucille!"
There was no answer, but she could hear a clattering in the kitchen. They had eaten their bread and tea hours ago, and something more substantial would be nice. And something to take the chill off the long drive through the countryside. Even that bitter tea.
Carrying a few parcels—little things she had purchased, such as warmer mittens and a muffler—she walked into the empty kitchen and set them down. A pan sat untended on the stove. The potatoes in it were burning and smoking, and she took it off the burner.
"We're back!" she called.
And then Lucille approached from the far end of the kitchen, her face drawn and pale. There were rings under her eyes.
"Where were you?" Her voice was strained. She moved like one of Thomas's automata, as if every muscle in her body had been stretched to its limit.
"We got snowed in," Edith said. "We—"
"You didn't come back last night!" Lucille shouted. She grabbed the pan and slammed it on the wooden surface of the worktable.
Edith was startled. "I... we..."
"You were supposed to come back last night," Lucille insisted.
"We spent the night at the depot," Edith explained.
Lucille blinked at her. Then she began to scrape the food, which was ruined, onto plates. "You _slept_ there?"
Her distress was bewildering. She could not be surprised that Thomas had at last asserted his husbandly privilege, and yet it seemed almost as if Lucille thought she should have been consulted on the matter.
"Yes, we did. What's wrong with that, Lucille? He's my husband."
But she would not be placated. "I am serious. Is this all a joke to you? All solved with a smile? I was worried sick!"
"Worried—"
"You two out in the storm!" Lucille cried.
Of course. Like Edith herself, Lucille was no stranger to tragedy. Her parents were both dead. She knew that bad things could and did happen to people she cared about. Until one was scathed in that way, one did not understand such fear. Edith did.
"I didn't know if you'd had an accident. I was all alone. All alone. And I cannot be alone..."
The house creaked. Clay oozed from the cracks between the wall and the ceiling. And Edith thought she might know another reason Lucille was so upset—Lucille had been alone in the house after that monstrous apparition had menaced her. Perhaps she, too, had sensed something. Maybe even seen something. She was overwrought.
Edith wanted Thomas to observe the state his sister was in. _We need to leave this house. All of us._
"The house," Lucille repeated, as if she had read Edith's thoughts. "It's sinking. It gets worse every time. We must do something to stop it."
_No. We must give up on it_ , Edith thought. _This horrible place cannot be redeemed._
A sudden, sharp bout of dizziness grabbed hold of her. The kitchen tilted, stretched, and blurred... and Lucille's face along with it.
"I need to sit down," she said. "I'm not well." Her forehead beaded with perspiration and she couldn't make her eyes focus. It was as if the entire house was rippling in and out of existence, losing track of itself, forgetting to remain solid.
_What am I thinking?_ she wondered. _I'm not making any sense._
"I'll make you some tea. It'll be ready in no time."
Lucille sounded more composed. She bustled about while Edith's stomach churned. Her gaze fell on Lucille's ring of keys, which, of course, should have been passed on to her. Lucille had fought so jealously to keep it. Perhaps she was feeling supplanted.
She noted a name engraved upon one of the keys: ENOLA. The same as the trunk in the pit. _There_ was a mystery. Had there been an Enola Sharpe, perhaps? A relative? And a letter addressed to E. Sharpe had been handed over to her, _Edith_ Sharpe, at the depot. She took out her letters and shuffled them to find the one from Milan. There was no first name, only the first initial. Could there be several E. Sharpes in their family? If so, it struck her a little odd that no one had mentioned it.
While Lucille filled the teapot, Edith furtively slipped the key off the ring, then returned the set to the table. Then she passed the letter to the bottom of her stack, so that she could work on her puzzle all by herself.
Another wave of dizziness hit her, and the room spun. Edith's stomach fell. She had been so happy away in the village with Thomas that she had minimized just how awful it was here. She could feel the clay-soaked walls closing in; she couldn't imagine taking a bath in that tub, ever again.
As Lucille put the now-filled pot on the stove, she saw Edith's letters and scrutinized the topmost one. "Is that from America?"
Edith nodded weakly and Lucille boldly picked it up and read the envelope.
"From your solicitor," she said, and sounded pleased. "You should read them. Rest a bit. I'll make you some tea. It'll take care of everything."
Her smile was forced, and Edith wondered if Lucille would ever truly like her. But she could not think of that now. She was sick, so very sick, and as bitter as the firethorn tea was, the prospect of drinking something to ease her symptoms was very appealing indeed.
However, the prospect of returning to her bedroom was not. Still, what choice did she have? As Lucille had said, this was her home.
At least for now.
* * *
It watched.
In the green-tiled bathroom of Allerdale Hall, the red rubber ball rolled beneath the claw-footed tub and the little dog whined and pranced, trying to cram itself beneath the tub's curved bottom. The ball remained tantalizingly out of reach. It cocked its head, staring at it with all the longing of child gazing at a toyshop window at Christmas.
The pup sat back on its haunches and barked wildly, ecstatically.
And the ball rolled out from under the tub.
Then the ball flew through the air out of the bathroom. The animal skittered on the wood and clattered after it, barking. It followed the ball into the bedroom and was about to dash under the bed to retrieve it when it slid to a stop. It put its ears back, showed its teeth, and began to growl.
Back in the bathroom, a spider dropped down from the ceiling toward the tub. It touched down on the lip of porcelain, then bounced upward to its center. It began to weave its web like an old maid at her spinning wheel. From out of the drain, a sluggish fly emerged, buzzing haphazardly, and began to spiral toward the web. Flies were summertime pests; they were not to be found in snowy climes. The hungry spider kept weaving, one eye on the prize, working feverishly to complete its snare in time to catch the fly. In the next room, the dog whined and its sick mistress got sicker.
The fly that should be dead and the dog that should be dead in the house that should be dead, and the bride, who would be dead soon.
It watched approvingly, appreciating the complexities—and fragilities—of life.
## CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
ALAN WALKED INTO the hotel lobby and felt ghosts around him. This was the hotel where Ferguson had delivered the news of her father's death to Edith, possibly with Cushing's murderer at her side. He envisioned his poor darling plummeting from the elation of love to the desolation of loss in a few short moments. He couldn't imagine how that had felt. He also wondered what she had been doing alone in a hotel with Sir Thomas. Annie, her maid, had stated that her mistress had received a large sheaf of typewritten papers at home bright and early in the morning, and soon after had left in a rush. Annie had found a letter with beautiful handwriting among the pages and had been dying to read it. The only problem was that Annie did not know how to read.
It wasn't until Mr. Ferguson had arrived at Cushing Manor to tell Miss Edith of her father's death that Annie had known that her young lady had left to meet up with a man. Unescorted.
Everything had been so rash, so tumultuous. Alan was not exactly stolid, although he supposed Edith found him so. He would never have compromised her reputation, nor dragged her away from everything she knew three weeks after her father had been bludgeoned to death. There, he had thought it, and it was what he believed.
"Are you sure this is their forwarding address?" he asked the hotel manager, looking down at the written information.
"Sir Thomas and Lucille Sharpe. Yes. In Cumberland, sir."
He supposed that was all the address you needed when you were an aristocrat. "Thank you," he said.
He sat on a round settee and made mental calculations about how soon he could travel there. After a short interval, a man—younger than Alan had expected—approached purposefully.
"Mr. Holly?" he asked. Carter Cushing's intelligence gatherer. As Ferguson had told Alan, Holly was a hard man to locate.
"At your service, sir." Mr. Holly was deferential but not subservient.
"Do you have the copy of the information?"
"Did you bring the sum?" Holly countered.
Alan handed him a substantial packet of bills, and Holly pocketed it. The man moved closer, speaking in a conspiratorial tone.
"Mister Cushing, God rest his soul, was a loyal and honorable customer, sir." He leaned in. "I am obliged to demand a satisfactory reason for your inquiry, as I do not divulge a client's information, even after his passing."
Alan remained resolute in the face of obvious extortion. "Mr. Holly, I paid you already. That's reason number one. Reason number two is that the well-being of someone dear to me may be at stake. And finally, you have the fact that I will punch you repeatedly until you do as we agreed, sir."
Holly briefly considered his reasoning and then handed him a folder. "This is the newest information I've obtained." He also handed Alan a leather folder full of newspaper clippings, which Alan opened. Holly pointed at the front page. "August 1879. People knew Lady Beatrice Sharpe was awful harsh with her children. But no one would ever dare do anything about it. Now this. Front-page news. Quite gruesome. All that blood."
Alan jerked with great disgust at a pen-and-ink drawing of a butchered woman. She lay with her head slumped forward. An axe or perhaps some sort of sharp knife had cut her head nearly in two. The victim was Lady Beatrice Sharpe, the widow of Sir Michael Sharpe, baronet. Sir Michael had died two years before in a hunting accident.
He read the article; the murder had occurred in the upstairs bathtub at Allerdale Hall—the family seat of the Sharpes. Edith's new home. This woman would have been Edith's mother-in-law had she lived. The only other people in the house at the time of the killing were Thomas, who was then twelve, and Lucille, fourteen. However, the paper was careful to say that there were no suspects. Were the children cleared?
Did Sir Thomas disclose this family skeleton to his fiancée before their marriage? Had this horrible scandal shaped him as Edith's loss of her mother had shaped her? Edith was fanciful, romantic, and possessed of a vast imagination. But what of a young boy who had apparently suffered at the hands of his mother, then lost her in a violent murder?
He simply could not believe that Carter Cushing would allow anyone remotely connected to such a heinous murder to be in the same city as his beloved only daughter, much less invite him to dinner under his own roof.
"Cushing saw this?" Alan queried.
"No," Holly answered. "It took some time to obtain these clippings. The only relevant piece of information I could hand Mr. Cushing was this civil document here. But it was enough to impede any further relationship between Sir Thomas and Miss Cushing." He paused to see if Alan was following him. "In other words, one that would have prevented them from marrying."
Alan was _not_ following. He didn't know what the civil document signified. It was clearly an English legality, not an American one.
"Why is that?"
Holly pointed to the significant section of the paper. "Because, you see? Sir Thomas is already married."
## CHAPTER NINETEEN
ALONE IN THE bedroom, Lucille's fresh tea at her elbow, Edith calmed down her dog, which seemed upset about something, then opened the first of her letters from the depot. It was from Mr. Ferguson:
_My dear Edith:_
_Please be advised that the first transfer of your father's property has been completed. The remainder will require your signature._
_Yours very truly_ ,
_William Ferguson, Esquire_
_Good_ , she thought, but she felt a strange fluttery sensation that could almost be labeled as panic. This was what she wanted. These were her wishes. But she had to admit that the letter bestowed a sense of finality that tugged at her; she really had left everything behind for Thomas's sake. She was homesick for Buffalo and her friends. She missed the beauty of her home, and the servants, and all her books.
_I shouldn't have told Mr. Ferguson to sell my books._ She frowned. _I saved so few keepsakes. I was so eager to fund Thomas's invention._
She coughed into her monogrammed handkerchief.
A circle of blood appeared and she stared at it in horror. _Another_ one. Oh, God, could it be consumption? One's lungs became clumped with infection, then one lost weight and coughed up blood... and died. The damp and the miasma of the house could have brought on an attack. It could be the reason she had been feeling so ill.
She needed Thomas to get her away from here. She needed sunshine and clean air, not rot and decay and breezes that smelled of clay.
And ghosts.
She went to the window to observe her husband as he and Finlay worked on his machinery, which jutted into the sky like a jumble of metal pyramids in an oasis of snow. He was so intent, single-minded, working feverishly, though so far with nothing to show for it. Her father had refused to give him funding and eventually the other interested businessmen had withdrawn their enthusiasm as well. If he did succeed, they wouldn't have to live here. He had to be on-site to oversee the building and refining, but oh, if it worked, they would be _free..._
* * *
It watched.
It watched the watcher.
The bride had become so engrossed in her thoughts that she no longer heeded the dog, which had moved to the center of her bed and was following, following, the sound of something underneath the mattress. Nose pressed to the blue bed sheets, eyes nearly crossed, sniffing and perplexed. It could not quite understand that it wasn't something inside the mattress.
It was something underneath the bed.
The bride kept staring out the window.
What if it finally dragged itself out from beneath the mattress, and grabbed her by the ankle?
* * *
Thomas had never been closer to his dream. He could nearly taste victory. And once it was achieved, then he would be a different sort of person. He would employ dozens of tradesmen to restore Allerdale Hall and the Sharpes would once again be known for their wealth and elegance. He knew that when he or Lucille went to the village, people whispered about them behind their hands. There were many who celebrated their fall, and would not cheer to see them rise again.
_Not our fault_ , he reminded himself. His father had been the scourge of Northern England with his whoring and gambling. His mother, confined to the house—
His mother—
He would not think of that. Of what Edith claimed to have seen.
The snow fell gently, coating the dreary landscape in pristine white. Finlay and some laborers from the village climbed all over the harvester like ants. The first snowstorm had passed, but there would be others. Soon they would be cut off from the rest of the world, and they would have to live off Edith's money until spring with no hope of recouping their investment. "The investment" referring to the machine, of course, and not the trip to America to fetch his bride.
He had planned to court Eunice McMichael, but there were... complications. And once he had met Edith, he had been dazzled by her, as a moth is stunned and lured by candlelight. She was as golden as the sun, and he could not help but turn his face to her.
Finlay pushed on the levers in place of Thomas, who could not do so because of his injury. _Oh, let it be successful_ , Thomas prayed, crossing the fingers of his unburned hand.
How many times had he uttered this prayer? How many fortunes had he spent? All worth it, if it would but work.
It kicked, sputtered. Finlay glanced over at him and Thomas gave him an encouraging nod, indicating that he should try again.
Once more the old man pulled the lever. Thomas chewed the inside of his cheek. A little fantasy flitted through his mind: the machine successful, a visit to the Crown, and letters patent on the machine itself. A knighthood, surely, and they would no longer live in mortifying squalor.
Nothing. No shrill of steam from the escape valve. No grinding clank as gears meshed. Thomas winced as his stomach twisted into a knot. He would not give up. So much depended on it. He gestured to Finlay to try again.
The gods were kind: With a shuddering lurch, the machine sputtered to life. Thomas stood stock-still for a moment, almost unable to comprehend that it was working. He was so used to defeat that he could not quite grasp success. Snow tickled the back of his neck and for a moment he thought that he might begin to cry. Triumph at last! After all these long years.
Finlay and the men broke into grins and there were congratulations all around. He had promised them a bottle of gin and a sovereign if it worked today, and he would be good for his word.
_I must tell Edith._
In his elation, he did not notice that his footprints were stained with red, as the brilliant clay leached up into the snow. Red bubbled up from beneath the ground and threw red light against the harvester and the witchlike visage of Allerdale Hall itself. As if the world of Sir Thomas Sharpe were coated in blood.
As if Crimson Peak would reveal itself very, very soon.
* * *
Edith watched from the window, fears about consumption slipping away as she witnessed her husband's triumph. She heard the thrilling rhythm of the machine, saw the flywheel turning, the men cheering and patting each other on the back. He was _not_ a failure; she had known it all along. All he had needed was sufficient working capital; more money—hers—would mean a chance to improve his invention, and she would sign Ferguson's document immediately.
She sat down to do so, placing the document on her blotter and preparing to write out her new signature: _Lady Edith Sharpe_. She would present it to him when he came up to the bedroom to share his good news, which she anticipated at any moment.
Ceremoniously, she picked up the beautiful pen her father had given her and uncapped it. Her hand hovered above the legal form, and then her eye caught the corner of the letter addressed to _Lady E. Sharpe._ She put down her pen and studied the envelope. The Italian return address made absolutely no sense.
_Perhaps it is from Alan_ , _on a Grand Tour_ , she thought, and banished the tingle of wistfulness she felt. Was it wrong to miss an old friend?
She got out her letter opener and sliced open the envelope. Then she pulled out the letter. It was not from Alan after all. It was written in Italian—and it was not addressed to her. As she had attempted to explain to the postal clerk, it had been meant for someone else.
"Enola," she read aloud, bewildered. No one had ever mentioned a relative named Enola.
She coughed again into her handkerchief and tried to translate the Italian. She had studied it a little—very little—but she certainly couldn't translate the letter on her own. Perhaps there was an Italian dictionary on the shelves in the library.
She had deliberately avoided that room since the half-dismembered corpse of Lady Beatrice had ordered her to leave this place. She was afraid if she looked at the portrait, that blazing red monster would step down from it and attack her. She remembered the power of the invisible force that had pulled her halfway across the bedroom. The venom in the rasped edict to leave Allerdale Hall.
She glanced over at her silly dog, which was burying itself in the sheets. Then she left the room and headed for the library.
Moths inspected her as she entered the vast room. Dust motes spun in the blue sunlight like tiny creatures with minds of their own.
She did not look at the portrait of Lady Beatrice.
But she had the distinct impression the portrait was looking at her. That its eyes followed her every move as she found a row of dictionaries and pulled out the Italian one. There was no scandalous picture in the fore-edge—she did check—and she returned to the bedroom, where the pup greeted her with a thumping tail. She picked it up and was about to place it on the floor when it twisted its little body in her arms and wound up on her bed again.
She got out the typewriter Thomas had given her and removed it from its case. E.S. Her initials. But Enola's, too.
She kept one ear pricked for Thomas's appearance. Surely he would come soon to announce the successful trial run. She hoped something hadn't gone wrong on a second attempt.
Doggedly, she opened the dictionary and began to hunt for the proper Italian words and their translations into English.
* * *
It watched.
The bride was so engrossed that she did not see the figure stealthily crawl from beneath the bed and drag itself arm over arm toward the half-open door. The dog hopped off the bed and climbed onto a chair like a person. The bride smiled at it and it barked excitedly. Thus she entirely missed the monstrous, distorted body as it slithered out of the room.
Utterly charmed by her little friend, she returned to her work, and did not notice when the door creaked shut.
* * *
Edith adjusted her glasses as she continued to translate the letter. She was getting a bit of a headache. The dog cocked its head as she flipped through the dictionary. Edith was so glad of its company. She was a tad disappointed that Thomas still had not sought her out to celebrate the maiden voyage of his harvester. But she remembered her father's habits: Once assured that a project was on the right track, he rarely took time out to enjoy his accomplishment. Instead, he immediately reset the bar and began to work on improvements. Perhaps that had been the secret of his success, and would serve Thomas equally well.
The dog went through a barking spell, then another, which unnerved her, and she looked over her shoulder more than once. After some time, she had managed to transcribe some troubling lines:
_Why, dear cousin, will you not answer my letters? My little Sofia is walking and talking by now, and still no word from her favorite aunt._
_Ever since you met that man, you have grown distant and away. Your only communications are bank related and only ever so often. Please, Enola, write. You have a family that loves you and wants you to come back._
_What can this mean?_ Edith thought. She determined to find out. She could not deny that she was already uneasy about the duplication of her initials on the trunk down in the pit. She would wait no longer to investigate. She picked up the key marked ENOLA and left the room. Her head pounded and her palms were damp.
As she passed the bathroom, she thought she heard a _clink._ Her stomach clenched. She determinedly walked on by. She wouldn't have the key forever—even though it should be hers by rights. Lucille was possessive of everything... including her brother. Edith could not understand why Lucille wanted to remain the mistress of Allerdale Hall. There could be no sense of accomplishment, no pride of place, in overseeing this household.
Her pulse raced as she entered the lift and descended, and a wave of vertigo compounded her uneasiness. What was wrong with her?
The lift stopped about two feet above the mine floor. Perhaps it did have a mind of its own. Warily she stepped down and cautiously studied her surroundings. Snow was falling even here. The cold and damp in a place like this would seep right into her bones. Clay was impermeable, smothering. Being inside the cavern was like being inside the body of a wounded thing, seeing its capillaries, tendons, and skinless flesh.
The sound of dripping water echoed in the blackness and she thought of the inhospitable, grim landscape outside. She examined the tunnel and rails that the miners would have used to push their cars of clay along—little children with bowed backs, their exhausted mothers and their thin-faced, pale fathers. Thomas's invention would end such human misery.
Sections of the mine pit were dark as a tomb. She thought of the statue she had seen in the room upstairs, it had looked so like a memorial. _Had_ graves been disturbed because of the clay pits? Perhaps the dead roamed the halls of Allerdale Hall because, like her, there was nowhere else for them to go.
_Was that their mother's headstone_? Perhaps they had rescued it. Despite Lucille's apparent dislike of Lady Beatrice, the idea that her children may have preserved her monument appealed to Edith. That would mean that their childhoods had not been too terrible. Her own had been wonderful... just too short.
From what little information she had gleaned, she didn't think that their father had been at Allerdale Hall when he had died. She wasn't certain what had happened to him, and she hadn't asked. It seemed ludicrous now that she hadn't wanted to pry. As if learning the history of the family she had married into—and the father of her future children—was invading Thomas's privacy.
Well, she was here now, and if this were invasion... so be it.
She summoned her fortitude and walked to the trunk. The shadows moved, unnerving her. Nothing was quiet in this uneasy mansion.
She inserted the key into the lock, and it gave a _click!_ as it opened, the sound reverberating through the vast, frigid space.
She pulled back the lid, to discover the trunk's function as a travel desk, clean and organized, containing neatly stacked papers and folders. She selected a package and examined its contents. Inside was a letter from a bank. In Milan. Addressed to a name she recognized:
"Enola," she murmured. "Sciotti." She put it together: "Enola Sharpe. Lady Sharpe. E. Sharpe. E.S."
She looked into the drawer again. There were three envelopes, each bearing cancelled date stamps: 1887, 1893, 1896. She took them. And:
"A phonograph." She remembered the wax cylinders she had found in the otherwise empty linen cupboard on the night of the first... haunting. There. She'd uttered the word—if silently.
_Haunting._
Who had wanted her to find them?
She took the phonograph out. It wasn't as heavy as she had anticipated, and she was glad of that. She set it down and began to shut the trunk when—
_Tap. Tap. Tap._
It was the same sound as before, and it produced the same effect: Chills ran down her spine and she braced herself for another terrifying visitation. As with the first time, the sound was coming from the direction of the vats. She put down the phonograph and tiptoed around the puddled floor toward them, ear cocked, trying to listen over the roaring of her heartbeat in her ears. It was coming from the final vat. As with the others, the lid was padlocked shut.
As she approached, it ceased.
She looked around and found a large stone. Hefting it, she slammed it down on the padlock. Once, twice. It broke. She took it off and opened the lid.
The vat was filled with clay, fresh and malleable, thick as custard. As she leaned over it, she accidentally dropped the key into it, and it sank. Dismayed, she thought a moment, then removed her blouse and slid her arm into the liquid, which was thinner than she expected. It was cold and slick between her fingers. Frightened, she leaned in further until her arm was shoulder-deep, breathing in the earthy odor as it coated her nose and throat. The rooting was strenuous and she was getting nervous. Her entire body tingled; her face was icy yet flushed with heat. The tapping in the vat had stopped when she grew near; what if she encountered... _something..._
Her courage began to fail her. Yet she had to retrieve the key. If Lucille knew that she had taken it...
_What?_ she thought defiantly. _I am the lady of the house. By rights all the keys belong to me._
Still, it took all her courage to keep looking. What if something grabbed her and pulled her in? Or came up behind her and pushed—
There.
Her fingers wrapped around what had to be the key. She drew her arm out of the clay. Uncurling her hand, she gazed down at her open palm. Yes. She had it.
Following the sound of the dripping water, she discovered a broken pipe and vigorously washed herself off. The clay was difficult to prize off the teeth of the key, but she managed it. She gave herself an inspection, grabbed up the phonograph once more, and darted into the lift. The lever balked but she went up.
* * *
The bride did not see the distorted skeleton as it floated to the top of the open vat. Blood-red bones. A gaping maw contorted into a soundless shriek. Hollow eyes staring, searching. It floated on memories and horrors.
It floated through sheer will.
_Tap_ , _tap_ , _tap_.
Like typewriter keys.
* * *
Thomas had called Lucille outside to share in his joy. Now here she was, as nervous and excited as he. Their fortunes depended on the success of the harvester, and it had chugged along nicely as he made his recalibrations and coaxed it to life. But this was the acid test—seeing if it would start up and perform without the constant adjustments and fiddling.
As she looked on, he ordered Finlay to start the machine again. The coal burned; the water boiled; the pressure of the steam made it all happen. The various parts of the engine moved with the precision of an automaton, and the harvester belt carrying the buckets glided up and down in perfect working order. It was a thing of true beauty, and the mechanical parts glittered against the weak winter sun.
Thomas's elation knew no bounds. "I knew it! I knew it!" he cried. "We've done it! We can reopen the factory in the spring! We can start again. Lucille! _We can start again!_ "
He could see that she was genuinely moved as she embraced him tightly. After all the struggles, the disappointments, now there was victory, vindication... he was _not_ a failure.
"Oh, if only Edith could see it," he blurted. The words were out of his mouth before he realized what he was saying.
Lucille pulled away. She stared at him in disbelief.
"Edith?" Her voice shook. " _I_ did this with you. For you. _I_ did it!"
He put his arms around her again, trying to recapture the moment, to backtrack. Mentioning Edith at this life-changing moment was a stupid blunder. He never wanted to hurt Lucille, ever.
_Nor Edith_ , he thought wildly, panicking. _Neither of them._
"Of course we did," he placated her. "We did this together. No one else."
"Lady Sharpe," Finlay said. "We need more coal to test the steamer."
_Edith is now Lady Sharpe_ , he thought, but that, too, was a thought best left unspoken.
"Would you mind?" Thomas asked his sister, who, as the mistress of Allerdale Hall all these long years, had maintained tight control on their supplies. "Sparing a bit more coal?" Thomas wondered if Edith had noticed that the only room in the house that had been heated with regularity was their bedroom.
Stiffly Lucille grabbed at her key ring, hurt and uncertainty evident in her movements. Then she looked down to select the proper one for the coal bin. Her lips parted and, without another word, she ran toward the house.
* * *
It watched the sister's eyes widen in horror. Watched her bolt away from her brother and race into the house. It knew what she knew: that a key was missing. That someone had taken it. And as the sister raced to confront the culprit—for who else could have taken it?—the innocent little thief stepped from the lift and took a few steps. Then, and only then, did she realize that her high-button boots were caked with red clay. While the sister shouted, "Edith, Edith, Edith!" from somewhere distant in the house, she unfastened them with trembling hands and carried them and E.S.'s phonograph down the hall toward her bedroom.
The sister was charging up the stairs. She was crazed, wild, panicked.
The bride sailed into the bridal chamber, stashed her dirty boots and the player under her settee, then draped herself across it with a throw drawn over her clothes. She shut her eyes, feigning sleep, but it could see her chest heaving, her arms trembling.
Then she said groggily, "I'm here."
The sister swept into the room, fighting to catch her breath without giving away that she had been running. An earnestness born of cunning supplanted the violence of her expression.
"I want to apologize for my behavior this morning," the sister said, as if all her care and thought were for peace between the two of them. Then, "Child, are you feeling all right?"
Equally adept at performance, the bride groaned and turned weakly. The sister put down her key ring and laid a hand over her forehead, taking her temperature. Glanced at the document that the bride's solicitor had told her to sign.
She had not done it.
"I felt a little sick," the bride murmured. "That's all. Do you mind getting me some cold water?"
"Of course, of course," the sister replied. A consummate actress.
Deliberately leaving her keys in the bedroom, she went into the kitchen to pump some water. Her face was grim, set.
While she was there, the bride slipped the key back onto the key ring, then settled back down on the settee.
The sister returned with the water. Handing it to her brother's new wife, she said kindly, "I should let you rest. You'll feel better soon."
Then she grabbed up the keys. A quick examination revealed that the key labeled ENOLA was no longer missing.
That the bride had furtively returned it.
That there were small clumps of red clay on the floor of the elevator.
And that the sister _knew_.
* * *
Night had fallen on the day of Thomas's greatest triumph, and he had come to Lucille's room to discuss everything that had happened on this momentous occasion. Lucille's room was a vivarium for her living insect colonies and a crypt for the unfortunate many she had chosen to kill and display instead. Vast arrays of mounting tools, pins, and knives cluttered nearly all the flat surfaces, and curio cabinets contained bizarre trinkets such as a shrunken head from Borneo, a voodoo doll from the American city of New Orleans, and misshapen animal fetuses suspended in formaldehyde. Her bed, however, remained free of her bizarre proclivities and was always clean and sweet-smelling. She had kept the finest linens that ever Allerdale Hall contained and sprinkled them with herbs to keep them fragrant.
His sister fed all her idiosyncratic passions.
Now she faced Thomas as they conferred. She seemed unusually animated tonight, frantic in the old way, the bad way, but when he asked her what was wrong, she would not say. Her eyes glistened with need and fear, and he remembered all that she had done for him. What she had endured for him. He had to be here for her. It was their pact.
"Just for me, Thomas," she said. "Say that you love me." He regarded her. "Ding, dong, bell," he began, and she sat back, delighted.
_"Ding, dong, bell_ ,
_Pussy's in the well.
Who put her in?
Little Johnny Thin.
Who pulled her out?
Little Tommy Stout.
What a naughty boy was that_,
_To try to drown poor pussy cat_ ,
_Who ne'er did him any harm_ ,
_But killed all the mice in the farmer's barn."_
They seemed _odd_ now, these rituals of theirs. Over time, spending nearly all their waking hours together until... well, until they hadn't, they had created their own rites and ceremonies, dreamed of other lives: of parties, and friends, and Christmas. During the troubled times, they had done anything to comfort one another, keep each other sane.
He was no longer certain that it had worked.
He held out his arms and she slipped into his embrace as he led her in a waltz. Chopin soared in his memory and he found himself thinking of Buffalo. So very different from here. Not as cold, not as dark, not as dead.
_Why did I take Edith away from all that? Why did I go through with it?_
He whirled his beautiful, dark-haired sister around the attic, swirling in a circle as moths revolved around them. Her black fairy attendants, she used to call them. She had cultivated generations of moths to make them as sooty-hued as ravens.
Lucille was gazing into his eyes and he could feel her weaving her spell around him. How old had he been when he had first surrendered? She was incredibly strong-willed, far more so than he. That was both a blessing and a curse. Lucille had kept them alive. Now they would begin to thrive. She had worked out the plan and except for a few unexpected hiccups—bumps in the night, literally—it was going well.
They danced. She was his most perfect partner. When they waltzed, a candle contained in their shared clasp never, ever went out.
_One-two-three, one-two-three..._
In the darkness, a _danse macabre_.
## CHAPTER TWENTY
### THE ATLANTIC OCEAN
ALAN WORE A heavy beaver coat over his evening clothes and stood at the railing of the transatlantic steamer in his top hat. The magnificent dinner was concluded, but in truth, he had not eaten very much. He was proving to be a disappointing table companion, of that he was certain: circumspect, brooding, taciturn. A young lady and her mother were on the hunt for a suitable husband, and he was certain he had been struck off the list the previous night. Even if he had been able to be charming, their obvious disappointment at his profession had been almost comedic.
Some of the male first-class passengers were gathering for port and cigars in the smoking room, but he had no stomach for conversation and he was very tired. Since boarding the night before, time had taken on a new urgency: Having determined that all might not be well with Edith, he could not wait to be at her side.
He stared down into the rushing dark water so far below, recalling his first voyage to England to go to medical school. On the way home he had pondered the nature of visions and studied some of the hair-raising photographs he had purchased from a classmate. Mediums were conducting séances all over Britain—and many of them were being exposed as frauds. People wanted so badly to believe in an afterlife where their loved ones continued to exist.
But what he had spoken about with Edith was something different. It was not so much continued existence as continued _expression._ An emotion, a presence, continually repeated but unnoticed by most until someone with the mechanical or organic means became aware. Glowing emanations of ectoplasm also signified such manifestations. He had seen pictures of such phenomena as well. But a spirit with volition and purpose was a different entity altogether, was it not?
The arctic air prickled his face. As he absently toyed with the backs of his gloves, he caught the scent of cigar smoke on the frigid breeze.
"There is so much more below the surface," said a gravelly voice close to his elbow. The British accent belonged to a distinguished gentleman perhaps ten years older than he, also dressed in fur, with a large Cossack-style hat that nearly covered the entirety of his head. He was barrel-chested under the greatcoat, with ruddy cheeks and a pointed beard flecked with gray. The man gestured toward a huge mountain of ice floating on the water. It seemed dangerously close, but they had passed several that evening at roughly the same distance.
Alan tipped his hat but said nothing. The man positively reeked of brandy.
"...of the iceberg," his fellow passenger continued. "What we see above the surface is estimated to be one-tenth of the mass of the thing. There's ninety percent more below the water line, stretching out in all directions."
When the man took a puff on his thick cigar, tears welled in his eyes—from the cold air or the smoke? Or was he maudlin from drink?
"I am sure that we're sailing too close," he confided nervously. If we scraped against it, it would gouge a hole in our hull." Steadying himself on the rail, he looked down at the oily black sea and shuddered. "What a terrible place to die."
"But surely the captain knows his business," Alan countered, wishing to calm the poor man.
The man grunted. "I only hope that God does." He reached inside his fur coat and pulled out a silver flask. Unscrewing the top, he offered it to Alan. "Napoleon brandy," he said. "The finest."
"Thank you, sir, but no," Alan demurred. "This is a unique experience and I do not wish my senses to be dulled."
"That's the only way I can endure it." The man took a swallow and kept the open flask in hand. "Dear Lord, there are more of the bloody things ahead."
Indeed, an entire family of them, large and small, glittered in the moonlight. Safely guiding the ship through them would be a singular challenge. It was clear from the expression on the gentleman's face that he was beginning to panic. Alan determined to distract him as best he could.
He extended his hand. "I am Alan McMichael," he said. "At the risk of sounding patronizing, I've crossed before this time of year, and all ended well, sir."
"I see." The man managed a weak smile and inclined his head as if acknowledging Alan's kindness. "I am Reginald Desange." His expression did not change as he stared at the icebergs.
"Is your final destination Southampton?" Alan inquired, attempting once more to engage him.
"I have business in London," Desange replied, prying his gaze from the horizon and looking directly at Alan for the first time. "And you?"
"I'm off to Cumberland," Alan replied, and the man made a face.
"The weather in the north of England is beastly this time of year. Well, actually, it's beastly any time of year. The proper word is 'brutal.'"
Alan smiled resignedly. "And yet I must go."
"May I be so rude as to inquire as to your business there?"
It was a bit forward to ask, but Alan could see that the distraction was helping the man calm down, and truth be told, Alan could do with distracting, too. He permitted himself to think for a moment of Edith and all her lovely books and dreams. "Well, I am Sir Galahad, sworn to rescue a dear lady in distress." He shrugged, abashed at his attempt at poesy. He was a man of science, not a fanciful writer like Edith.
"In Cumberland?" The man seemed incredulous.
"Yes."
"You'll find no castles there. But I believe I read about some Roman ruins. Mining or some such. There is an ancient pit in that region..."
Alan nodded. "As a matter of fact, my destination concerns mining of clay."
The man raised a brow. "Now I remember. Some wine vessels in the British Museum, quite red, were donated by the family who own a modern-day adjoining mine." He slid a glance at Alan, who realized he shouldn't speak further for fear of revealing too much about the identity of the lady in question. He did not want to cause a scandal.
"How interesting," he said blandly.
The Englishman must have sensed that Alan was done speaking on the subject. He put his flask back in his pocket and lightly tapped the rail with his gloved hand.
"Well, Sir Galahad, I wish you luck on your quest. And I exhort you to dress warmly for your journey to the north."
"Thank you for the advice," Alan replied. "I'll be sure to take it."
The man cocked his head. "You're an amenable chap. I say, won't you join me for a proper drink in the Grand Saloon?"
The night air was bitter, and Alan felt that he had achieved a victory by easing this man's great anxiety. Though he wasn't certain that more brandy would serve his new companion well, Alan said, "I'd be honored, Mr. Desange."
## CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
EDITH WAITED, HEART racing, for Thomas to come to bed and then to fall asleep. Her dog was restless, and kept shifting, unknowingly waking her up a couple of times when she began to drift off. Her stomach was cramping and her headache had gotten worse. Her eyes itched and her mouth was as dry as cotton wool.
Her best guess was that he was in his attic workroom, tinkering with his mining models. It was difficult for her to judge when he might walk into the room, but what of that? She wasn't a prisoner. She could come and go as she pleased.
So she stole out of bed, picked up the phonograph case and stepped into the hall. Rubbing her arms to ward off the chill, she looked fearfully up and down the long, elaborate hallway with its mullioned arches. Light from the moon tinted the air a dreary blue. Moths that perched on the walls turned out to be shadows in the wallpaper. She could almost see human faces, even letters forming words that she couldn't quite make out.
Was that the elevator? She had better get to work or she would miss her chance. Gingerly, she crept to the linen closet and faced the closed door for a good minute before she gathered the courage to open it. The box of wax cylinders was still inside. She accepted now the possibility that she had experienced supernatural guidance in finding them. To what end, she was not yet clear. She had also come to believe that neither Thomas nor Lucille could see these ghosts or phantoms or whatever they were. They had no idea that they were there.
_Unless Lucille is a better actress than I give her credit for. She certainly can't hide the fact that she sees me as an interloper._
She grabbed the cylinders and tiptoed down into the kitchen. With each noise, each shift and creak of the house, her sore stomach spasmed. There could be something in the room with her. It could be standing behind her, or crouching under the table.
By the moonlight, she arranged the cylinders for playing on the phonograph, and examined her clutch of envelopes from the trunk with their faded lettering:
_Pamela Upton, London, 1887. Margaret McDermott, Edinburgh, 1893. Enola Sciotti, Milan, 1896._
Her memory cast back to her father's first fateful meeting with Thomas. Carter Cushing had stared straight at him and said, "You have already tried—and failed—to raise capital in London, Edinburgh, Milan..."
Her throat tightened and she almost faltered, but she put down the needle on the cylinder and listened:
" _I cannot take it anymore._ " The speaker was a woman with an Italian accent. _"I'm a prisoner. If I could leave him, I would. If I could stop loving him. He'll be the end of me. Hush, hush now..."_
And then, as the scratchy recording ended, the cooing and wailing of a baby. She blinked, stunned.
_I have seen no baby here. Those things in the attic... I assumed they were Thomas and Lucille's. But did another child live here?_ She looked back at the date. _It would be four years old now._
She thought of the red rubber ball. It could have belonged to a child, not a dog. That would make more sense, since the Sharpes had not owned a dog.
That day in the tub when she and the dog had played fetch, and the ball had rolled back on its own... and she had heard something in her bedroom... _Could it have been a little child?_
Perhaps there was something wrong with it. With _him._ Maybe the speaker was his mother, and the child was so sick or malformed that his mother had stayed by his side rather than leave him. Maybe she had died and left him on his own here, and Lucille had concealed that fact from Thomas.
_Or maybe Thomas knows. What if all those automata he has made are for that child, and not Lucille when she was a little girl?_
Shakily, Edith pulled the cylinder off the spindle and put on another. Then the next, and then a third. And when she was done...
_No._
...everything in her heart and soul stopped working for at least a full minute. She simply could not believe what she had heard. It wasn't that she didn't want to. It was that she couldn't.
_Once upon a time..._
It was like a wicked fairy tale. Like Bluebeard, with his haunted castle and the one room his new wife was forbidden to enter.
The room with the forbidden key. Thomas had told her never to enter the clay pit.
Enola Sciotti's trunk was in that pit.
_Once upon a time:_
There lived three young women. One was named Pamela, one was Margaret, and one was Enola. They did not know each other. Each of them had fallen in love with Sir Thomas Sharpe and left everything to move to Allerdale Hall to be his wife.
_Like me_ , Edith thought.
And each had been so happy at first, so loved. Then they had gotten sick. They had grown steadily weaker, unable to leave Allerdale Hall. They had suffered terribly. Wept. Cursed Thomas's name. Tried to warn others with these recordings... or at least leave a mark upon the world: _I was here. I was murdered_.
_Oh, God_ , Edith thought. She began shaking from head to toe. Her heart thudded thickly; her head pounded. A sensation like sharp pins moving through her veins traveled throughout her body. Icy fear and the deepest dread she had ever known clasped her in invisible arms and drew her inside that dark, evil room she was not meant to enter. This couldn't be right. This could not possibly be the secret of Allerdale Hall those red-boned wraiths wanted her to see.
It could not be, because it was too horrible.
_Not Thomas._
Quaking, she shuffled through the stacks of photos she had found in the envelopes and matched them to the voices on the cylinders. All featured Thomas and one of a trio of women, proudly smiling.
Pamela Upton, from 1887, was thin, and seated in a wheelchair with a cup of tea on the arm. Edith jerked as she studied the conveyance. Was it the one she had seen in the attic nursery?
Margaret McDermott's photo was dated 1893. She was a little older than Pamela, and older than Thomas, who stood beside her. Margaret was already graying, but what one might call "handsome," in a straw hat. She was holding a cup of tea.
_Wait_ , Edith thought. She went back to the picture of Pamela Upton. She was also drinking tea. Were the cups the same?
They were.
And it was the same cup Lucille had used to make tea for her.
Her throat constricted so tightly she couldn't swallow. She teetered on the brink of bursting into screams; through sheer force of will, she sat in the chair and saw her sister-in-law in this very kitchen putting on the kettle. Saw the tea leaves steaming in the pot. Saw the cup on a tray brought up for her.
All on that very day, that first day, when Thomas had told her about firethorn berries. And urged her to drink her tea. And had stayed away from her, claiming to respect her mourning, when in reality he had not wanted to make love to a dead woman.
_No, I have to be wrong. I'm tired and scared._
"They put poison in the tea," she whispered very distinctly, forcing herself to face it, believe it. In _her_ tea. Her stomach clenched hard and she tasted the bitterness in the back of her mouth and the odor of it singed her nose as she absorbed the shrinking horror of it; she had been murdered. She couldn't even count the many cups she had consumed since arriving at Allerdale Hall. She recalled with crushing clarity how, when she had made sandwiches and tea for Thomas, he had asked her which tin of leaves she had used—the blue or the red? She remembered his guarded expression, which had obviously masked real fear at the prospect of drinking only one cup. Had he ever poured her a cup himself? Had she drunk down her death deliberately prepared by him?
She forced herself to move to the next picture. By the date she knew that this was Enola Sciotti. Also with tea... and by her side sat the cute little dog that now belonged to her, Edith.
Edith remembered what Lucille had said just after she had come in from the post office: _What is that thing doing here?_ They had pretended not to recognize it. But they had thought it was dead. That all evidence of the Italian woman... the Italian _wife_... had been erased.
He had released it onto the moors, anticipating that nature would run its course. He hadn't cared a jot that it might starve, or fall into a ravine, or drown in an icy stream. That sweet little pup had come to her emaciated and half-frozen. _And Thomas had let it happen._
More frantic, she made herself look at the next picture:
Enola.
Holding a newborn baby.
It had to be the baby in her recording, the one Enola had soothed as it cried. But surely there was no four-year-old hidden away in this enormous mansion?
_There are parts of the house that are unsafe._ So Lucille had claimed. Unsafe for whom?
_No, dear God_ , Edith thought, as the room began to spin. _All evidence erased... they would not do such a thing._
But they would.
And they had.
They _had._
The very last picture was of the baby, alone.
And clearly dead.
Its little eyes closed, mouth slack, cheeks pale.
Edith choked, coughed. A drop of blood escaped her lips and a stain bloomed on the image of the baby. For a moment her terror was too great to do anything. She couldn't think, move. Her mind simply refused to put together what her soul knew. What they had _done_...
She tried to feel some hope; reminded herself they had failed to kill a little dog, but—
These were, in their way, spirit recordings, spirit pictures. Images from beyond the grave telling her their stories.
Warning her to beware of Crimson Peak.
"I cannot stay here any longer," she said aloud, to force herself back into the world of thoughts. "I can't."
Galvanized, she stashed the envelopes in the phonograph case and hid everything in a cupboard. Then she grabbed her coat from the rack and threw it over her nightgown. Sobbing back hysteria, fighting through an overwhelming panic, she lurched for the front door and threw it open.
Snowdrifts were piled up high in front of the door, two feet tall at least. She staggered outside, choking back fear, so numb she did not feel the cold. But as she ventured out, the moonlight shone on the snow and she stumbled in shock.
The snow was bright red, extending out to the gate; the madhouse was surrounded by a scarlet ring like a moat of fresh blood.
There was too much of it, and she was too sick—too _poisoned—_ to venture out into it. She was trapped. It was as Lucille had said: She had nowhere else to go. Nowhere, and they were going to kill her just like the others.
_Thomas_ , she thought, _help me._ Her field of vision filled with his deep blue eyes, so often sad, haunted. Had he never loved her?
_I don't believe that. I don't_ , she thought. That night at the depot, when they had talked of a new life...
_When we made love. It was love. It was. It was. He loved me. He still loves me._
But what did it matter? He was a killer. And he was going to kill her.
She remembered the night they had danced. He had come to America for Eunice, not her. Why had he changed his mind?
_Alan_ , she thought. _Alan, help me._ He had told her to proceed with caution. He would have had stronger words for a sister, and the possibility of his interference had no doubt spared Eunice from this hellish fate.
_Beware of Crimson Peak._ Her mother had come back from the grave to warn her. She knew it now. And she had not listened.
Because she had not _known._
Edith backed away from the doorway, doubling over in a fit of coughing. Blood gushed from her mouth, as red as the snow. As if Allerdale Hall itself had been poisoned and was hemorrhaging its lifeblood beneath a cold, uncaring moon.
"Oh, no, no..." she begged. She had to get out. She had to escape. She had to leave.
But instead, she fainted dead away.
_"All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream."_
— EDGAR ALLAN POE
## CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
YELLOW LIGHT SPILLED across her face, and Edith opened her eyes to defeat. She was back in the bedroom she shared with Thomas, tucked in beneath blankets that were wrapped tight around her legs. Lucille was there, waiting, holding a breakfast tray. When she saw that Edith was awake, she smiled, all sweet concern.
"Edith?" she said cheerily. "Edith? Darling! We found you next to the door. Do you feel better?"
Sick, so much sicker. And in mortal danger. Edith tried to get up. The room tilted crazily. Even in her semi-delirium, she knew she must reveal nothing. Her life depended on their ignorance. She had not signed away her fortune yet, and she must make them believe that she fully intended to. They would need to keep her well enough to hold a pen and scrawl her signature. To write Ferguson and tell him to give Thomas every penny she had to her name.
And _then_ they would kill her.
Still, the extreme nausea and cramping were beyond her capacity to endure in silence.
"I need to go to town... see a doctor," she slurred.
"Of course, of course," Lucille soothed. "But I'm afraid we're snowed in. Perhaps in a day or two."
Lucille sat down and held up a spoonful of porridge, tempting Edith in the way one would an infant.
_That baby, that poor baby_ , Edith thought, and gave her head a shake. There had been pictures of a baby last night, yes? She was muzzy-headed. Confused. So exhausted. She had to get out of here.
Away from Crimson Peak.
_I have to pull myself together. I need to think clearly._ Her heart stuttered, skipping beats, and she feared she would have a heart attack.
"Now you must eat, my dear. You must get stronger." Lucille tried again to feed Edith some porridge. "I tended Mother in this bed. I can care for you too, my pet."
Edith listened but made no move to eat. Undeterred, Lucille set down the bowl and poured Edith a cup of tea. "You see? Father hated Mother. He was a brute. Broke her leg. Snapped it in two under the heel of his boot."
Edith's lips parted in shock. She had never heard anything about this. Was Lucille making it up? To what end?
"She never quite healed. She was bedridden for a long time. I cared for her. Fed her. Bathed her. Combed her hair. I made her better. I'll do the same with you. I'll make you better."
_Remain calm_ , Edith reminded herself. But she was even more afraid. The Sharpe legacy contained depths of violence and madness she had not dreamed of. If what Lucille had just told her was true, it was no wonder that the dead prowled the halls and the ground bled.
Lucille was about to say something more when Thomas entered the room pushing a wicker wheelchair. Edith's hair stood on end. That _was_ the wheelchair Pamela Upton had sat upon in her picture. With Thomas. Holding the very teacup that Lucille had used to make her numerous cups of firethorn tea. Too numerous to count. Burning away her insides, torturing her, killing her.
"What is that?" Edith asked, her voice shrill.
"Just to help you get around," he replied, falsely cheerful. But he couldn't pull it off. His smile didn't reach his eyes, and he faltered. He turned to his sister. "I'll take care of Edith," he said. "Leave it."
Lucille threw him a defiant look, but he held his ground. Lucille backed down, rising and planting a loving kiss on Edith's forehead as she placed the deadly teacup between Edith's hands.
"You'll be out of this bed soon," Lucille cooed. "I promise."
She swept out of the room. As Thomas sat down, he took the tea away from Edith.
"Do not drink that," he said.
Hope billowed through her like the frosted winds that pushed air through the chimneys and gave breath to Allerdale Hall. He didn't want to harm her. So he would spare her. He would. But she was so _sick..._
And perhaps that was why he took the tea away from her. Not because he had had second thoughts, but to keep her from dying until she gave him her money.
Nevertheless, he fed her the porridge very gently. Kindly. The way a loving husband would minister to his sick young wife. It was very sweet, laced with honey and butter.
"Just eat," he urged. "You need to get stronger."
"I need to see a doctor," she pleaded.
A shadow crossed his face, and then light came into his eyes. He seemed... transformed. As if a terrible weight had just lifted from his shoulders. Everything in her waited. Everything prayed, even her fingernails and eyelashes.
"Finlay is gone for the winter but I'll clear a path to the main road. Take you to town."
_Oh, thank God, thank you, God_ , she thought in a rush. _Thomas, love me still. Keep loving me. Save me._
"Yes, yes," she said eagerly, almost crazily in her desperation. "I would very much like to go. Just us. Alone."
He gave her another spoonful of porridge. And then his face altered again, and she was terribly afraid that she had misunderstood him... or that he had changed his mind.
"Thomas?" She fought to keep the terror out of her voice. "What is it?"
"Those apparitions you spoke of," he began. He paused. "I have felt their presence for some time."
She stared at him in astonishment. "You have?"
He inclined his head. "Out of the corner of my eye at first. Furtive, almost timid. Then I felt them. Figures, standing still in a dark corner. And now I can sense them, moving and creeping about, watching me. Ready to show themselves."
"It's time. They want you to see them," she declared. "But why? Who are they, Thomas?"
He seemed to look somewhere that she could not. Was he reviewing his life with each of the women he had failed to save? Whom he had murdered? Were those the apparitions? But what of the ghost of his mother? So evil, raging at Edith to leave?
"They are tied to this land. To this house. Just like I am," he said. "I will tell you everything, in time. Now eat. Get well. You must leave this godforsaken place as soon as you can."
She did not know why he had decided to save her. She didn't know what it meant, or how they would manage it. But she would do exactly as he bade her: She would eat, she would get well, and she would leave. Though it cost her dearly, because she was so ill, she made herself eat the sickly sweet porridge.
And she forced herself not to break down in tears as her stomach clenched and her abdomen burned.
* * *
Thomas's hand shook as he fed Edith, but she didn't seem to notice. She was in terrible shape. She had nearly frozen to death outside in the snow, and her mouth had been smeared with blood. The poison was taking its course. He prayed it was not too late to reverse the effects. The end was always agonizing. After Pamela, he had made it a practice never to be home when it was happening. He'd gone riding during Margaret, and into town for Enola. Lucille had stayed with them. Lucille had made sure.
After Edith had eaten all her porridge, Thomas carried the tray into the kitchen. Lucille was there, pacing, and he wondered how on earth he would spirit Edith out of here without her knowledge. She would stop him if she could. They would have to plot and plan.
_How can I do that to Lucille?_ he thought. _Edith will tell the world._
"She knows everything." Lucille's dark eyes flashed as she violently washed out the teacup. She was in turmoil. Thomas knew the signs very well.
"She's sick," Thomas said urgently. "She may be dying."
Lucille stared at him as if he had completely lost his mind. She was so stunned that for a moment her lips moved, but no words came out.
"Absolutely, she is dying. I've made sure of that," she announced, peering at him as if she was making sure he could hear her. Then she moved on quickly. "She stole the trunk key." She showed her ring of keys. "You see? She returned it, but it's facing the wrong way. She went down into the clay mines, too. And I believe she might have stopped drinking the tea."
Lucille enumerated the sins she was laying at Edith's feet, although Thomas had been the one to stop Edith from drinking the tea. He had seen Lucille do all this before, under different circumstances. Back when they had still had servants, Lucille had dismissed her maid for chipping a teacup that she herself had dropped. The girl had defended herself, insisting that the mistress _knew_ she had done it herself, and Lucille had taken the cost of the cup _and_ a few pennies to cover the wasted tea out of the girl's wages as punishment for her insolence. She had even accused Finlay of failing to repair the hinges on her bedroom door, claiming that it opened during all hours of the night. She had "fined" him for this breach and warned that if it happened again, Thomas would dismiss him.
But Thomas had observed Finlay working on the door while the two had talked about the harvester. He had returned Finlay's wages to him with his apologies.
Thomas didn't ever directly defy Lucille. He just went around her. That was what he was doing now, with Edith. But he had never taken his duplicity to such extremes.
Lucille paced again, faster, balling her fists. "It doesn't matter at all. I put the poison in the porridge." Then she began washing the tea things.
His heart dropped to the floor. Why had he not even considered that? The time had come, then. He must speak up. He must defy her.
"Lucille... stop," he said. His nerve almost failed, but he pressed on. For years she had been his defender, his champion. She had borne the brunt of their father's fury, the abuse and debasement from their mother, in order to spare him. She had kept them from starving. It was she who encouraged him to modernize the mining process, and had also come up with the scheme to marry the heiresses. Why not? It was what their father had done. And they had paid him back for that.
They had struck a bargain, vowing never to be separated. And in so many words, to kill anyone who tried to force them apart. Though he had been but eight years old when that pledge had been made, the memory of that day had never left him. It had haunted him all his life.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
### ALLERDALE HALL, TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO
"RAVING LUNATICS!" SIR Michael Sharpe bellowed at the three bleeding men who cowered before him. Thomas and Lucille were hiding behind the draperies in the library and Thomas peered between the gaps at his huge, strapping father, who was as terrifying as an ogre. Sir Michael had a wild mane of thick black hair and eyebrows to match, and he was dressed in his hunting attire—red coat, trousers, and thick black boots. The men were not bleeding. They were covered in red clay.
Lucille had been showing Thomas that when you bent the pages of various books in the library like a fan, you could see the most indecent pictures imaginable. Thomas had been agog. Then their father had stomped in, and the miners with him, and Lucille had dragged Thomas out of sight.
"Try heating your stoves with clay!" their father went on. He was tapping his riding crop against his boot. _Tap, tap, tap._ "Firedamp is a gas that occurs in coal mines. And there are no coal mines on my land."
"But, sir, summat 'appened," the oldest of the three men said. He was stooped and bowed. "Summat blowed up. There's children burned."
"For the love of God, man, speak like a human being." The _taps_ became _thwaps_ as he snapped the crop harder against the leather boot top.
"With respect, Your Lordship," the man said. "It's our children wot's been burned and we was 'oping Lady Sharpe, she'd come, or if we could 'ave a doctor."
"Like a human being!" the great man thundered. His eyes blazed. "And Lady Sharpe will not be coming to salve up your brats! Lady Sharpe is a cretin, and she's upstairs loaded to the gills with laudanum, and is of no use to anyone, most especially not to me."
"Then the doctor, sir," the old man wheedled. "Them's 'urt summat awful."
"Dear Lord!" Sir Michael shouted. "Get out of my house! You have damaged your brats through your own ignorance and now seek to steal my money to right your wrongs. Get out before I put _you_ in need of a physician!"
Then he began to whip the old man, who put up his arms to protect his head as the other two hurried him out of the room. Thomas was both horrified and excited; in his exhilaration he yanked on the curtain—and the entire thing came crashing down.
"What the devil?" their father shouted.
"Under there," Lucille whispered to Thomas beneath the drapery, pushing him toward an overstuffed love seat that sat on very long legs. "Now!"
Thomas darted away just as the heavy pounding of their father's boots stomped close. He slid beneath the love seat and peered out. Sir Michael had been gathering up the damask fabric and threw it back down when he found Lucille beneath it. She gazed up at him in terror; he grabbed her wrist and yanked her to her feet. Her eyes were enormous. Her face was dead white.
"What are you doing? By the devil, what did you..."
And then he trailed off. He was bending over, staring. The books. He saw them. He picked one up and held it for a moment. Then he turned to stare at Lucille as if he had never seen her before in his life.
"You little _bitch_ ," he said in a tight, furious voice. "Whatever possessed you?"
Her breathing was shallow. "I'm sorry, Papa," she said. "I—I..." She began to cry. "Please don't hurt me. I'm so very sorry."
"Where is your brother?"
"In the nursery," she said quickly, not looking over at Thomas.
"Did he see these?"
"No, no," she said. "He's a good boy."
"And you are wicked beyond the telling." He raised his crop over his head. "Say it."
She cringed. "I am wicked," she whimpered. "Please, Papa."
"Again."
"I am wicked." Tears streamed down her face.
The crop came down hard on her shoulder, and she buckled. Thomas caught his breath.
Down again, and she fell to one knee. He began to scrabble back out and she flashed a warning look at him and said, "No!"
"' _No_?' You dare say that to your father?"
"No, Papa, I mean, I do not dare!" He brought the crop down on her hands as she put them on her head. She screamed. "Please, Papa!"
"You're as bad as your mother. She is a wanton slut. Say it!"
"She is a wanton slut!" Lucille cried.
"Come with me then and say it to her face!"
He reached down, grabbed up a book, and gripped her by the forearm. Lucille glanced in Thomas's direction and gave her head a firm shake, ordering him to stay hidden.
She was sobbing as they left the library. As soon as he thought it was safe, Thomas scooted from beneath the sofa and tiptoed out. Panting with fear, he crept up the stairs and snuck into the attic, where he sat unmoving until the shadows came out and the moths emerged from their hidey holes.
He kept waiting for Lucille, and he was so very sorry she had been punished for something they had both done. But the fact was that he was also so very glad that he had not been caught. His shame warred with his relief.
He decided to make her a present. He looked at the moths as they swirled around, and then he cut out two pieces of black paper from his collection of art supplies. He made her a moth with wings that opened and closed when you pulled on a string that connected the wings to a thread down the moth's back.
He had just finished it when Lucille staggered in. She looked awful; her black hair was sticking out every which way and her eyes and nose were swollen from weeping.
"Oh, Lucille!" he cried, throwing his arms around her. She winced.
"Thomas, you must never confess that you were in the library," she said, "or it will go doubly hard for me. Papa thinks you are the good one, and if he discovers that you are not, then I shall be punished for it."
His lower lip quivered. "Am I not the good one?"
"No," she said sadly. "I wouldn't have got in trouble if you hadn't asked to see the books."
"See...?" He frowned. "But I did _not_ ask to see the books."
"Yes, you did," she replied firmly. "Don't you remember? You said that Polly told you about them. And so we got them out and I showed you how to look."
"I did?" He was baffled. Polly was one of the maids, and she was very pretty, but he couldn't recall anything of the sort.
"And Papa likes Polly better than you. Or me," she added bitterly. "He will blame you instead of her for being so bad."
"But I didn't..." he began, but then he wasn't sure. He was confused. His cheeks were hot and his palms were wet.
"This moth is wonderful," Lucille murmured, picking up the toy he had made for her. "How did you manage it?"
"See, I attached the string this way, and so when you pull down, the wings flap open." He smiled hopefully. "I made it for you. I did it because I was so sorry that you were hurt. So that must mean that I'm good. Is that right, Lucille? That I'm good because I'm sorry?"
Lucille shook her head. She made the moth flap. "Papa told Mama that he wants to send us away. You will go to boarding school and I will go to an academy for young ladies in Switzerland."
"No!" He was aghast.
"We can never let that happen," she told him. "We must make a promise that we will not let them separate us, ever."
"I promise!" Thomas cried. He held up his hand. "I promise with all my heart."
Silver tears ran down Lucille's cheeks. "It's just... your heart is very little. You are my sweet boy, but what can you do to stop him?"
"Cut him to bits!" he cried. "Push him into the mine and make it blow up!"
"Oh, Thomas." She smiled wanly through her tears. "If only you could."
* * *
Two years later, while Thomas had stood watch, in the small hours before the dawn of a great fox hunt, Lucille had cut the girthstrap of their father's hunting saddle nearly in two; she had pulled two nails out of his horse's shoe. He had been thrown, and his neck broken. It had dawned on Thomas that Lucille had also drugged the man so that his fall would be all but assured.
"Mama showed me how," she had told Thomas sweetly.
And two years after that, Mama was dead.
* * *
Thomas roused himself from his reverie. She had wound him up so many times and he had done as she had directed, always, like one of his automata. And it had worked well for them. For him.
But now... cracks were appearing in their foundation. He was not of one mind with her. Gazing at his sister, sensing her energy radiating like the steam that propelled his machine, he felt strangely dizzy, and very frightened.
"Must this be? Edith? Must we...?"
She turned to face him, incredulous, as she dried her hands. He saw in her brown eyes the supreme will he had assured Carter Cushing that he himself possessed. But Lucille had always been the puppeteer behind their elaborate performance.
"Yes, Thomas. We must. And I will."
But he couldn't bear it. Edith was not like the others. Those doting women had been like Eunice McMichael—charmed by his social graces, in love with his title. When they gazed starry-eyed at him, they saw Prince Charming—as they were meant to. Eunice had been the most mesmerized of all, asking him the most naïve questions, such as what he wore when he called upon the royal family, none of whom he had ever met, and if he owned a crown.
But Edith had seen a man, and a clever one at that. He _was_ intelligent. He _was_ inventive. Like her father, whom Thomas had admired deeply. Like an American, that nation of builders, where a person was defined by their achievements rather than their surname. Edith had her own dreams. And she had wished to help him achieve his. He was the one who had become hypnotized. He had fallen in love with her, and that love was changing him. But could he _be_ different? Push a button, and he performed—could that magician upstairs perform any new tricks?
No.
_But I can. I have free will._
It was a terrifying notion.
Lucille read his refusal on his face, and _he_ saw _her_ terror.
"You have no idea what they would do," Lucille said shrilly. "We would be taken away from here. Locked away. We would lose our home... each other. They would hang you."
She was right. They would not hang her. They rarely executed women, and anyway, he would accept full blame. But only if they were discovered. Only if their story was told. And where would Lucille be then?
She had always been right. She did know what was best for them. And he owed her everything.
But could he give her Edith's life?
He blazed inside, ice and fire, pure temptations, polluted intentions. He envisioned the brilliant scarlet of his lineage rushing through his veins; the aristocracy put such store in their blood but his was brimming with rot. It was all he knew; all he was.
His eyes welled; he was utterly perplexed. Rudderless. Oh, Edith! If only she knew what they had been through. She would understand, would she not?
"We stay together, never apart," Lucille intoned. It had been their vow through the long nights of torment; helped them weather the insanity of both their parents. No one in their lives had ever tried to help them. School mistresses and masters, churchmen and physicians had seen the misery on their faces, the hollowness in their eyes, but no one dared to speak up. Their father was too powerful, their mother too terrifying.
No one but Thomas had seen the whip marks and bruises on poor Lucille's body. Their mother had reveled in punishing her, not even bothering to determine whose fault it really was before she attacked Lucille. Once his sister confessed to whatever infraction had occurred, it was like opening the floodgates of their mother's wrath.
Lucille always taking the blame: _It was I._
And little Thomas, too afraid to speak up.
Now, in the kitchen, he was crying, too. "I know. I know."
Lucille looked as small and frightened as he had been back then, when he had let her take his punishments. When he had not spoken up. When he had not been a man.
He had to be, for Edith. She had finally brought light into this house, his world. His _soul._ He could save her, when he had not saved Lucille.
But he loved his sister, he did; she had been his world for his entire life.
"You couldn't leave me, could you?" she asked.
"I couldn't, I couldn't," he sobbed.
She kissed his tears away. They clung to each other, orphans who could have been freed by the deaths of their nearly demonic parents, but were too haunted instead. Stripped of everything but darkness. Too late, too late for light?
* * *
It watched, it exulted. It had them where it wanted them.
And the sad little specters that cried out for justice?
Inconsequential.
And delicious.
Outside, the scarlet ring of snow grew, a sucking bog of bloody clay, the sins of the Sharpes made visible for all to see.
_Behold, I show you a miracle._
_I show you the seventh circle of hell._
## CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
IT HAD BEEN snowing back in Buffalo when Alan began his crossing nearly two weeks before.
In London, he had been told that the snowfall was at record levels. But here in Cumberland, it was the worst—another in a series of violent snowstorms that had shut down most of the roads. He had not seen another soul in days.
By the time he reached the village's postal depot and climbed down from his covered carriage, he was more than half-frozen. Despite growing up in Buffalo, he had never been so cold. He wished he could linger for a hot meal and a hotter bath, but nothing could stop him from getting to Edith now that he was so close. Ever since Holly's revelation that Sir Thomas Sharpe already had a wife, Alan had existed in a perpetual state of fear for her. Cushing had known that Sharpe was a fortune hunter, but had he realized the Englishman was a bigamist? His supposed sister, Lady Sharpe... was she his real wife?
Leaving his luggage for the moment, he walked stiffly over to an official-looking man and said, "I need directions for Allerdale Hall."
The man shook his head. "Can't get there on that horse. And there's none to be had. We're closed for the winter."
Alan groaned inwardly.
"Can I get there by foot?" he asked.
The man grimaced and looked meaningfully at the snowstorm. "It's well over two hours following the road."
Alan set his jaw. "Then I better get going."
He made provision for the storage of his trunk but decided to take his medical bag. Heads turned his way as the postal clerk wrote him a receipt and villagers frowned at the young man's stubborn ignorance. A few muttered under their breath, and he heard what they were saying. An American, then, with no idea what could happen if the weather got _really_ foul. A man in a bright yellow muffler argued that someone should go with him, but did not directly offer to do so.
Irritated and more than a little worried about the likelihood of his survival, Alan wrapped his muffler around his face, pulled his hat on firmly, and headed back out into the weather. The snow was falling harder, and to make matters worse, it had begun to sleet.
An older man shuffled after him, hand raised, but seemed to think the better of it. Behind Alan, the depot gate shut, and he was all alone in a world of ice and snow.
* * *
Hours later, gusts of sleet buffeted Alan as he staggered down the road.
_"Then move the trees, the copses nod_ ,
_Wings flutter, voices hover clear:
'O just and faithful knight of God!
Ride on! The prize is near.'"_
He set his face in a tight, grim line. If only he _could_ ride.
He had been reciting Tennyson's poem about Sir Galahad over and over to keep himself going. He was caked in frozen sweat and thirstier than he had ever been. And tired. So very, very tired. To walk he had to lift the weight of the heavy snow with the tops of his boots, every step a strain, and the snow kept falling, filling, masking the footsteps he left behind.
There was nothing for it but to press on, despite the temptation to collapse in the slush. He should have listened to the man at the depot, rested, and eaten. If Edith was in trouble, what possible aid could he offer her? She would bear the burden of his hubris. No knight in shining armor, he.
His right foot broke through the powdery crust and he slid into ice crystals. He began to pitch forward, arms windmilling, dropping his doctor's bag. He brushed a spindly tree trunk with his right hand and grabbed hard. He gripped it with his left and steadied himself.
His thigh muscles seized up and he grimaced, drawing in shaky breaths. Then he realized that his means of support was not a tree trunk but a pitted and weathered signpost, crusted with snow.
The top had broken off, and so, there was no indication of its intended purpose, except that it was planted in front of a fork in the road. He frowned. His directions to Allerdale Hall had not included any intersections such as this. A freshet of anxiety trickled down the back of his neck; he hoisted each foot out of the piled-up, bluish chunks of snow and studied the jagged end of the post. Then he scanned the area for the top of the marker, but a visual sweep revealed nothing but a few thin sticks and a couple of large rocks. The howl of the wind created a counterpoint to the crunch of the snow under his boots; reluctantly he walked a circle around the post and experimentally kicked at a few chunks of snow. The first three collapsed but the fourth held. He knelt and picked it up.
With anxious fingertips he gradually unearthed the remnant of the wooden sign. It had lain beneath the snow for so long that it had begun to decompose. He read — DALE —— 3 MI—. So did this mean that Allerdale Hall was perhaps only three miles away? An hour, maybe two, then, if he maintained an average pace.
And if he went the correct way. Should he go right or left at the fork? He could not tell from the sign. His attempt to hold it resulted in the wet, fibrous fragment shredding in his grasp.
Alan swore and dropped the pieces, which were carried into the snow by a heavy, mean wind. Layers of snow and gusts sharp as razors; he couldn't imagine himself fighting his way through it for half a mile, let alone three. Or six, if he discovered that he had chosen the wrong road.
Was that a human shape standing in front of him? He squinted at a thickened blur hovering in bold relief against the white, and every sleepless night on the steamer crashed down on him. He waited, every molecule of his body quivering with anxiety. He needed help; if the dead ever intervened in the affairs of the living, he prayed that they would do so now. Panting from cold and fatigue, he was poised for revelation.
But it was only the signpost. He set his jaw, feeling foolish and desperate. There was so much snow he was afraid he might drown in it. It had buried his ankles and was piling up around his shins. Dear _God_ , he was so exhausted. If only he could lie down and restore his strength.
_If you lie down, you will never get up again_ , he told himself sternly. _Make a move, man. Otherwise you'll die here._
He looked left, scanning a treeless horizon... and then it occurred to him that the view on the right was forested. Though it was cloaked in heavy snowfall, he could see that the barren land to the left dipped into a bowl shape. It was unnatural; the rest of the area consisted of low, rolling hills. He thought a moment. What had Mr. Desange told him? That there had been another mine carved into the landscape by the Romans. And that that mine had been located adjacent to that of a present-day mining family—very likely the Sharpe property.
Then he blinked. Was he seeing properly? He staggered forward. Puddles of blood dotted the snow. He rushed closer.
No, it was clay. Of course it was clay. The brilliant scarlet treasure that had driven Sir Thomas Sharpe to deceit and perhaps even to murder.
To the left, then.
_"Then move the trees, the copses nod_ ,
_Wings flutter..."_
Alan resumed his trek.
* * *
Edith woke up, weak and wobbly, but grateful that she was still alive. Then her stomach clenched into a thousand knots of burning pain. With a grunt, she staggered into the bathroom and fell down on her knees before the toilet. She vomited gouts of blood, her stomach cramping in merciless spasms until she feared she had no blood left.
_I thought he had saved me_ , she thought. _He took away the tea._ He had sworn. He had promised...
But she was sicker than ever. The pain was more than she could stand, and it shook her to her core that he could ever have considered doing this to her.
That he _had_ done it to other women. Or, rather, allowed Lucille to do it.
She staggered back into the bedroom, wondering if he had actually slept through all the noise that she'd been making. He could not possibly have lain there and ignored her. No human being could be so cruel.
"Thomas," she rasped. "Thomas, I feel very sick. I need help."
She pulled back the bed sheets. There was no one there.
The wheelchair, then; she fell into it and began to push the wheels with all the remaining strength she possessed. She couldn't think past her immediate need for aid. Killing her was one thing, but to make her suffer like this?
The wheels squeaked. She had to stop and start many times. She had barely made it into the hall, but her body was bathed in sweat and her trembling arms seized up from the exertion.
As she inched along, a threatening net of menace dangled above her: If anyone came after her, she would not be able to outpace them. She was a hapless target. But she had been all along.
She pushed the wheels, dismayed by her increasing weakness. She wouldn't be able to fit the chair into the elevator and she would never be able to make it to the bottom of the stairs unless she fell down them. And what difference would that make? She couldn't leave.
But she could get to the kitchen and put something in her stomach to soak up the poison. Bread. There was cream for tea. She needed something to shore up her strength.
She needed, she needed.
Where was Thomas? Had he abandoned her? She had dared to believe that she would live. But now, as the horrible poison cloyed her organs, she almost wished to die. But she would not give him the satisfaction, nor give herself permission to give up. Were he and Lucille even still in the house? Is this how they killed their victims—glutted them with poison, then left them to die alone? It would be the coward's way.
Thomas's way.
Why promise to take her side, then do nothing? Did he find pleasure in raising false hopes? Perhaps he had lost his nerve.
Or perhaps he was outside right now, clearing the road. Harnessing the wagon.
_He must do it faster_ , she thought. _I am running out of time._
She could not die here. She could not become trapped, tapping out warnings for the next unsuspecting bride.
_Unless I am the last. With my money, he will have the funding for his machine._ Black anger washed over her as in her mind's eye, his jubilant face projected over her father's ruined body. Thomas had so rarely smiled around her. He had not masked his wickedness with the same ease as Lucille. He had not enjoyed hurting her.
But Lucille had.
_I will not give her the satisfaction of my demise. And if Thomas killed my father, I will show him no mercy._
She pushed on the wheels with aching wrists. Maybe he would come soon to check on her. Or maybe Lucille would. That thought urged Edith to move faster, and she winced as the effort tore at her stomach muscles.
The corridor stretched out before her like an endless blue-gray mine shaft. What catastrophes skulked behind those doors tonight? She prepared herself to roll past them, toiling with her sickened body, struggling not to unnerve herself with harrowing fancies. It would have proved impossible for Edith to be more frightened than she was.
Then a whisper wafted down the corridor. Breathy, unnatural. Echoing from everywhere and nowhere.
Edith jerked as cool air crested over her head like a giant sigh. Smoky syllables twined around the curtains and scattered the black leaves littering the floor. Cobwebs quivered like dead hair.
No one came forward. No one appeared.
This, then, was a speaker for the dead.
Edith pushed the wheelchair forward, and then into an icy chill that slid fingers into her rib cage and squeezed her heart. The syllables became words:
" _Lasciare ora. È necessario lasciare ora._ "
She stopped wheeling and listened hard. It was Italian. " _Ora_ " meant "now."
There was something on the stairs. Shudders ran up and down her spine like a hand trilling the keys of a piano. The thing shifted. Edith couldn't quite see it; she thought of Alan's spirit photographs and concentrated.
_Believing is seeing_ , she told herself. _And I believe._
Then there it was, hovering in the air: a crimson ghost. It was a woman covered in blood, holding a child, and her long hair wafted as if she were underwater. It had to be Enola Sciotti. The baby was tangled in her hair, and the expression on her face was one of extreme trepidation, as if she were more afraid of Edith than Edith was of her.
Perhaps that was true.
Summoning all her strength, Edith pushed herself out of the chair and walked toward the ghost. The pain that clawed at her was physical, but by the expression on her scarlet features, the phantom's agony was soul-deep. There was such profound grief and anger on Enola's face that Edith almost looked away. She felt as if she were seeing far more than she was meant to, invading the dead woman's privacy.
Enola Sciotti, who had loved Thomas Sharpe so much she had left her home and family and allowed herself to be imprisoned here.
Just as Edith had done.
They had killed this woman and her child. They had taken her life, cup by poisonous cup, and she died vomiting blood. Had she held her poor tiny baby in her arms as it had died? Was that unimaginable heartache the reason she had lingered all these years?
_How could they do it? How on earth?_
She locked gazes with Enola. They were sisters in this foul madness. Their fates were entwined, and Edith would do all she could to ease this dead woman's suffering.
"I am not afraid anymore," Edith told her. "You are Enola Sciotti. Tell me what you want from me. Tell me what you need." _Trust me. Believe in me._
Still floating, Enola stared back at her. Then Enola raised her hand and pointed down the passage where Beatrice Sharpe's ghost had once appeared and ordered Edith to leave Allerdale Hall. Edith understood that she wanted her to go there. Despite her weakened state, Edith began to walk, and as she did the ghost faded.
Edith was alone again.
She heard someone humming and recognized the tune Lucille had played on the piano in the library. Haunting, sad, and yet tender. A lullaby. For the dead baby?
The melody wound through the gallery, with its blue tracings and fluttering moths. It seemed to go on forever, and she had the strange thought that the objects behind all those doors had been rearranged since she had taken the cylinders. That all the objects, when seen as a whole, could tell her a story.
What did Enola so desperately want her to see?
She followed the sound up the stairs to the attic. Taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and stepped into the room.
Thomas was there, standing with his arms around a woman, his face in profile against her long dark hair. Her bare shoulder was there for his lips, his touch, and his face was passionately buried in the soft hollow between her breast and shoulder. She was clinging to him.
Who was this? A mistress?
_The woman in the elevator. His secret. At last I meet her._
He jerked, turned, and in so doing, the woman turned too.
Edith gasped. It was Lucille.
And this was her room, spilling with moths and dead things, a shelter for Thomas's horrible secret: Lucille was his lover.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THOMAS AND LUCILLE heard Edith's sharp intake of breath and turned as one to look at her. She could not believe it; Thomas's face was a study in panic and guilt.
But did he speak?
Not one word.
Lucille flew at her; Edith backed away, then turned on her heel and stumbled into a worktable. A mounting kit upturned, clattering; jars rolled and broke, releasing moths and butterflies that harried Edith as she picked up speed and broke into a run.
_This cannot be. I did not see that._
Lucille was closing in.
The elevator. It was Edith's best hope for escape. She pressed the button and begged it to come. To no avail: Lucille caught up to her and grabbed her brutally by the collar of her nightdress and her hair. Edith felt the mad frenzy of her grip as she struggled to free herself. But Lucille was stronger. Her face was contorted in hatred and fury.
"It's all out in the open now," Lucille said triumphantly, turning her around to face her. Edith's back slammed against the gallery railing. "No need to pretend. This is who I am. This is who he is!"
Then she grabbed Edith's hand and tried to rip the garnet ring off her finger. The Sharpe family heirloom, treasured by the dead. The metal scraped along Edith's flesh and burned as if it were molten.
Lucille tugged again, and again. She pushed Edith to the edge of the balcony; Edith's heels brushed the decaying wood and she teetered, close to a fall. She looked down at the parquet floor and held on for dear life. This could not be her end. Enola Sciotti had not sent her to her death.
The front doorbell rang.
At the same instant, Thomas appeared in the hallway, hand outstretched toward Lucille and Edith. His face was pale and blank, his eyes swollen. His features were contorted in fear—was he afraid for Edith, or for himself?
"Someone's at the door!" he shouted. "Don't do it!"
Lucille was uncommonly strong. Her face spoke of implacable determination. Edith fought back as best she could, holding onto her, but she was outmatched and her grip began to fail. Sick, off-balance, struggling for her life as the red stone caught the light, she understood finally that the ring was important to Lucille not because it was a family treasure, but because of what it signified—marriage to Thomas.
"I knew it!" Edith cried. "I felt it all along! You're not his sister!"
Then Lucille finally slid the ring onto her own finger and slapped Edith with tremendous force across her face.
"That's delightful," she sneered. "I _am_."
Then she pushed Edith backwards off the balcony. Edith fell headfirst, her nightgown streaming behind her like wings. Moths skittered out of her way and pelted as she plummeted. This would be a better death, a cleaner death, than what they had planned for her. At least she had saved herself from that.
As if in slow motion, she saw a railing, but couldn't avoid it and smacked hard against it. The breath was knocked from her lungs. The parquet floor rushed up to meet her and she slammed against the rotted floorboards. A brilliant flash of light exploded in her vision on impact. Clay oozed out from beneath her body, or was it her own blood and brains?
A doorbell rang again and again. The irritating sound roused her. Or maybe the ringing was inside her own head?
She struggled for breath, but she had none. She was completely empty and when she tried to draw air, nothing happened. Her chest did not move, and suffocation squeezed down on her like a hand over her mouth.
The doorbell, again. It was real, not imagined, outside not inside.
_Find me, save me_ , she begged whoever had arrived. _Come now. Please_.
But Lucille's face appeared in her field of vision, eyes spinning with madness and victory, and then all went dark.
* * *
In Edith's dream, the sun was shining on a field of green grass, and she was holding hands with her parents. Her mother on one side and her father on the other. And Mama gazed down at her and said, _"Thomas and Lucille don't even have this. They have no happy memories to draw from."_
When she opened her eyes again, she knew that she was still dreaming. Peering at her intently was Alan McMichael, and he could not be real. He was back in Buffalo... or had he gone to Italy? Why was she thinking that?
_Enola Sciotti's letter_ , she remembered, and it all came rushing back.
"Hello, Edith," he said warmly, but in a subdued, professional tone. "Don't try to talk or move just yet. You are heavily sedated."
_Alan, listen to me, oh, dear God_ , she thought. But she looked around and realized she was still at Allerdale Hall. Thomas and Lucille stood close together, observing. Two vultures circling carrion. Dear God, what would they do to Alan?
She tried to warn him, but it was just too much to manage. His face blurred in and out of focus; was he a ghost already?
"It's a shock seeing me, I warrant," he said to her. Then he turned to Lucille and Thomas. "Forgive me for dropping in unannounced."
Lucille simpered, the very picture of a worried sister-in-law. "Heaven-sent, as it turns out."
"I arrived in Southampton yesterday. I should have sent a wire." His smile took in all three of them. "But I thought you'd enjoy the surprise."
_Tell him, tell him_ , she ordered herself, flailing at him. But she was drifting in and out of awareness. Part of her was back with him in their pirate lair in his back yard, and she was trying to tell him about Enola Sciotti. And Eunice was there, laughing at her.
No, not Eunice.
Lucille.
"We'd have been at a loss. It's a miracle," Lucille told Alan. "She's been sick. Delirious."
Edith looked down. Her left leg was bandaged and braced. Alan must have done it.
"She spoke to me—" she began.
"Who spoke to you?" Alan asked gently.
"My mother was delivering a warning." She _had_ to make him understand. "Crimson Peak—"
As she reached toward him, he dropped his gaze toward her hand. She followed his line of vision: It was her ring finger, red and swollen, from where Lucille had torn off the ring.
"Delirious, you see?" Lucille murmured. "Poor thing."
Alan looked at Lucille.
_She is wearing the ring. See the ring_ , Edith begged him. But even if he did, it wouldn't mean anything to him. He had probably never noticed it on her hand, although she had begun wearing it the second that Thomas proposed. Men didn't see things like that.
Tears of fear and frustration rolled down her cheeks, but deep gratitude rushed through her as well. Alan had relinquished his work, crossed the sea, and searched her out in the stormy moors of England to save her life, at grave risk of his own. She had not understood his true mettle or the depth of his feeling until now, and she felt deep remorse for not allowing herself to see it before. It had been there all along, like the air around her and the ground underfoot. Because of her blindness, Alan was like her, a butterfly for these two dark moths to devour. If he discovered what was going on, they would kill him. If they convinced him to leave her with them, they would kill her.
"Here, drink." He held a cup of tea to her lips. _The_ cup.
"No, no, no, please, no!" she cried, batting at it. She felt herself fainting. She was going to die. And he, too.
_Alan..._
* * *
Edith's "sister-in-law" put on every air of the utmost concern as Edith slipped back into unconsciousness. Alan made a show of putting away his equipment as he pondered his next move.
"I'm only sorry that you have to see her like this," Lucille said. "Really, for all her city upbringing, she's taken to life here in the hills." She paused and then she said, "You will stay here, with us? Wait for the storm to pass."
"If you insist," Alan said, although etiquette demanded that he make at least a token refusal. This was certainly no time to stand on ceremony. "But then..." When she raised her brows, he knew he must not reveal that he had a terrible suspicion that Edith's fall had been engineered. Did they actually mean that she had plummeted from the topmost floor? It was a miracle that she was still alive. He, too, for that matter, if his suspicions were correct. "...I'll need a moment alone with my patient," he finished.
Lucille paled and Sir Thomas nervously came forward. His apprehension and culpability were written all over his face. It took everything in Alan not to strike him.
"I beg your pardon?" Sharpe said.
"Would you mind?" Alan asked in a friendly, innocent tone. "Just a moment more. We must all do our best to see her through this."
Lucille pulled Sharpe by the sleeve. "We'll leave you then, Dr. McMichael," she said. "With your patient."
* * *
Once out of sight of Dr. McMichael, Lucille was relentless, taking the stairs so quickly she skipped half of them. Thomas followed, near-paralyzed with apprehension. Everything was spiraling out of control. When he had seen Edith fall...
He thanked Providence that the floorboards were rotten, and the viscous, bright clay had softened her landing.
"Where are you going?" he asked her. But he knew where: to the attic. He followed after her, as he always did.
She whirled on him. "Somebody has to stop him. I just want to know, brother. Is it going to be you this time? Or me, as usual?"
His face fell. He couldn't even name all the emotions that were swirling through him—shame, horror, bewilderment. Reaching her room, she rummaged in a drawer and pulled out a familiar-looking knife. He recoiled, and she huffed.
"Thought so," she snapped.
* * *
Alan knew that Edith was almost out of time. He touched her cheek, concerned by how clammy it was. His mind raced, working out various scenarios to get her out of here as fast as possible. These people must own horses. Could he get her to the stables? Would he have time to hitch a horse to a carriage or a wagon? How far would they go to stop him?
_They will do whatever it takes_ , he thought.
Edith roused slightly. That was good. If she could help him make their escape, so much the better.
"Edith, listen to me. I am here to take you away. You hear me? I am going to take you with me now."
She gazed into his eyes, but he wasn't certain she was able to understand him. He checked her pupils and then her pulse, and saw her fighting to regain mastery of herself.
"Help. Help me," she said, gasping. She grew frantic. "They are monsters. Both of them. _Alan._ Somebody has to stop them."
He tried to keep her calm. "Shh, shh, I know. I _know_. I will not let them harm you any further, you hear? We are leaving."
He took her by the arm. "You have signs of poisoning. You're weakened. So you have to show me you can stand up."
Suddenly a little dog at her feet barked, startling him out of his wits. He shushed it, realizing that the Sharpes must have heard it. Time was up.
They began to walk, but she was swaying, stumbling.
"Keep quiet," he cautioned her. "We'll be out in no time."
She lurched forward; it was no good, so he lifted her into his arms and carried her down to the foyer. She cried on his shoulder, clinging to him. Dear God, he had gotten here just in time. If he had been too late... He looked down at her, their faces inches apart, the kiss he had dreamed of his entire life within his reach.
"Things are getting a bit emotional, I see, Doctor," Lucille Sharpe said from her vantage point on the staircase. Her brother was with her, but Alan saw at once that it was the sister he had to fear.
He raised his guard and assumed a more authoritative demeanor—a doctor and friend concerned for his patient. "She's exhausted, showing signs of anemia. I'm going to take her to a hospital immediately."
She advanced like a wild animal stalking prey. He reminded himself that she was very dangerous.
"That won't be necessary," she said coolly. Thomas Sharpe followed her, his gaze on Edith.
Alan stared at her for a moment, weighing his options. This woman was not interested in playing cat and mouse. Very well, then.
"It is. You've been poisoning her. I know everything."
He set Edith down and pulled out his folder of newspaper clippings. He showed the brother and sister the gruesome drawing that Holly had shown him: a butchered woman lying in a tub, her head hacked open. "I'm sure you remember this. Front page, the _Cumberland Ledger_. Lady Beatrice Sharpe was murdered in the bathtub. One brutal blow, almost split her head in two."
He gestured to the caption: _Shocking Savage Murder at Allerdale Hall._
Edith gaped open-mouthed. Though he was sorry to upset her, perhaps the shock might stir her into action.
"No suspect was ever arrested," Alan said. "There was no one else in the house, only the children. The truth was too horrible to consider."
Edith stared at Sir Thomas as if she had never seen him before in her life. And Alan suspected that she never _had_ seen him. Not the real him.
"You?" she said to the man. The monster. "You did this?"
The man stood awash in self-disgust and desolation. "Stop it, please!"
"You, Sir Thomas, were only twelve at the time. After questioning by the police, you were sent to boarding school." Alan looked at his sister. "As for Lucille, at fourteen, her story is less clear. A convent education in Switzerland, the news account says. But I suspect a _different_ sort of institution."
Lucille glared at her brother, who was in a paroxysm of despair. She narrowed her eyes. "What are you waiting for?"
"Sir Thomas is married, Edith. Your father obtained a copy of the certificate. But he couldn't bear to show it to you. He married Pamela Upton—"
"And Enola Sciotti— _E.S._ ," Edith cut in, ice-cold, her chest heaving. "And Margaret McDermott. He married all three, and got their money."
"Edith—" Sir Thomas begged. But for what? Alan wondered. Forgiveness as she left him? Or absolution because he would never let her go?
Boldly, Alan took Edith's hand and walked away from the Sharpes. He was resolute, although finely trembling, aware of the intense peril they were both in.
"Edith and I are leaving," he announced, and he threw open the door.
The snowdrifts were mountainous, and Edith wore only her nightgown. But better to face the elements out there than sure death in here. He took one step—
—and Lucille darted forward, stabbing him in the armpit. The pain blazed like a branding iron. Edith screamed, falling away from him, and he arched backwards, the knife jutting out. He flailed at it, staggering forward, realizing too late that Edith was not beside him.
Then he saw a flash of white as Edith attempted to catch up. He heard a crash and half-turned; Lucille had thrown the groggy Edith against the wall.
_No!_ he protested, but he was unable to speak. He could only gasp. The knife point, he feared, had nicked the upper lobe of his lung.
He could not leave Edith at their mercy. They would set upon her like rabid dogs and rip her apart. He struggled against his failing body. He was bleeding profusely and knew he was going into shock. His pulse was rapid, his breathing shallow, and he was getting light-headed. Edith was crying, shouting his name but she sounded as if she were very far away, or speaking to him from underwater.
He had to do something to save her. But the pain was excruciating, and he could barely think. As he lurched onto the ice-coated doorstep, he ordered himself not to pull the knife out. If an artery had been cut, the pressure of the metal might be tamping the blood flow. If removed, he might bleed to death.
_Don't do it, don't_ , he thought, but he couldn't stop himself. He drew out the knife. As he had feared it would, blood gushed from the wound onto the stairs. So much, so much; he lost his balance and fell, hard. The knife bounced off the stone. He didn't hear it clatter.
All he could hear was Edith screaming his name.
And all he could see was the murderess bearing down on him in the center of an inferno of crimson snow.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
IT WATCHED AS the sister rushed the hero. It breathed in the hatred, the fear and madness; her soul was as poisoned as the bride's body.
Perhaps Allerdale Hall had been a happy house, filled with fat children and prosperous parents. It did not remember such times, and its madness doubled, tripled at the thought that such joys had once filled these walls, to be replaced by torment.
It breathed out the clay, the crimson clay, and the ring expanded out into the snow. Let them all drown in it, and walk the floors forever with the murdered wives and the mother and the child, with the sins of the Sharpes sucking the life out of the land, out of each other, _parasites_.
Black moths feeding on carrion and butterflies.
The death's-head carnivore was stalking the hero, each step a toll of his funeral bell.
* * *
As Alan rolled over, Lucille calmly picked up the knife. Thomas trailed behind her, and so did Edith's little dog, yipping with excitement. Alan scrambled backwards, understanding at some level that he was probably dying, that he would surely die if he did not flee, but that nothing in the world could compel him to abandon Edith.
But instead of finishing him off, Lucille held Edith down and handed the knife to Thomas.
"You can do this!" she shouted at him. "Get your hands dirty!"
Alan yelled, "No, Edith can't die here!" He had seen Sharpe's tortured look, understood that the madman did love Edith. That was the only weapon Alan wielded at the moment—an appeal to whatever shard of a soul Sharpe still possessed to spare the woman he loved.
Numb, Sharpe stared at the knife in his hand, and Alan dared to hope that he had gotten through to him.
"You've never done anything for us," his sister spat at him in disgust. "Look at you!"
"Edith's stronger than both of you," Alan said. "She can't die here."
In a rage, Lucille pushed Sharpe forward, toward Alan. Changing targets, then, from Edith to him. Good. So be it.
"Do it!" Lucille shrieked.
Alan readied himself, regretting with all his heart that he could not do more for Edith. Wondering if, because he loved her, by some miracle he would be able to save her from beyond the grave.
Sharpe was grim-faced, dirty, and bloody as he approached Alan. Gone was the dapper fortune-hunter, perhaps as much a victim in all of this as the mother his sister had slaughtered. He stank of fear.
"She will not stop," Sharpe whispered to Alan. "Her will is so much stronger than my own. I am so sorry. I will have to do this."
Shielding his actions from his sister, who stood at some distance behind him, Sharpe closed in on Alan, and to Alan's astonishment, discreetly encouraged Alan to guide the knife.
"But you are a doctor," Sharpe added. He took a breath. "Show me where."
_Where to stab me so that it is not fatal_ , Alan translated. _Sparing me. He will spare Edith too, if he can._
So he, Alan, _must_ live. But he couldn't think straight. He was one giant sinking throb of agony, withering inside.
Sharpe was wrapping Alan's hand around the hilt. This was the apotheosis of their duel at Cushing's funeral: on the black day, he and Sharpe staring down one another, Alan quitting the field with a tip of his hat. Today their positions were reversed. Sharpe had surrendered everything. If only he would dare to turn that knife on his sister... but he wasn't man enough for that. This was the best Sir Thomas could do.
As he swayed, Alan pictured the inside of his abdominal cavity. The bowel, the intestines, the appendix...
_There. Right there. That will inflict the least amount of damage._
He eased Sir Thomas's willing hand a few inches to the right, locked eyes with Sharpe, and nodded once, nearly imperceptibly.
The regret in Sharpe's eyes was palpable.
And then Sharpe sank the knife in.
* * *
The dog yipped frantically as the hero doubled over and collapsed. The bride fell, sobbing, as the brother turned away from his bloody deed, averting his gaze.
"You are monsters! You both are!" the bride cried.
The sister almost chuckled. "Funny. That's the last thing Mother said, too."
The last.
The last of the Sharpes.
It was coming to an end.
The house bled a river of blood, a filling gulley to drown the hapless creatures as they flailed out their last moments in the snow. It had no foundation; it was sinking, yes, down into the pit, gleeful and furious and busy. And as mad as the Sharpes themselves.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
_F INALLY._
Pride, relief, joy. Her brother, her beloved, her soul mate had torn his way out of his cocoon. Through the cut he had sliced in McMichael's body, he had emerged a beautiful, black-winged moth. Her heart was soaring as the interfering American collapsed to the ground, blood gushing everywhere. Thomas had come into his own—at last, at last.
For years and years, she had borne the burden, performing every necessary task to safeguard them. She had to accept the blame for spoiling and shielding him, which made this moment all the sweeter for her. McMichael had come here to save Edith, and Lucille had goaded Thomas into killing him in front of her, an act that was guaranteed to destroy any affection that Edith had left for Thomas. The stupid little bitch was a witness to the murder and she was now utterly alone. Lucille had no doubt that Edith Cushing would never leave Allerdale Hall alive.
Edith knew it, too. Dazed as she was, it had been easy for Lucille to restrain her and drag her into her room. She was in there now, wringing her hands like some princess in a fairy tale.
Lucille would never have let such a thing happen to _her._
Barely able to restrain her high spirits, she watched Thomas drag the dead doctor into the elevator. Look how sure he was of himself! Gone was her "doubting Thomas;" in his place was a _man._ It was all ending so perfectly. There would be no need for other women once Edith had signed the papers that transferred her entire fortune to Thomas. And she _would_ sign.
Thomas pressed the lever and the elevator hiccupped, then began its descent toward the mine pit, and the vats, where they had submerged other inconvenient... persons. No matter if Alan had told the entire village of his plans to come here. Lucille had searched for a horse and carriage and deduced that the fool had _walked_ here. Through a _snowstorm_. He had deserved to die.
And speaking of dying...
She still had the boning knife, and that ridiculous, yipping dog was still alive.
"Come here, doggie," she said sweetly. "Come see what I have."
* * *
_Blood is only crimson while it's fresh_ , Thomas thought, as he tried to make Dr. McMichael as comfortable as possible within the confines of the pit. _Brown blood means that it is no longer flowing._ There was a very little bit of brown mixed in with the red, and Thomas hoped that meant it was no longer pumping because it was thickening... not because McMichael was dying.
Lucille did not, could not know that the man was still alive. She would realize that Thomas had betrayed her... and then she would kill McMichael herself. Could she not see that the last act of their terrible Grand Guignol had concluded?
Thomas looked the man straight in the eye. "Can you hold on?"
McMichael nodded weakly, and Thomas handed him his handkerchief. As if that could possibly staunch the flow of blood. So much of it. Thomas prayed the doctor had guided his aim true, and that his wounds, while gruesome, were not fatal.
"I have to go," Thomas told him. "Lucille has taken Edith to her room. She has the papers. The minute she signs them, she's dead." He felt so different, as if he had finally become a man. The key in his back was gone, and he was moving under his own volition for the first time in memory.
He added, "I am getting you both out."
* * *
Things in the clay vats bobbed and tapped. Things under the stones shifted.
One very sharp thing gleamed.
And waited to be used.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
THE KILLING ROOM.
Edith was dazed. Lucille had hit her over and over and dragged her into her workroom, then forced her to sit in an overstuffed chair while she left to fetch something. Edith had almost summoned enough strength to bolt when Lucille had sailed back in and dropped some papers in her lap.
"No need to read them, just sign."
Edith didn't move. She knew she was in shock. Thomas had stabbed Alan to death right in front of her.
_I am so, so sorry, Alan. Please forgive me._ She wanted to cry but she couldn't yet. She must stay alive.
She must stop Thomas and Lucille Sharpe by any means necessary. Alan would not have died in vain; these monsters must never be allowed to hurt anyone ever again.
Frigid and dank, Lucille's room was like a crypt, brimming with the corpses of hapless insects and dozens of bat-like black moths. Living moths fluttered through the dust motes and hovered around Edith's head like a crown of powdery black thorns.
Edith stared down at the death warrant placed before her: the legal papers from William Ferguson that would transfer all her assets to Thomas. Next Lucille handed Edith a different sort of weapon: the golden fountain pen her father had given her. Whoever it was that had said that the pen was mightier than the sword had not faced a madwoman with a sharp, bloody blade.
Edith held the pen. In her mind, she was little Edith again, and the blackened figure of her mother was materializing in front of the grandfather clock. She trembled, more terrified now than she had been then.
"What are you waiting for?" Lucille demanded angrily. "You have nothing to live for now. He never loved you. Any of you. He loves only me."
"That's not true," Edith replied, dizzy and soul-sick. Thomas _had_ tried to save her. He had wanted to change. But he was trapped in a mad waltz with this house, and this woman, and he couldn't stop dancing until the music stopped. He was cursed, and the curse had not yet been broken.
And she was struck with the terrible realization that the only way that the curse would be lifted was through his death.
_Could I do it if it came to that?_
The question was moot; first she had to live through these moments with Lucille. Edith saw the madness in her eyes and wondered how she had missed it before, how they had all missed it. Lucille hadn't been in Buffalo long, just a sufficient amount of time to set the trap for Edith.
Glaring at her, Lucille picked up the pages of Edith's novel. With a flick of her wrist, she began to feed the manuscript page by page into the fire. It was a move calculated to hurt her and nothing more.
"It's indisputably true," Lucille countered. "All the women we found—in London, Edinburgh, Milan—"
"America," Edith reminded her.
"America," Lucille concurred, as if she were humoring Edith—and she didn't really count.
She kept tossing the sheets into the fire. As the flames rose to destroy Edith's story, Lucille's mood brightened considerably. She was a sadist; she was enjoying this. No doubt she had celebrated each heiress's agonizing death with glee.
"Yes, America. They all had what was necessary: money, broken dreams, and no living relatives. Mercy killings, all of them."
Not "all of _you_ ," Edith noted. She was not yet included among their victims. Thomas had said she was different. She had thought it a compliment born of true love—that she was unique because she was his soul mate. But the hideous truth was that she simply violated their pattern of chosen prey: she had had a father. They had killed him so that she would have no protection, only a lawyer who would do her bidding.
They had not counted on a friend like Alan. A man who had loved her all her life, whom she had overlooked, taken for granted simply because he had always been there. Her eyes welled but still she did not cry. There was so much to cry over, so many deaths.
Alan had doubted her father's cause of death. She had observed his unease and dismissed it. He had urged caution; she had ignored even that. And her father had paid. Who had done it, Lucille or Thomas? Could the man who had kissed her so passionately have destroyed her father with such savagery?
"Is that what I am going to be? Is that how you explain it to yourself?" Edith asked defiantly. She flared with anger. How she hated this woman.
"I did what I had to do." Lucille was thoroughly unrepentant. Another page, and another. The sheer number of pages attested to the fact that Edith's dreams had not been broken when they had picked her out. She had been pursuing her dream of becoming a novelist with a full heart.
And with Thomas's encouragement. That had been genuine; he had loved reading her ghost story. He had seen himself in Cavendish and followed his path to redemption with interest.
For Thomas, there would be no redemption.
"And the Italian woman?" Edith asked. "You killed her baby."
Lucille froze, her hand halfway to the fire. She did not look at Edith as she said, " _Her_ baby?" But Edith saw the somber expression on her face, her eyes stained with tears. So somewhere in Lucille's body there _was_ a heart.
"Didn't you kill her baby?" Edith pressed, hoping to probe that heart, soften it.
"I did not. None of them ever fucked Thomas. Don't you understand?"
Edith did not. None of them... except her. And if he was not the father...?
"Then?" she asked.
Lucille's gaze went distant and her shoulders slumped. She stared downward as she said, "It was mine."
Edith was speechless. Was she implying, was she actually saying...
"It was born wrong. We should have let it die at birth. But I—I wanted it. She told me she could save it." Her voice went hard. "She lied."
"No," Edith whispered. Lucille had given birth to her brother's child? She had not thought she could be more sickened. But this secret... all their secrets together... while he had been with _her_...
"All this _horror_... for what? For money? To keep the mansion? The Sharpe name? The mines?"
Lucille whirled on her. "What vulgarians you Americans are. The marriages were for money, of course—quite acceptable for people like us, expected, even, for generations. But the _horror_?"
And now the madness overtook her again. "The _horror_ was for love."
She went to a narrow set of drawers and opened one to reveal a gleaming set of dissection tools and a row of scissors arranged in perfect order. She took out a narrow scalpel.
"The things we do for a love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret." She advanced on Edith, who tried very hard not to scream.
"This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all."
She darted forward and grabbed Edith by the hair. Then she sliced off a lock with the scalpel and moved away, braiding it with great care. Edith was gasping.
"But you should have seen him as a child." She sighed. "Thomas. He was so... so _fragile_ , like a porcelain doll. And I had nothing to give him. Nothing. Just myself."
She opened another drawer and placed the braided ring of hair next to another four. One of them was gray and covered in blood. Beatrice Sharpe's, Edith guessed. Was she the first person Lucille and Thomas had murdered? Or the first they had been caught killing?
"You know how many times I was punished instead of him? I couldn't bear his beautiful, pale skin being marred by scars. He was immaculate. Perfect." She smiled at the memory.
"So from all his small infractions—from my father's riding crop and my mother's cane—I protected him."
She took out a pair of shiny bone scissors. So many sharp, cutting things.
"And when she found out about us... well, I protected him too."
_She killed her mother. It was Lucille. And now she's here with me._
"All the love Thomas and I ever knew was from one another. And the only world that kind of love can live in is this one. These rotting walls. In the dark. Hiding."
Edith barely listened. She was looking at the fountain pen, the only weapon that she had.
"Sign your name! Sign your bloody name!" Lucille shrieked at her.
Edith wanted to burst into tears but she clamped down hard on her emotions. She would not let them win. She would not.
"While I still have a chance... _you_ killed your mother? What about my father?"
_Don't let it be Thomas. Please. At least grant me that._
And Lucille's tight smile of triumph gave her that. Edith tightened her grip on the pen.
"Such a coarse, condescending man. But he loved you. You should have seen his sad face when I smashed it on the sink—"
_No!_ Edith silently screamed. She would deny Lucille that smile. Deny her victory, her life.
She signed her name with a flourish, and Lucille grabbed the papers from her, scrutinizing them, exulting. Edith took her chance: She plunged the golden pen into Lucille's chest. She jerked it out, hammered it back in with all her strength, the arc of her swing finding the same hole. She felt the point drive in deeper. And again, a third time. Deeper still.
Lucille staggered backwards. She grabbed at her wounds, gaped at the blood on her hand.
"No one hurts me! No one!" The words tore out of her throat. She was bleeding badly and her face was draining of color. Could she be dying? Could it be that simple?
* * *
It watched.
_Wind her up, wind her up..._
* * *
Edith lurched to her feet and staggered toward the door, falling against glass cases, the tombs of insects; desiccated butterfly wings fluttered and rained down.
Behind her, Lucille tore open her dress, undamming a waterfall of blood. She stumbled to the washbasin and poured water over her injury, a visible, bleeding gap.
She almost fainted.
* * *
_Put her down and make her spin..._
The house's favorite toy still had tricks to perform. And miles to go before she slept.
* * *
Edith did not so much walk as collapse in a forward motion as she aimed herself toward the staircase, aware that Lucille still lived. The stairs canted crazily and she knew she would not survive a second fall. She had to live. She had to stop them. If she could have set the house ablaze she would have, and died inside if it meant that Thomas and Lucille would be destroyed.
And then she saw him coming at her, and she tried to scream. Thomas held out his hands in a gesture of innocence, surrender.
"Edith, wait!" he cried.
She only hesitated because she was too wobbly to move.
"You cannot take the steps," he said. "You have to use the elevator. Come with me."
Mutely she raised her pen, her weapon. His face blurred.
"You lied to me!" she flung at him.
"I did," he confessed, holding open his arms.
"You poisoned me!"
"I did."
"You said you loved me!"
"I do." His face snapped into sharp focus and she saw the truth: He did love her. He had, and he loved her still.
She staggered, and he sustained her, holding her in an embrace very like a waltz... a dance of death. Night's candles were all burned out. He had drawn not a moth but a butterfly to his flame, and she hovered on the brink of annihilation.
"I will take you to McMichael," he told her quickly, seriously, honestly. "He is still alive." He nodded as if to make sure his words were registering, and Edith was overwhelmed. Alan! So Thomas had found a way to spare him?
"You can leave through the throw shaft. I will deal with Lucille," he promised.
At the eleventh hour, a hero. Not a knight in shining armor, but someone who had finally seen the light. Who had ever said that love was blind?
They got in the elevator, she leaning against him. It was almost over. They had to get Alan to a doctor as fast as possible, and the village was far away. But with Thomas on their side, his chances were ever so much better.
He looked at the pen in her shaking fist and his face changed suddenly. "Wait. You signed the papers?"
"I don't care about that," she said. "Come with us."
"No. It's your entire fortune," he insisted. And she understood that he believed his sister would outlive him, and plunder her wealth, and then kill her. His fear frightened Edith; in this haunted house, was Lucille somehow indestructible? Immortal?
"I will get them back," he said. "I'm going to finish this. Stay here."
She could do little to disobey; she was too tired, and she needed to rest. She leaned against the back of the elevator and watched him dash off. At the last, a reformed man, a redeemed soul. And Alan alive—these were mercies, blessings. Hope was real. She would cling to hope.
## CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
_M Y LOVE_, THOMAS thought, as he walked into Lucille's room. He saw the destruction of her entomological specimens, the mayhem. In that decaying house, Lucille had catalogued species like a delicate god; he had built toys. She had laid traps and snares; he had retrieved their wounded doves.
_How did I ever think this was right?_ he asked. _How did I not see that we are monsters? How could I justify my love for my own sister?_
Pain.
Terror.
Torment and cruelty, and never knowing when they would be visited upon him. Such abuse as no child should ever have endured, and no one to stop it. No one but Lucille, who suffered for the both of them. It was the least he could do; she had told him that over and over again. Whatever she wanted, the least. What she wanted was for the mine to reopen and the house to be made whole again. To triumph over the squandering of their fortune, the sullying of their name.
She had loved him beyond all reason; she had assumed that other women would, too. They had. And they had died for it.
Lucille wasn't in the room, but the bank papers were. They had spilled all over the floor. He spotted Edith's signature page, transferring every penny she owned to Sir Thomas Sharpe, his heirs and assigns. With a shaky hand, he set his knife down on a small table and began to gather them up. He knelt down, head bowed, as if begging the universe to accept his atonement. Then he threw the papers into the fire, an offering to the fates.
There was a heap of accumulated ash in the grate. A large amount of paper had already been burned, and he wondered what it was.
Then he saw, and his jaw clenched. It was Edith's novel, and he could only assume that Lucille had burned it out of sheer spite. The first three of his wives—Pamela, Margaret, Enola—brother and sister had been kind to them, had doted on them as they sipped their poisoned cups of tea and slipped away, slipped away. Lucille had monitored their mail and, of course, the only letters that had been allowed to reach the post were requests for money. No one inquired after them, at least that Thomas knew of.
_Thank God Alan McMichael came_ , he thought. He prayed that the doctor would survive. A man like that would be good for Edith. Of course he, Thomas, would let her go. Their marriage was legal in the sense that he was not a bigamist, as Carter Cushing had assumed—for the simple reason that Lucille had murdered Pamela Upton. As divorce was so uncommon in England, and they hadn't reported Pamela's death, he and Lucille had forgotten to account for the Civil Registry. He had married Enola in Italy and Margaret in Scotland. Incestuous adultery could easily be laid at his door, but it was far more likely that Edith would be freed through widowhood, for he _would_ swing. If he could spare her that scandal by other means, he surely would.
A shadow stepped from the corner and for one moment he thought it was one of the ghosts Edith had seen. But it was Lucille, his own black phantom, and blood coated her bodice. His eyes widened in shock.
"What the devil are you doing?" she demanded in a shaking voice.
More blood soaked into the fabric. He reached for her.
"Lucille, you're injured."
She brandished the knife at him. At _him_. Her eyes jittered but her jaw was set. He knew that look. What it meant. It was a look that meant she could kill, and would. But kill _him_?
"Stay where you are. You burned them?"
"She will live. You're not to touch her."
Her lips parted as she held out the knife. Her look cut him as sharply as if the blade had found its mark. "You're _ordering_ me now?"
"We can leave, Lucille. Leave Allerdale Hall." They could free themselves of this horrible curse—
"Leave?" she echoed, as if she couldn't understand the word. He wouldn't have been able to either, before Edith had spoken to his heart. Given him hope. He felt as if he were looking at their world through different eyes. He stared at his sister and partner in mortal sin, and he swayed, dizzy and thrilled and terrified. There could be redemption for them. They were standing at the edge of a precipice and for the first time in his life, he grasped that they could soar high above Crimson Peak. Wings weren't just for butterflies and moths. Gargoyles could have them, too.
"Yes," he insisted. "Think about it. We have enough money left. We can start a new life."
She gaped. "Where? Where would we go?" She was listening to him. Perhaps believing him. Considering the possibility that he was right. That they could make it happen.
"Anywhere. We can leave it behind."
"Anywhere," she said, testing out the word, groping toward the prospect like a blind woman. Standing beside him on that cliff, defying death.
He was elated. They were saved. There _was_ hope.
"Let the Sharpe name die with the mines. Let this edifice sink in the ground. All these years holding these rotting walls together. We would be free, Lucille. Free of all this. We can all be together—"
" _All?_ "
He realized only then what he had said. And that he had said exactly the wrong thing, at exactly the wrong moment.
"Do you love her?" The agony on her face stabbed him through the heart. He remembered all the times she had taken the cane, a slap, staring at him as tears rolled down her face, bearing the brunt, loving him. There was more pain on her face now than in all those times combined. He didn't want to hurt her. But to free her, to give her a life, a real chance, he had to be cruel to be kind. It was the same thing that Carter Cushing had demanded of him, and he knew, unfortunately, that he was good at it.
Beyond that, he must quell her rage, for Edith's sake, and Alan McMichael's survival. Lucille had withstood torture at the hands of their parents. The blood on her dress was no guarantee that she could be stopped from doing anything she set her mind to. And that included seeing their plan through to the end.
By killing Edith.
They spoke at the same time:
He began, "This day had to come."
And she, speaking over him like someone drowning out horrible news that, once uttered, could never be retracted: "Do you love her? Tell me, do you?"
"We've been dead for years, Lucille. You and I in this rotting place... with an accursed name. We are ghosts."
Lucille's face drained of color. Blood loss, shock, disbelief. "Do you love her more than me?"
"But she is life. _Life_ , Lucille. And you won't stop her."
Her breath was hitching. He felt as though he had just pushed her off the cliff, and she was falling.
"You promised— _we_ promised we would not—that you would not fall in love with anyone else—"
Falling to her death.
He delivered the death knell:
"Yes, but it happened."
* * *
_Yes, but it happened._
The watcher moaned, exhaling its poison into the heart and mind of the last of the Sharpes. For the brother was a Sharpe no longer; he had renounced his name, his legacy... and his curse.
So the house reserved its love for the sister, the murderess, the one who would serve and love evil for the rest of her days. Who would not waver from filling the halls and walls with ghosts. And it whispered at her to _do it, do it—_
And with a shriek, she stabbed her brother in the chest. He tried to grab the knife but she slashed at his arms and hands, wildly. Clay oozed through the floorboards and the ghosts wept crimson tears in all their prisons of Sharpe misdeeds and malefactions as the prison bars shut again. No more free than the puppets and dolls in the attic, to be wound up again and again and again.
"Is this how it ends?" the sister screamed in the throes of anguish. "You love her? _You love her?_ "
_Hate him_ , it cackled.
* * *
Thomas looked down at his belly as blood poured from it; out of his mouth came the faintest sound—a discreet surprise, a quiet, nearly casual sigh:
"Oh, Lucille..."
She stabbed him again, almost as if she had to prove to him that she had meant to, weeping half in rage and half in pain.
The pain was so great that he went numb, which was more than he deserved. He had done this... to her, to them. To all of them. Still, he tried to save her from ripping him apart, because he must save her, and Edith, and the doctor.
"No, no, stop, please. I can't..." He trailed off. _I can't_ , the litany of his life. _I can't_ , and so she had been forced to. He had turned her into this.
The look on her face. Would it be the last thing he ever saw? He knew that all she wanted now was for him to be silent, to stop looking at her. He hurt everywhere; the numbness was gone, and every blow, slap, and kick that she had endured for his sake hit him full force. Engulfed him. He was bobbing in a boiling vat of crimson clay, and torment sucked him down toward a scarlet hell.
With a shriek she drove the knife in one final time; it lodged itself firmly into his cheek, almost to the hilt. _That_ he felt, and he staggered as he moved away from her. He shuffled a few steps forward. He dislodged the knife, though the effort cost him, and he sank wearily down into a chair. Everything was growing dark.
In the distant recesses of his mind, he heard the lullaby she had played for him through the years. He remembered their child, a poor, sick little thing, born of a very sick love. Enola, how she had rocked that baby. Lucille's bitter tears.
She could not lose her other child: him.
_We can't live in the mountains,
we can't live out at sea.
Where oh, where oh, my lover,
shall I come to thee?_
Then he heard the melody transformed into the Chopin waltz he had danced with Edith. Holding the candle; the light had flickered but was not extinguished.
_Oh, Lucille, Lucille._
"I will... it will be fine," he promised her. "Or... I... the things we do..." He gazed at her and for a moment he thought he saw the sun. But it was an illusion; dark moths circled Lucille's head, and his vision began to fade as he gazed into her eyes. What could he do for Edith now? How could he save her? For he must. That was the only way he could go on.
"Oh, sister, you killed me," he murmured.
Then he saw a white light, and in it...
## CHAPTER THIRTY
LUCILLE HELD HIM and in her mind he was so little and scared, she but two years older, and she sang to him as she played the piano:
_We can't live in the mountains_ ,
_We can't live out at sea._
But he wasn't listening. He wasn't singing with her.
Because he was... because she had...
_Edith Cushing has murdered him_ , she thought. Everything inside her exploded. Her face changed. Her eyes filled with hollow rage. She grabbed the knife and dragged it across the floor, opening the veins of the house, making it bleed.
* * *
Something _rippled_ through the house as Edith opened her eyes in the elevator. With a start she came to full consciousness. Apparently she had passed out pressed against the bars while waiting for Thomas to return; she had no idea how long she'd been there, but she knew she couldn't delay. Alan needed help and so did she, if they were to survive this day.
Beyond the elevator's gaping skeletal gate, beyond the filigreed-iron, protective fence, she saw someone moving towards her. Her tired heart leapt in hope. Unable to stop herself, she called out, "Thomas?"
But it was not he.
Lucille marched out of the half-light like an avenging spirit, her bloody knife raised high overhead. When their eyes met Edith shrank away from what she saw: the promise of brutal death, and shameless, diabolical pride.
_No, she has killed him! She's lost her mind._
_Oh, dear God, Thomas..._
Desperately, Edith slammed the insubstantial cage door shut and jerked the elevator's control lever to the down position.
Nothing happened.
Nothing at all.
She looked fearfully back at Lucille, who was picking up speed, charging to reach her before the car could move. Beneath its dripping sheath of blood, the knife gleamed and flashed in the gloom. Catching her breath, Edith raised the handle to STOP, then lowered it again, throwing her full weight upon the lever. Nothing happened.
Fear shot up from the soles of her bare feet and crackled through her body like an electric wave, threatening to take off the top of her head. She was trapped in a cage that offered absolutely no protection from attack; the bars of the gate were too far apart to block a knife thrust, the back of the tiny car too close to the front, offering nowhere to retreat. No matter whether Edith stood or cowered, she would be cut to pieces. If she couldn't get the lift to move, then she had to get out of it _now_. She would have to outrun Lucille. And though wounded, her adversary was clearly in better shape than she—poisoned and sedated, her damaged leg bound in a brace. How could she hope to escape a raging madwoman?
As Edith gripped the bars, determined to wrench back the gate anyway, pounding footfalls made her look up. It was already too late. Lucille was closing on her fast and the cloying, coppery scent of blood—Thomas's?—rode the frigid air before her. There was no way Edith could exit the car and survive.
Moaning, she pounded on the lever once more. And she was finally rewarded with a jolt of motion. There was a clank, and then a sickening lurch, and the little elevator began to creep away from the landing.
As Thomas's sister rushed forward, lunging over the low fence, straining outstretched to drive the point of her knife into warm flesh, both the car and Edith dropped out of her reach. Lucille stabbed at empty air.
But that did not stop the harpy's pursuit; if anything, frustration maddened her even further. As the elevator bearing Edith descended at an agonizing crawl, she saw Lucille flying down the wide, mahogany staircase, her gown billowing out behind as she rounded a landing's newel post, one hand grazing the polished rail, the other holding aloft the bloody knife, racing to catch up to her before she could reach the ground floor—and freedom.
Over the erratic whir of the contraption's gears and pulleys, floating across the vast emptiness of Allerdale's entrance hall, a string of curses made guttural counterpoint to the trample of feet rushing down the staircase. Though Edith willed the elevator to speed up, the lethargic pace continued—perhaps Thomas was right, the machine born a slave had acquired a mind of its own, and it had decided to let his sister take her life.
_Maybe Thomas isn't dead._ The realization sent a sudden pang of tender feeling deep in her chest. _He has risked everything to save me. His honor. His future. His very life._ She wanted desperately to believe in his remorse, in a transformation that she had wrought, in his need to find redemption. One thought led to another. _But if it isn't his blood, then whose gleams upon that blade? Maybe Lucille only wounded him. If he does not appear_ , _I will go back for him if I can._
As the ground floor rose up to meet her she decided her next move had to be finding a weapon. Lucille was falling behind now, clearly badly hurt, but she had a knife. Edith knew she had to seize her best chance to arm herself. She looked across the great hall to the main fireplace, where a long iron poker leaned against the mantel. To reach it on her bad leg would take an eternity, and leave her open to attack from all sides. The kitchen seemed a better choice. It was also on the ground floor; if she could beat Lucille to the entrance hallway, attack could only come from one direction. And, safely there, she would have quick access to a variety of cutlery, frying pans, kitchen shears, and roasting skewers with which she could hope to defend herself. Her plan was to quickly grab up something she could use and hurry back to the elevator by the same route. She realized that if Lucille saw where she had gone and came after her, she would have to fight her way back to the lift.
Edith stopped the elevator on the ground floor and without hesitation pulled aside the cage door. She stepped out and hurriedly padded down the hallway, limping barefoot, heart hammering, constantly looking back over her shoulder and fearing the worst. Once in the kitchen, she scanned the counters and seized the first weapon she found. A butcher's knife, well used but the stained blade was massive. She gingerly felt the edge with her thumb. It was razor sharp from tip to heel. Gripping the handle, she tested it with a downward stab into the cutting block. It pierced the wood easily and so deeply she had to wrench the handle back and forth to free it. It would do. Yes, it would do nicely.
In the next breath Edith whirled away from the counter. _No time to waste, I have to get to Alan._ And Lucille was coming. If she hadn't found her yet she soon would, that was guaranteed.
She hurriedly retraced her steps down the hallway, hobbling on her bad leg, her whole body tensed, knife point raised to ward off frontal assault—but there was none. A wave of relief flooded over her as she finally lurched into the elevator. Their escape suddenly seemed at least possible, if not likely.
As Edith pulled the cage door shut she jolted at the sight of Lucille's face on the other side, not two feet away. Eyes slitted, corners of her mouth upturned, teeth bared. There was no misreading the expression of triumph—her intended prey could not escape. No mistaking the blood-smeared fingers and steady hand that held the weapon—murder was more than a livelihood to this creature; it was her ruling passion. No matter how many people Lucille Sharpe slaughtered, that ravening thirst would never be slaked.
A scream leapt from Edith's throat as the woman threw herself at the flimsy barrier that separated them. The red hand thrust the blade between a gap in the bars. Backing hard against the rear of the car, Edith attempted to use her own weapon to fend off the attack, but that proved useless. Stretching over the protective barrier Lucille could almost reach the car's back wall with her knife's point, and twisting her wrist, she turned the long edge to sweep at an angle. The flurry of frenzied slashes backed Edith into a corner, folding, shrinking down into the smallest possible space. But it was not near small enough.
Once, twice, thrice, as the knife thrust and then drew back Edith simultaneously felt the tug at the sleeve of her gown, the drag of sharp steel across her bare skin, and shrill pain. Three deft, shallow cuts, and blood began to freely flow along the curve of her arm. Lucille was toying with her, like a cat with a caged canary. A one-sided game that could go on and on. The prospect of being slowly hacked to pieces sent her into a panic. As the knife came at her, Edith grabbed the blade with her free hand. She only managed to grip it for a second before Lucille wrenched it from her, making the edge slice deep into her palm. But the violent backward effort sent Lucille reeling onto her heels.
Desperate to gain advantage, Edith cracked open the cage gate. As the other woman leaned forward, overcompensating to recover her balance, Edith made her move, seizing the outstretched wrist, using Lucille's momentum to pull her arm into the car and pin it to the edge of the iron bars.
For a second the tables were turned: Lucille was the helpless one. Edith used the heel of the hand still holding the butcher knife to pound down the elevator control lever. With a familiar lurch, the car began to descend. In seconds Lucille's arm would be broken or perhaps torn off at the shoulder as the roof dropped past the level of the parquet floor. Edith leaned into the trapped arm to hold it fast. The gory fingers clutched wildly at her gown. Though they touched her, they could not reach her. She was beyond that. Had Lucille had empathy for her as she had smiled and fed her poison day after day? And what of the other murdered women? The ones whose anguished spirits lurked behind rotting walls and floors. What of Alan and Thomas?
As the car fell, the arm rose closer to the ceiling. When it climbed above her shoulder, Edith could no longer use her body weight to pin it. She dug her nails into the wrist and pulled down as hard as she could.
At the very last second, frantic to avoid having her limb shattered or amputated, Lucille managed to twist free and draw her arm back. As the elevator continued down, Edith heard howls of frustration from above her. She wished she could have hung on just a little longer. Though the idea of cradling a dismembered arm horrified her, Lucille deserved no less. And it would have certainly ended the matter.
The cries of anguish grew fainter and fainter as she descended. By the time the car reached the clay-mine level they had gone silent. Struck by a wave of penetrating damp and cold, Edith began to shiver uncontrollably. As she took in the surroundings, once more she felt like she had been swallowed by a dying animal, immense, red-fleshed. With an effort Edith shook off the disorienting vision.
When she opened the gate she saw that the elevator had once again stopped two feet above the floor. An easy jump before, but now she had an injured leg. She sucked in a quick breath and stepped out. Though she tried to land on her good leg, her bad one took some of the impact.
Screaming in pain, she lost her grip on the knife. Her only defense skittered across the floor and she watched helplessly as it clattered down a recessed grate. Unable to fish it out, she tried to pry up the drain cover with her fingers but it was slick from the red clay and meltwater oozing from the walls and so heavy she couldn't budge it in her weakened state.
Straightening up, she could barely make out Alan crumpled in a corner. He wasn't moving. She hurried over to him and knelt by his side, a terrible pain welling up in her throat. His face looked drained of all color and he had been grievously wounded. There was an obvious puncture wound on the right side of his chest, and the fabric around it had turned purplish-black from congealed blood. More blood had puddled on the floor at his elbow. It was difficult to be certain, but it appeared that the bleeding had stopped. His eyes were closed, his jaw slack. She couldn't tell if he was breathing. When she touched his cheek the skin felt as cold as her father's dead hand in that wretched excuse for a morgue. She lowered her own cheek next to his nose and mouth and felt a faint but unmistakable rush of warm air. He was still alive!
Carefully she helped him up into a sitting position, caressing his hair, trying to gently but firmly rouse him. After a second or two his eyes opened, and, seeing her, he instantly brightened. Just as quickly his smile turned to a grimace, eyelids squeezing shut, and his face lost its color again.
"We will get out of here," she told him as she helped him to his feet. "We _will_. Now you have to trust me."
The sound of her voice echoed off the walls of the mine. As they began to move back to the elevator, she heard rapid footfalls coming their way. They, too, echoed.
It had to be Lucille.
Edith stopped, propping Alan upright against the rough, dank wall.
The footfalls slowed, then stopped.
Though Lucille could not see her, and vice versa, that didn't stop the madwoman from shouting an accusation.
"Thomas is dead because of you. You killed him!" she shrieked.
As the insane proclamation echoed and faded, Edith's blood turned to ice. Was she telling the truth? If Thomas had indeed been killed, it was by his sister's own hand. She eased Alan more deeply into the shadows. She would have to leave him there. Abandoning him there was one of the hardest things she would ever do, but if Lucille found her while she was holding him up, there would be no fight, no hope. It would be a slaughter and they would both surely die.
Crouching low, she watched Lucille gliding like a ghost over to the pile of objects beside Enola Sciotti's trunk. In the silence Edith was again aware of the sounds of dripping water, _plip-plop, plip-plop_ , like the ticking of a hundred unsynchronized clocks. Bending down, Lucille grunted and struggled with something at her feet. At first Edith couldn't tell what she was doing; then she saw the woman lift aside one of the stones set in the floor.
"Before they put me away, I kept a little souvenir from Mother," Lucille announced over her shoulder to her unseen audience. Then she took from the hole a meat cleaver—it appeared to be the same one in the illustration on the front page of the _Cumberland Ledger_ , which had been driven into Beatrice Sharpe's skull. The same nightmarish cockscomb worn by the dead woman's spirit.
Lucille rose, turned, and started coming in Edith's direction; in seconds, she would be on top of her—
Edith drew back further out of sight. She needed to lead the murderess away from the defenseless Alan and then find something to fight her with. Panting for air, she looked wildly around...
At the perimeter of the dimly lit cavern, the entrance to the mine tunnel opened onto blackness. She caught the faint gleam of metal in the floor, and remembered what it signified. Embedded rails that were designed to carry crude, wheeled carts that the mine workers loaded with clay, then pushed and dragged to the surface. The light glinting off the rails was coming from above.
Steeling herself for the ordeal, she lunged from cover. It didn't matter that Lucille would see her; there was no way to avoid that now. She had to cross in front of her; she had to beat her to the entrance. Hurling herself forward despite the pain, she reached the tracks and ran into the tunnel, turned her face toward the soft flow of light. The source of the illumination became clear: a tiny, bright rectangle in the distance. How far up the steep incline, she could not tell. It looked like a postage stamp.
A howl of anger close on her heels spurred her to flight. As she ran up the tunnel's slope she stumbled, lurching awkwardly on her bad leg and waving her arms for balance. On either side of her, the narrow, rusted rails were held together and cleated to the soft substrate by perpendicular wooden ties. Though muck-covered and slick, the ties' rough front edges gave Edith's numbed feet purchase. Supported by ancient, rotting timbers and braces, the shadowy ceiling hung low and dripped red tears on her head and shoulders; the walls were shored with sodden planks to keep the sides from collapsing inward and burying hapless workers alive.
Fighting to stay ahead of Lucille, Edith pushed her legs, the good one and the bad, to their absolute limit. And when both began to tremble and fail, she used her hands and arms to scrabble forward, digging her fingers in the muck. For an instant she thought she could feel Alan gazing down upon her, urging her on. She prayed that no matter what happened he would remain silent; if Lucille discovered he was still alive, he wouldn't be for long.
If _he is still alive. Oh, dear God, what if he's already dead?_
_Then what is there to live for?_
_Don't think of that now. Keep moving!_
Her guttural gasps for air and whimpers of pain roared in her ears; savage, animalistic, inhuman, they were all she could hear. The atmosphere below ground was as poisonous to her as the tea, a wretched miasma of pungent clay and snowmelt that coated the inside of her mouth and her throat. She could feel the cold, wet weight of it filling her lungs as she inhaled, making it more and more difficult for her to breathe. Without turning her head to look over her shoulder, she couldn't tell if Lucille was suffering from the same difficulty. But she knew the other woman was gaining on her: Out of the corner of her eye, she glimpsed the dark scrambling shape behind.
_Keep going._ The command was almost a whisper in her ear, uttered by someone else. _Mama? Pamela? Enola? Margaret?_ Or was she hearing the voice of her own spirit fighting to survive?
Sweat streamed down her face and stung her eyes; her arms were slippery with putrid clay. The rectangle of light at the end of the tunnel had grown larger and brighter, she could just make out the timbers framing the exit, but the slope at this end was steeper—every yard upward was agony. The hem of her voluminous nightgown wound around her legs—dragged through the muck, caught on rail spikes and splinters of wood, it seemed to grow heavier and heavier. Her long, plaited hair kept falling into her eyes but she didn't dare pause to brush it away.
_I do not want to die here. I do not want to die here._
Lucille was gaining; she could feel it. Then came a sudden pull from behind—hard, determined—and she knew Lucille had grabbed hold of her gown.
Edith looked up and saw that she was mere feet from the surface. She lowered her head and with a backwards kick and desperate burst of effort, fought free of the restraint. Crawling frantically on all fours she tumbled out of the tunnel's red mouth.
But she had not escaped hell.
## CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THE HEAT OF the fading afternoon sun had melted the snow that lay thinnest upon the ground, and the condensation mixed with freezing air had caused a dense, choking mist to rise and cling to the grounds. Visibility had shrunk to a ring of no more than a half dozen yards across. At the edges of the haze, crimson-tinged fingers of fog caressed the boiler of Thomas's harvester, filtered between the skeletal legs of the poppet, hid and then revealed a long-dead conveyor and an oven where bricks had once been baked.
A gust of bitter wind ripped the air from Edith's lungs and slapped her full in the face; the impact made her groan. She tried to move forward and found all her joints had gone rigid from the flash of intense cold—suddenly she was wearing the iron boots of Cinderella's stepsisters. The icy air had penetrated the marrow of her bad leg as well. It felt like it was being slowly sawed off at the point of the injury, the imagined saw moving in time with the beating of her heart. Back and forth. Back and forth, the pain sharp, deep, and excruciating.
Then Lucille burst out of the mine a few feet behind her. Hair matted with red clay, face and arms likewise smeared with a gouache of crimson. In the center of her chest bright blood oozed forth in a steady trickle from the wound Edith had given her. She still clutched the obscene cleaver firmly.
When Lucille started scrambling to reach her feet a fresh rush of fear coursed through Edith's body. Adrenaline animated her like a puppet or a wind-up doll. She jumped up and ran as fast as she could for the cover of the fog bank. The air inside it was thick as soup; it burned the inside of her nose to breathe it in.
_I need a weapon._
She scanned the scaffolding of the poppet, the snow-filled buckets of the conveyor belt, and climbed up on the harvester. The machine burst into life, and the chugging of its heart matched her own.
Her hiding place revealed, she clambered back down. Lucille would know where she was now.
_Dear God, let there be a mislaid hammer, a wrench—no, something to give leverage, something to overcome Lucille's advantage in strength and speed._
The face of the man who had taught her about mechanics swam before her eyes, crushed and broken. Then she stumbled over it, the thing that she sought.
_A shovel!_
She grabbed the tool and hefted it in both hands. The connection between blade and handle felt solid and the blade's edge looked thinned and sharpened by use. She turned back toward the tunnel mouth, the one place she would be able to see Lucille coming at her. She used the shovel as a crutch, hopping on her good leg, conserving her strength, easing her pain, groping her way through layer upon layer of swirling fog, which thinned to a haze when she reached the cluster of machinery.
"What do you want, Lucille?" Edith called out.
"I want to smash your face in with a stone—and then to count your teeth as I break them off..." shouted a voice almost lost in the mist.
Edith had already reasoned the answer to her question; it was the sound and direction of the voice that she was after.
Wielding her shovel in both hands like a lance, Edith moved through the roiling murk. As daylight from above faded in and out, shadows and shapes half-seen and blurred seemed to shift of their own accord in the haze. She mock-parried with the weapon, defining the boundary she could easily defend. The edge of steel was far too wide, the point too dull to stab with—but it could chop and hack bone-deep. She could not let Lucille get hold of the blade, though. That would reverse her only advantage.
"...cut you into pieces and make you disappear. That's what I want. Can you give me that? Or must I take it?"
Lucille's voice seemed to emerge from everywhere and nowhere. As Edith neared the harvesting machine, whose base was still banked with drifts of clean snow, Lucille darted out of the red mist and slashed at her with the cleaver. She was too slow bringing up the shovel to block it. Searing pain shot through her cheek just below her eye, and before she could strike back, her adversary had vanished into the fog.
Lucille's speed and accuracy on the run made her heart sink. Perhaps she wasn't badly injured at all? A hot trickle of blood rolled down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. A sound behind her made her turn. She seized the end of the handle and swung it with both hands like a medieval broadsword.
Getting it moving was easier than stopping it once it was in motion. Before she could recover from the wasted blow, a dark form burst from the mist to her left. Lucille brushed against her hip as she used the cleaver's edge to make another cut. The shovel clanged against the side of the boiler as Edith tried and failed to hit her assailant in the back. With her bad leg she could not give chase; she had to watch as her tormentor disappeared into the swirling mist.
Silence descended on the hazy clearing, searing, malevolent silence. Edith strained to hear, to see as she turned and turned again, making the landscape of dead machines and bleeding earth revolve around her. She had no idea where Lucille was, where she would come from next. She had no idea if Alan was still alive.
As seconds became minutes, the tension of remaining on her guard began to drain away her last ounces of strength. The weight of the shovel blade made her back bow and her arms from shoulder to wrist spasm and quake. When she could no longer carry it, she let it drag behind her as she searched. It was not a ploy to draw out Lucille, but it functioned to that end.
A dark human form moved between a jumble of machines, then back into the mist, but no longer in haste, as if testing, observing her vulnerabilities. Edith stopped turning and listened, drawing the shovel's handle into both hands, poised for the attack that was sure to come.
Out of the fog, with cleaver slashing wildly, Lucille sprang at her weak side—the bad leg side. Edith managed to evade her this time by backing away as she kept the shovel blade between herself and the cleaver's edge. Steel rang on steel, the sharp clatter instantly swallowed, muffled by the surrounding fog. The shovel was long and slow to swing, even with two hands; Edith persisted because she had no choice now, parrying with answering force every time Lucille attacked. As she drew back, the cleaver flashed down with blinding speed, chipping the wooden handle above her hands, knocking the blade aside. Before Edith could recover, she was cut again. Desperate now, she brought the shovel around, jabbing it at Lucille's face and eyes. Again, too slow, even slower than before because her arms were growing weaker, and then the cleaver slashed inside her guard. It bit into her flesh more deeply this time and hot blood jetted down the inside of her nightgown's sleeve.
Edith knew she could not withstand the frantic onslaught much longer. She retreated with shovel raised, and kept on retreating, back into the fog where she hid, trembling and shaking bright red drops into the drifts of clean snow. It was no comfort to her that Lucille did not follow. Lucille was that sure of the kill, and more than content to draw out the filthy business as long as possible.
Edith was grateful that her nightgown concealed the full extent of her injuries; she was afraid that if she knew how bad they were, she would lose heart and fall to her knees to await the inevitable. More than ever she needed to believe in herself. She needed to weave a story so powerful that it would allow her to survive. _Once upon a time, there were:_
_Love._
_Death._
_And ghosts._
And a world drenched in blood.
A scarlet fog veiled the killing ground, then dripped down through the greedy, starved mineshafts and into the tortured vats of claret clay that bubbled and gasped on the filthy, bone-white tile. Crimson earth seeped back up through the walls of mud. Allerdale Hall was ringed with brilliant red—a stain that clawed toward Edith's bare and battered feet.
But that was the very least of her troubles.
Because hell's own child, Lucille Sharpe, was coming for her. Implacable, unstoppable, a creature fueled by madness and rage, that had maimed and murdered and would kill again, unless Edith struck first. But she was weak, coughing blood and stumbling, and this monster had already claimed other lives—other _souls—_ stronger and heartier than hers.
Snowflakes blinded Edith's swollen cornflower-blue eyes; red droplets specked her golden hair. Her right cheek had been sliced open; the hem of her gauzy nightgown had soaked up blood, rot, and gore.
And crimson clay.
She braced herself for the last battle, the duel to the death. Everywhere shadows and shades loomed, red on red, on red. If she didn't survive, would she join them? Would she haunt this cursed place forever?
_Ghosts are real_. _That much I know._
She knew much more than that, of course. She knew all of it, the whole brutal story. If only she had pieced it together sooner—the warnings, the clues. But had she learned it too late to save herself _and_ Alan, who had risked so much for her sake?
Behind the snow and scarlet gloaming, she caught a flash of running feet. Lucille was coming for her.
Beside the monolith of Thomas's excavating machine, near a brick oven, Edith waited, tears streaming down her face. Her leg throbbed and she was freezing, yet her insides burned so hot she expected black smoke to plume from her mouth. She backed up a few steps, whirled around, eyes searching, her breath a rasping sound in the back of her throat. Then time stopped, and her mind cast back to how it was that she, Edith Cushing, had come here to fight for her life.
It seemed too much to wish that she could live happily ever after.
Lucille stepped out of the fog and walked towards her; there was no longer need for guile. The dark eyes boiled with hatred and madness, and lust for revenge. Lucille had killed Thomas but, in her deranged mind, Edith had delivered the fatal stab because he had chosen her over his own flesh and blood.
"I will not stop," Lucille said, panting heavily, "until you kill me or I kill you."
"I know that..." Edith's voice quavered, but from exhaustion, not fear. What did it matter? At this point she was half-dead already.
_I am no match for her by myself._
And then... she had the strong sense that she was not alone. _Someone_ or _something_ was with her, though she could see nothing in the swirling haze. Insane Allerdale Hall towered above them, but it was not the source of this... presence.
A presence she knew meant her no harm.
Was it Enola? Pamela Upton, perhaps? All three of the murdered brides?
Edith slid her glance from Lucille's contorted face to the churning ether. She dared to believe what she could not see.
"If you are here with me—" she extended her hand "—show yourselves. Give me a sign."
_There._ Edith was flooded with joy as she gazed at the one who had come to help her, out of love. She was ready now.
As she closed distance with Lucille she dragged the shovel like an exhausted berserker trailing his battle axe, building momentum for a final, desperate blow.
Apparently blind to the specter, Lucille's face radiated triumph. "There's no one to help you," she flung at Edith. Her smile was cruel and vindictive; it was unforgiving. "I don't see anyone, do you?"
"You don't?" Edith smiled. "Because I do. You see them only when they want you to. Only when it's time." She raised her chin. "And one of them—" she faltered, so tired "—one of them wants you to see him now. It's time."
She watched Lucille as a luminous specter emerged from the fog.
_Thomas._
His ghost was pale. From his cheek a plume of blood rose, swirling into the air like smoke. His eyes and lips were golden; he was shimmering with sunlight from within. He was no longer a creature of the dark, a denizen of Allerdale Hall and all the madness and barbarity of his tragic, passionate family.
Lucille stared, amazed.
"Thomas? No..."
The sight of him brought her weapon down. Tears streamed down her cheeks. The sight of Thomas's ghost was the only thing that could vanquish her—that could suffocate her rage.
Edith called softly, "Lucille?"
At the sound of her name, Lucille turned. And as she did Edith crashed the shovel blade against the side of her skull. The jarring impact staggered Lucille backwards, and she fought gravity with knees that would no longer support her weight. Seeing her falter infused Edith with a sudden burst of strength. It was now or never. Press the advantage. End this or die trying.
She swung the shovel, smashing the back of the blade into the woman's head. Only when Lucille fell to the ground did she pause to gasp for breath.
Though down, Lucille was not done. She blurted out, "I will not stop, I will not." She groped for the cleaver she'd dropped, blindly clawing at the crimson muck. "Until I kill you or—"
Edith already had the shovel in motion again, a blow that started in the soles of her bare feet, and corkscrewed up through thighs and hips. Before Lucille could finish her words, the shovel came down on her head with a crack that echoed off the walls of the manor, driving her face into the blood-colored snow. There was no need for another blow. Well short of the cleaver, Lucille's outstretched fingers quivered in frantic palsy, then went forever still.
"I heard you the first time," Edith said, heaving for breath.
Leaning on the shovel for support, she looked down upon the corpse of Lucille Sharpe, who had once been a tiny, innocent baby in her mother's arms. A toddler who had wanted nothing but love, and warmth, and to be safe and cherished.
Or could it have been that Lucille had "come out wrong," just as her own poor baby had? Thomas's child?
Edith's face was suddenly lit by shimmering, warm light. Thomas's ghost moved closer, suffused with gold, in contrast to the dark, mad creature lying dead in the mud.
He smiled at her, really smiled; she remembered the glow of flame in his eyes when they had danced the Chopin waltz; the radiance of the firelight on his face in their humble honeymoon sanctuary at the depot. Need had driven him into the darkness, but love had brought him into the light. It had redeemed him.
Letting the shovel fall, she opened her arms to embrace him one last time, but the diaphanous figure dissolved away into the mist... into white light.
## CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
_I KILLED HER._
Edith gazed down at the ruined body of Lucille Sharpe, the deeper red of her head wound darkening the crimson snow. She tried to summon pity or remorse, but she could be nothing but fiercely glad. Lucille would have killed her, and would have gone on to kill others, if Edith hadn't stopped her.
Snow fell on the back of Lucille's head flake upon flake, each crystalline shape soaking up the blood and sparkling like rubies. The sight was beautiful in a horrible way.
Trembling as the adrenaline in her body burned off, Edith hobbled to the narrow tunnel of the mine and called, "Alan?"
The word echoed but there was no answer.
She went cold. _He must be alive. He must._ After all this, his incredible bravery, his sacrifice... after loving her for his entire life, he must not die.
"Alan?"
Still nothing.
And then she heard him call her name, deep beneath the earth in the clay pit and Edith choked out a sound that was halfway between a sob and a laugh.
"Alan!"
She started to climb back down the rail track but her whole body rebelled. Her muscles would not obey, her joints would not bend.
"Alan, hang on!"
* * *
Allerdale Hall glared at her as she staggered through the front door. Her injured leg had stiffened further, from ankle to hip. The memory of Thomas's arms around her as he carried her over the threshold brought tears, which she held back as she summoned the elevator. She could not break down now, not when Alan needed her. She had been right that first day; it _was_ colder inside the house than out in the snow. _Colder than the grave_ , she thought. A grave's contents rotted into earth, to someday return to the sunlight and warmth. There was no hope of renewal in Allerdale Hall; what died there stayed there, frozen in place by a cold beyond imagining.
The elevator did not seem to want to come. Eventually it rattled up to her. Blood had pooled on the floor and smeared handprints ringed the cage bars like the stripes on a barber pole. The coppery smell was overwhelming. For the briefest of instants she couldn't make herself go inside, and then she knew she had no choice. She had to get to Alan.
"I am not your enemy," she told the house. There was no answer, no scattering of leaves in the hallways or huge, moaning breath. There were dozens of black moths circling the snow that filtered through the hole in the ceiling, as if they did not dare test themselves against the light.
Edith entered the elevator and closed the grate, holding her breath all the way down. As usual, it did not stop flush with the floor; she lowered herself to a seated position and gingerly put down one foot and then the other.
She heard a moan.
"Alan, Alan!" she shouted.
Water dripped. Vats bubbled. The foundation groaned.
There was no tapping.
She limped and half-fell and staggered and lurched, and somehow miraculously made it to Alan's side before she collapsed. His eyes were closed and his mouth slack. He looked dead. His forehead and face were icy to her touch. She felt no breath. There was so much blood. Was she too late? Had the house claimed another?
Wrapping her arms around the still form, Edith burst into sobs.
Not this. Not Alan.
"You loved me," she wept. But more importantly, "I love you."
Alan grunted.
And opened his eyes. He tried to raise a hand and moved only his fingers instead.
"Edith." He smiled weakly. "You found me."
* * *
Edith did all she could to help Alan into the elevator and then out the front door of Allerdale Hall. He couldn't bear to stay inside the house while Edith went to the stable to harness the horse to the carriage.
She came back with bad news: The horse must have smelled the fresh blood on her, for as soon as she had pulled back the gate of its stall, it had bolted and run out of the building, and from there, Alan assumed, out onto the moor. Given their physical condition, there would be no recapturing it. He was bleeding still, and it was a long walk, but it seemed the only chance either of them had for survival. He had already beaten the odds, as he figured it.
Edith Cushing had declared her love for him.
And so they began the trek.
* * *
With Alan's heavy arm and most of his weight across her shoulders, Edith limped upward in the mist. She and Alan left tracks in the blood-red snow. The black hulk of Allerdale Hall was perched half a mile away ringed with a moat of scarlet.
"Will we make it?" Alan asked in a tired, faint voice.
She decided to be honest. "I don't know, Alan. Nothing seems sure."
"No," he agreed. "To think... to think that _I_ came to rescue _you._ "
Edith smiled as she held him. "We have a long way to go. We have each other's shoulders. We should be grateful for that."
No sooner had the words left her mouth, she caught sight of torches bobbing a distance ahead of them, growing larger as they approached. They were men from the village. She could hear their voices, suddenly excited and shouting, but couldn't make out what they were saying. One wore a bright yellow muffler as brilliant as a sunbeam. Upon spotting Alan, he raised his hand in greeting.
_Rescued_ , she thought. _Both of us._
She looked back at the house and the opening lines of the novel she would begin again popped full-blown into her head:
_Ghosts are real. That much I know._
_They fade away, along with the past, like mist in the daylight... Leaving only small lessons behind. Small certainties._
## EPILOGUE
INSIDE THE HOUSE:
The blood of Alan McMichael on the floor.
The broken banister where Edith had fallen.
The chimney in the library, raising as the house took a deep breath of poisoned air.
_There are things that tie ghosts to a place, very much like they do us. Some remain tethered to a patch of land or a time and date. But there are others that hold to an emotion, a drive: loss, revenge, or love..._
_...a terrible crime..._
And the ghost of Lucille Sharpe, alone, all alone forever, seated at the piano in the unforgiving cold. Playing the first note of the lullaby.
_Those, they never leave._
_Let the wind blow kindly
in the sail of your dreams
and the moon light your journey
and bring you to me._
_We can't live in the mountains,
we can't live out at sea.
Where oh, where oh, my lover,
shall I come to thee?_
THE END
_"To learn what we fear is to learn who we are."_
— GUILLERMO DEL TORO
## ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
MY THANKS TO my agent, Howard Morhaim and his team; to my editor, Natalie Laverick, and to Alice Nightingale, Julia Lloyd and everyone at my Titan Books home. I'd also like to acknowledge the University of California at San Diego for an education in film and TV production that has served me well all these years. My friends Beth Hogan, Pam Escobedo, Julia Escobedo, and Amy Schricker so often went above and beyond while I was on deadline; and Mark Mandell shared my joy, hope, and anxiety about this project as only another freelancer could. Thank you to Anna Nettle and everyone at Legendary, who proved so helpful. My appreciation to the cast and crew of _Crimson Peak_ , whose artistry continues to astonish, delight, and terrify me. But most of all, I would like to extend my deepest gratitude to Guillermo del Toro, whose brilliance blazes bright in every frame of _Crimson Peak_. _Muchas gracias por invitarme a su casa_.
## ABOUT THE AUTHOR
NANCY HOLDER IS a multiple award-winning, _New York Times_ bestselling author (the Wicked Series). She has won five Bram Stoker Awards from the Horror Writers Association, as well as a Scribe Award for Best Novel and a Pioneer Award from RT Book Reviews. Nancy has sold over eighty novels and one hundred short stories, many of them based on such shows as _Highlander_ , _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_ , _Angel_ , and others. She is the vice-president of the Horror Writers Association and teaches in the Stonecoast MFA in Creative Writing Program, offered through the University of Southern Maine. She lives in San Diego with the writer Mark Mandell, Tater the corgi, and McGee the cat.
You can visit Nancy online at www.nancyholder.com
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook"
} | 5,727 |
using Microsoft.AspNet.Identity;
using Microsoft.Owin.Security;
using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using System.Web;
namespace VlogRoom.Web.Models.ManageViewModels
{
public class ManageLoginsViewModel
{
public IList<UserLoginInfo> CurrentLogins { get; set; }
public IList<AuthenticationDescription> OtherLogins { get; set; }
}
} | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 4,518 |
Charley's Aunt () is a 1934 German comedy film directed by Robert A. Stemmle and starring Fritz Rasp, Paul Kemp, and Max Gülstorff. It is based on the British writer Brandon Thomas's 1892 play Charley's Aunt. The film's sets were designed by art director Franz Schroedter.
Cast
References
Bibliography
External links
1934 films
1934 comedy films
Films of Nazi Germany
German comedy films
1930s German-language films
Films directed by Robert A. Stemmle
Films based on Charley's Aunt
Films set in England
German black-and-white films
1930s German films | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 3,963 |
Love Is A Pendulum (es: El amor Es Un Péndulo) es un álbum por el vibrafonista jazz estadounidense Joe Locke en 2015, en el sello discográfico Motéma. El álbum está centrado alrededor del cinco-movimiento suite del mismo nombre, el cual Locke se fue inspirado a escribir después de leer un poema por escritora Barbara Sfraga.
Lista de temas
Personal
El sitio web de Locke lista el personal del álbum como sigue:
Músicos Invitados
Rosario Giuliani
Donny McCaslin (saxos)
Paul Bollenback (guitarra)
Victor Provost (tambor metálico)
Theo Bleckmann (voz)
El Cuarteto de Locke
Robert Rodriguez (piano)
Terreon Cauce (tambores y coproductor)
Ricardo Rodriguez (bajos).
Referencias
Álbumes de 2015 | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 3,794 |
and the dsl is still not back. marc is taking sara to school this morning so i have a few minutes at the office to post this and attempt to regain a bit of my sanity. how quickly my life got to a bad place without the internet to work (and play) at home. another two hours on the phone with earthlink last night. the modem was shipped yesterday (despite my being promised by several people on saturday that i would have the modem on monday) and should arrive today. we'll see!
…and need to start thinking seriously about hosting bookclub – at my house – tomorrow night. twelve ladies. and it's supposed to rain again.
send happy thoughts my way – need them today! | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 3,933 |
\section{Introduction}
The time evolution of real-world systems often takes place on multiple
timescales, and is paced by aperiodically changing
external conditions. Of particular interest are situations where, if
the external conditions change too fast, the system fails to adapt and
moves to a different state. In climate science and ecology one speaks of
``rate-induced tipping
points''~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Lenton2008,Stocker1997,Leemans2004}, the
``critical rate hypothesis''~\cite{Scheffer2008}, and ``adaptation
failure''~\cite{Bridle2007} to describe the sudden transitions caused by
too rapid changes in external conditions (e.g. dry and hot climate
anomalies or wet periods due to El Ni\~no-Southern Oscillation). In
neuroscience, type III excitable nerves~\cite[Ch. 7]{Izhikevich2007}
accommodate slow changes in an externally applied voltage, but
an excitation requires a rapid enough increase in the
voltage~\cite{Hill1936,Biktashev2002}.
In nonequilibrium genetic circuits, cells are forced to decide
between alternative fates in response to changing extracellular conditions,
and the decision is determined by the rate of change \cite{Nene2012}.
However, such rate-induced
transitions cannot, in general, be explained by traditional stability theory, and
require an alternative approach.
\begin{figure}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=13cm]{fig01-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{ (Colour online) The conceptual difference between (a)--(b) a
rate-induced bifurcation and (c) a dynamic bifurcation in systems with
a time-varying external input. The ``stable state'' is an asymptotic
stable state when the external input is fixed in time.
In (a)--(b), a response to a varying external input is (red)
non-adiabatic, meaning the system destabilises, or (blue) adiabatic,
meaning the system tracks the moving stable state. }
\label{fig:RBtip}
\end{figure}
This paper conceptualises the failure to adapt to a changing
environment as a {\it rate-induced
bifurcation}~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Ashwin2012}---a non-autonomous
instability characterised by {\it critical rates} of external
forcing~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Ashwin2012} and {\it instability
thresholds}~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Mitry2013}. Rate-induced bifurcations
can be counter-intuitive because they occur in systems where a stable
state exists continuously for all fixed values of the external input
[Fig.~\ref{fig:RBtip}(a)--(b)]. When the external input varies in
time, the position of the stable state changes and the system tries to
keep pace with the changes. The forced system {\it adiabatically
follows} or {\it tracks} the continuously changing stable state if the
external input varies slowly enough [Fig.~\ref{fig:RBtip}(a)].
However, many systems fail to track the changing stable state if the
external input varies too fast. These systems have initial states that
destabilise---move away to a different, distant state---above some critical
rate of forcing [Fig.~\ref{fig:RBtip}(b)]. This happens even though
there is no obvious loss of stability. Moreover, in systems with
multiple timescales there may be no obvious threshold separating the
adiabatic and non-adiabatic responses in Fig.~\ref{fig:RBtip}(b).
This is in contrast to {dynamic bifurcations}~\cite{Lobry1991}, which
can be explained by classical bifurcations of the stable state at some
{critical level} of external input [Fig.~\ref{fig:RBtip}(c)]. In this
case, the forced system destabilises totally predictably around the
critical level, independently of the initial state and of the rate of
change.
In the absence of an obvious threshold, scientists are often puzzled
by the actual boundary separating initial states that adapt to
changing external conditions from those that fail to adapt. The first
non-obvious threshold was identified only recently, in the context of
a rate-induced climate tipping point termed the ``compost-bomb
instability'', as a {\it folded saddle canard}~\cite{Wieczorek2010}.
This finding explained a sudden release of soil carbon from peat lands
into the atmosphere above some critical rate of warming, which puzzled
climate carbon-cycle scientists~\cite{Luke2011,Wieczorek2010}.
Subsequently, similar non-obvious ``firing thresholds'' explained the
spiking behaviour of type III
neurons~\cite{Mitry2013,Wechselberger2014}.
Here, we reveal a non-obvious threshold with an intricate band
structure, and discuss the underlying mathematical mechanism. The uncovered threshold is generic, and should explain the
failure to adapt to a changing environment in a wide range of
nonlinear multi-scale systems. Specifically, the intricate band
structure is shown to arise from a combination of the complicated
dynamics due to a folded node singularity~\cite{Szmolyan2001} and the
simple threshold behaviour due to a folded saddle
singularity~\cite{Wieczorek2010} near a folded
saddle-node type I~\cite{Krupa2010,Guckenheimer2008,Vo2014}. What is more,
the threshold is identified with special {\it composite
canards}---trajectories that follow canard segments of different
folded singularities. More generally, we derive existence results for
critical rates and non-obvious thresholds, and discuss our
contribution in the context of canard theory and its applications.
\vspace{5mm}
\section {A general framework and existence results for non-obvious thresholds}
\label{sec:2}
Our general framework is based on geometric singular perturbation
theory~\cite{Fenichel1979,Jones1995}. It builds on the ideas developed
in~\cite{Wieczorek2010}, and extends the analysis to any type of
smoothly varying external input. Specifically, we consider multi-scale dynamical systems akin to
simple climate, neuron, and electrical circuit
models~\cite{Luke2011,Wieczorek2010,Roberts2013,Cessi1994,Mitry2013,Wechselberger2014,Pol1934}:
\begin{eqnarray}
\delta\;dx/dt &=& f(x,y,\lambda(\epsilon t),\delta),
\label{eq:ofast}\\
dy/dt &=& g(x,y,\lambda(\epsilon t),\delta),
\label{eq:oslow}
\end{eqnarray}
with a fast variable $x$, slow variable $y$, and sufficiently smooth
functions $f$ and $g$. The small parameter $0<\delta \ll 1$
quantifies the ratio of the $x$ and $y$ timescales. The time-varying
external input $\lambda(\epsilon t)$ is bounded between
$\lambda_{\min}$ and $\lambda_{\max}$, and evolves smoothly on a slow timescale
$$
\tau=\epsilon t,
$$
where $\tau\in(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$ can be unbounded.
The system has two small
parameters: $\delta$ and $\epsilon$. While the analysis of
rate-induced bifurcations is greatly facilitated by the singular limit
$\delta=0$, it requires nonzero $\epsilon$. The limit $\epsilon=0$
gives the conceptual starting point for the analysis.
When $\lambda$ does not vary in time, i.e. when $\epsilon=0$,
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) define a dynamical system with
one fast and one slow variable, and a parameter $\lambda$. In the
singular limit $\delta=0$, the slow subsystem $dy/dt =
g(x,y,\lambda,0)$ evolves on the one-dimensional critical manifold
$S(\lambda)$, defined by $f(x,y,\lambda,0)=0$. Alternatively,
$S(\lambda)$ consists of steady states of the fast subsystem $dx/dT =
f(x,y,\lambda,0)$, where $T=t/\delta$ is the fast timescale, and $y$
acts as a second parameter. The critical manifold can have an
attracting part $S^a(\lambda)$ and a repelling part $S^r(\lambda)$,
which are separated by a fold point $F(\lambda)$ (Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}).
To give precise statements
about non-obvious thresholds we assume for every fixed $\lambda$
between $\lambda_{\min}$ and $\lambda_{\max}$:
\vspace{2mm}\\
{ {\bf(A1)} \it The system has a quadratic nonlinearity.} The
critical manifold $S(\lambda)$ is locally a graph over $x$ with a
single fold $F(\lambda)$ tangent to the fast $x$-direction, defined by
\begin{equation}
\frac{\partial f}{\partial x}\Big|_S = 0 \quad \mbox{and} \quad
\frac{\partial^2 f}{\partial x^2}\Big|_S \ne 0.
\label{eq:fold}
\end{equation}
\vspace{2mm}\\
{{\bf(A2)} \it The system has a stable state for all fixed external
conditions.} Near $F(\lambda)$, $S^a(\lambda)$ contains just one
steady state $\tilde{x}(\lambda)$ which is asymptotically stable and
varies continuously with $\lambda$.
\vspace{2mm}\\
The geometric structure of the phase space in the singular limit
$\delta=0$ gives insight into the dynamics for $\delta$ small, but
nonzero. Specifically, where steady states of the fast
subsystem are hyperbolic (i.e. on $S^a(\lambda)$ and $S^r(\lambda)$
but not on $F$), system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) with
$0<\delta \ll 1$ has a slow attracting manifold
$S^a_{\delta}(\lambda)$ and a slow repelling manifold
$S^r_{\delta}(\lambda)$. Both $S^a_{\delta}(\lambda)$ and
$S^r_{\delta}(\lambda)$ are locally invariant, lie close to, and have
the same stability type as $S^a(\lambda)$ and $S^r(\lambda)$,
respectively. This follows from Fenichel's
Theorem~\cite{Fenichel1979,Jones1995}.
When $\lambda$ varies smoothly in time such that $0<\epsilon\lesssim 1$
and $0<\delta\ll 1$,
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) define a dynamical system with
one fast and two slow variables:
\begin{eqnarray}
\delta\epsilon\;dx/d\tau &=& f(x,y,\lambda(\tau),\delta),
\label{eq:fast}\\
\epsilon\;dy/d\tau &=& g(x,y,\lambda(\tau),\delta),
\label{eq:slow}\\
d\tau/d\tau &=& 1.
\label{eq:t}
\end{eqnarray}
Now the critical manifolds $S^a$ and $S^r$, as well as the slow
manifolds $S^a_{\delta}$ and $S^r_{\delta}$ are two-dimensional, and
$\tilde{x}$ and $F$ form curves (Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}). When
$\lambda(\tau)$ varies slowly enough, the forced
system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) tracks the continuously
changing stable state $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$. However, the
system may fail to track, and destabilise. To be more precise, we
define:
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Definition 1}. For a given initial state on $S^a_{\delta}$, we
say that system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) {\it destabilises}
if the trajectory leaves $S^a_{\delta}$ and moves away along the fast
$x$-direction. Otherwise, we say that
system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) {\it tracks} the moving
stable state $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$.
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Definition 2}. The {\it critical rate} $\epsilon_c$ is the
largest $\epsilon$ below which there are no initial states on
$S^a_\delta$ that destabilise.
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Definition 3}. The {\it instability threshold} is the boundary
within $S^a_{\delta}$ separating initial states that track
$\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$ from those that destabilise.
\vspace{2mm}\\
Figure~\ref{fig:Rtiplg} (a)--(b) shows two trajectories of
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) for different initial states
on $S^a$. Below the critical rate, all trajectories track, and
eventually converge to $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$
[Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(a)]. However, above the critical rate there are
initial states near $\tilde{x}$ that fail to track
$\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$, and the system destabilises [red in
Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(b)]. Interestingly, some trajectories leave
$S^a_{\delta}$ but, instead of destabilising along the fast
$x$-direction, return to $S^a_{\delta}$ and converge to $\tilde{x}$
[blue in Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(b)]. The two qualitatively different
behaviours in Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(b) show there is an instability
threshold within $S^a_{\delta}$. What is more, the threshold can be
simple [Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(c)] as reported
in~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Mitry2013}, or can have an intriguing band
structure [Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(d)] that has not been reported to
date. In both cases, it is not immediately obvious what determines
the threshold.
\begin{figure*}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=13.5cm]{fig02_new-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{ (Colour online) (a)--(b) Trajectories starting at two
different initial states (dots) on $S^a$, near the changing stable
state $\tilde{x}$, (a) below and (b) above the critical rate.
(c)--(d) Above the critical rate, the initial states on $S^a$ that (red)
destabilise or (blue) track $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$ highlight
different threshold types. We used
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}),~(\ref{eq:example}), and [(a),
(b), (d)] Eq. (\ref{eq:logistic}) with (a) $\epsilon=0.06$ and [(b),
(d)] $\epsilon=0.216$; and (c) Eq.~(\ref{eq:exponential}) with
$\epsilon=1$. Other parameters were $\delta=0.01$,
$\lambda_{\max}=2.5$. For (a)--(d)
the critical manifold $S(\lambda)$ is given by $y=-\lambda-x(x-1)$,
has a fold $F(\lambda)$ at $(x,y)=(1/2,-\lambda+1/4)$ and a unique
stable steady state $\tilde{x}(\lambda)$ at $(x,y)=(0,-\lambda)$. For
clarity, the plots are shown in the co-moving coordinate system
$(x,y+\lambda,\lambda)$. The $\lambda$ axis can be transformed into a
slow time axis using [(a), (b), (d)] Eq.~(\ref{eq:logistic}) or (c)
Eq.~(\ref{eq:exponential}). }
\label{fig:Rtiplg}
\end{figure*}
The analysis of the mathematical mechanism for non-obvious thresholds is
greatly facilitated by the singular limit $\delta=0$, where the fold and slow
manifolds are unique and known exactly.
System~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}) is reduced to the slow dynamics
on $S$ by setting $\delta=0$, and then projected onto the
$(x,\tau)$-plane by differentiating Eq.~(\ref{eq:fast}) with respect
to slow time $\tau$:
\begin{eqnarray}
dx/d\tau &=& -\frac{g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d \lambda/d\tau)}{\epsilon\,\partial f/\partial x}\Big|_{S},
\label{eq:fastp}\\
d\tau/d\tau&=& 1.
\label{eq:tp}
\end{eqnarray}
It now becomes clear that if a trajectory deviates too much from
$\tilde{x}$ and approaches a typical point on $F$ then,
according to fold condition~(\ref{eq:fold}), $\partial f/\partial x$
in Eq.~(\ref{eq:fastp}) approaches zero, and $x$ diverges off to
infinity in finite slow time $\tau$. However, there may be special
points on $F$ where
\begin{equation}
\left[g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d\lambda/d\tau) \right]|_F =0,
\label{eq:foldsing}
\end{equation}
and $dx/d\tau$ remains finite. Such special points are referred to as
{\it folded singularities}~\cite{Takens1976,Szmolyan2001}. The
corresponding trajectories, that cross from $S^a$ along the
eigendirections of a folded singularity onto $S^r$, are referred to as
{\it singular canards}~\cite{Szmolyan2001}. The
distinction between systems that have a critical rate and
those that do not appears to be whether there are trajectories started
on $S^a$ that reach $F$ away from a folded singularity, or whether all
trajectories started on $F$ flow onto $S^a$. Furthermore, canard
trajectories, being solutions that separate these two behaviours, are
candidates for non-obvious thresholds.
An obstacle to the analysis of critical rates and instability
thresholds is that the flow on $F$, specifically the right hand side
of Eq.~(\ref{eq:fastp}), is not well defined. This obstacle can be
overcome by a special time rescaling~\cite{Dumortier1996}:
$$
d\tau=-ds\;\epsilon\,\left.(\partial f/\partial x)\right|_{S},
$$
where the new time $s$ passes infinitely faster on $F$, and reverses
direction on $S^r$:
\[
\lim_{(x,\tau) \to F} \frac{ds}{d\tau} = \left\{
\begin{array}{r l}
\infty & \text{ if } (x,\tau) \in S^a,\\
-\infty & \text{ if } (x,\tau) \in S^r.
\end{array} \right.
\]
This gives the desingularised system
\begin{eqnarray}
dx/ds &=& \left.[g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon\,(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d \lambda/d\tau)]\right|_{S},
\label{eq:fastd}\\
d\tau/ds&=& -\epsilon\,\left.(\partial f/\partial x)\right|_{S},
\label{eq:td}
\end{eqnarray}
where trajectories remain the same as in
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp}), the vector field on $F$ becomes
well defined, folded singularities become regular steady states, and
singular canards become trajectories tangent to an eigenspace of a
steady state. One speaks of ``folded nodes'', ``folded saddles'' and
``folded foci'' for Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp}) if a steady
state for Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) has real eigenvalues
with the same sign, real eigenvalues with opposite signs, and complex
eigenvalues with nonzero real parts, respectively. Most importantly,
the difference between tracking and destabilising can easily be
analysed using Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}). Specifically, we
derive conditions for the existence of critical rates and non-obvious
thresholds:
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Theorem 1.} {\it Existence of critical rates: a dissipative
Adiabatic Theorem}. Suppose the forced
system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) with assumptions (A1)--(A2)
satisfies the folded singularity condition~(\ref{eq:foldsing}) for
some $\tau\in(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$ and
$\epsilon>0$. Then, system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) has a
critical rate $\epsilon_c$. The critical rate is approximately the
largest $\epsilon$ below which~(\ref{eq:foldsing}) is never satisfied
within $(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$:
$$
\epsilon_c \approx \inf\left\{\epsilon>0: \left[g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d\lambda/d\tau) \right]|_{F} = 0\right\}.
$$
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Theorem 2.} {\it Existence of non-obvious
thresholds}. The forced system (\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow})
with assumptions (A1)--(A2) is guaranteed to have an
instability threshold if a folded saddle is the only folded
singularity within $(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$. Then, the threshold is
given by the folded saddle maximal canard.
If $\tau_{\max} = \infty$ and $\lambda(\tau)$ is asymptotically constant
\begin{equation}
\lim_{\tau \to \infty} \frac{d\lambda}{d\tau}=0,
\label{eq:asymptotic}
\end{equation}
then the system has an instability threshold if, and only if, there is
a folded saddle singularity.
\vspace{2mm}\\
{\bf Note.} Often in real-life applications the changing external
conditions $\lambda$ are expressed as a prescribed function of time
$t$, but not $\epsilon$ or $\tau$. Specifying $\epsilon$ is not
necessary. If one replaces $\tau$ with $\epsilon t$ in
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:td}) the dependence on $\epsilon$
disappears. However, $\epsilon$ and $\tau$ are useful for defining
critical rates of change, and facilitate the derivation of the
statements in Theorems 1 and 2.
\vspace{2mm}\\
The proofs, given in the Appendix, are based on two steps. In the
first step, a qualitative analysis of
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) identifies the appearance of a folded singularity
with a critical rate, and certain singular canards as candidates for an
instability threshold. In the second step, recent
results from canard
theory~\cite{Szmolyan2001,Wechselberger2005,Vo2014} are used that
state singular canards due to folded saddles, folded nodes, and
folded saddle-nodes of type I, perturb to {\it maximal canards}
in~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}) with $0<\delta \ll 1$. Maximal
canards are those trajectories crossing from $S^a_{\delta}$ onto
$S^r_{\delta}$, which remain on $S^r_{\delta}$ for the longest time.
In this paper, we numerically compute both maximal canards
$\gamma_{\delta}$, shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:case2b}, and their
approximations by singular canards $\gamma$, shown in
Figs.~\ref{fig:case2a} and \ref{fig:case1}.
\vspace{5mm}
\section{Two cases of a non-obvious threshold}
Guided by the proof of Theorem 2, specifically the analysis of the
phase portraits containing a folded saddle [Appendix,
Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(a)--(b)], we distinguish two cases of a
non-obvious threshold. Furthermore, we identify one case with the
complicated threshold shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(d), and uncover
the underlying mechanism.
We illustrate the two cases using an example
of~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) with
\begin{eqnarray}
f=x(x-1)+y+\lambda(\tau)\;\;\;\mbox{and}\;\;\;g=-x,
\label{eq:example}
\end{eqnarray}
and two different aperiodic forcing functions $\lambda(\tau)$
satisfying~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}).
{\it Case 1: Complicated threshold due to a folded saddle-node type I
singularity.} Consider example~(\ref{eq:example}) subject to logistic
growth at a rate $\epsilon$:
\begin{eqnarray}
\lambda(\tau)=\lambda_{\max}\,\tanh\!\left(\tau\right),
\label{eq:logistic}
\end{eqnarray}
where $\lambda\in(-\lambda_{\max},\lambda_{\max})$, $\tau\in(-\infty,\infty)$
and $\tau=\epsilon t$. The desingularised
system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) becomes
\begin{eqnarray}
dx/ds &=& -x + \frac{\epsilon}{\lambda_{\max}}\left(\lambda_{\max}^2 -
\lambda^2(\tau)\right), \label{eq:logisticdfast}\\
d\tau/ds &=& \epsilon(1 - 2x).
\label{eq:logisticd}
\end{eqnarray}
Steady states of~(\ref{eq:logisticdfast})--(\ref{eq:logisticd}) lie on the fold $x=1/2$, at $\lambda(\tau)$
satisfying the folded singularity condition~(\ref{eq:foldsing}):
\begin{equation}
\lambda^2(\tau) - \lambda_{\max}\left(\lambda_{\max} -\frac{1}{2\epsilon} \right)=0,
\label{eq:foldsing1}
\end{equation}
and their eigenvalues $\xi$ are found from the characteristic polynomial
\begin{equation}
\xi^2 + \xi - 4\epsilon^2\lambda(\tau)\left[
1-\left(\frac{\lambda(\tau)}{\lambda_{\max}}\right)^2\right]=0.
\label{eq:foldsing1b}
\end{equation}
The folded singularity condition~(\ref{eq:foldsing1}) has no real
roots when $\epsilon < (2\lambda_{\max})^{-1}$.
When $\epsilon = (2\lambda_{\max})^{-1}$, there is a double root
within $(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$, corresponding to a folded
saddle-node type I~\cite{Krupa2010} at $(x,\lambda(\tau))=(1/2,\,0)$. When
$\epsilon > (2\lambda_{\max})^{-1}$, there are two distinct roots
within $(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$, corresponding to a stable folded
node (focus) $FN(FF)$ at
$(x,\lambda(\tau))=(1/2,\,-\sqrt{\lambda_{\max}(\lambda_{\max}-(2\epsilon)^{-1})}\,)$
and a folded saddle $FS$ at
$(x,\lambda(\tau))=(1/2,\,\sqrt{\lambda_{\max}(\lambda_{\max}-(2\epsilon)^{-1})}\,)$.
This means that, upon increasing $\epsilon$, there is a generic saddle
node bifurcation of folded singularities at
$\epsilon_{SN}=(2\lambda_{\max})^{-1}$, which by Theorem 1 is
approximately the critical rate $\epsilon_c$ for $0<\delta\ll 1$.
According to Theorem 2, condition~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}) and the
presence of a folded saddle guarantee an instability threshold.
However, unlike the case of an isolated folded saddle whose threshold is specified by Theorem 2, it is not immediately
clear what forms the threshold near a folded saddle-node type I~\cite{Vo2014}.
Nonetheless, this can be established numerically.
The instability threshold is defined on the attracting slow manifold
$S^a_\delta$, which is difficult to compute near the fold
$F$. To facilitate numerical computations, we consider
initial states on the critical manifold $S^a$, which is known exactly.
The results are shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}, where the white
regions indicate destabilising, and the grey regions indicate
tracking. Away from $F$, the critical manifold $S^a$ closely
approximates the slow manifold $S^a_\delta$. Here, the instability
threshold is well approximated by the boundaries between the white and
grey regions. However, caution is required near $F$, especially
around $FN$, where $S^a_\delta$ twists in a complicated
manner~\cite[Fig. 6]{Desroches2012}, and the chosen surface of initial
conditions, $S^a$, intersects these twists. There, the boundaries
between the white and grey regions deviate from the instability
threshold due to the choice of initial states. We also show what
happens to initial states on $S^r$ just to the right of $F$, as some
are mapped along the fast flow onto $S^a_\delta$ and converge to
$\tilde{x}$. This is why a ``reflection'' of the band structure from
$S^a$ can be seen on $S^r$.
\begin{figure*}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=11cm]{fig03_new-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{
(Colour online) Initial states on the critical manifold $S$ that
(white) destabilise or (grey) track $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$
in Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) and
(\ref{eq:example})--(\ref{eq:logistic}) with $\delta=0.01$,
$\lambda_{\max}=2.5$, and $\epsilon=
\mbox{(a)}\,0.201,\,\mbox{(b)}\,0.212,\,\mbox{(c)}\,0.216,\,\mbox{and
(d)}\,0.270$, shown projected onto the $(x,\lambda)$ plane.
Away from $F$, the instability threshold in
$S^a_{\delta}$ is well approximated by the white-grey boundary in
$S^a$. Points $FN$, $FS$, and $FF$ are folded node, folded saddle,
and folded focus singularities, respectively; the strong folded node
singular canard $\gamma^N$ and the folded saddle singular canard
$\gamma^S$ approximate projections of the maximal canards
$\gamma^N_{\delta}$ and $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, respectively, onto $S$.
The projection of the maximal canard $\gamma^C_{\delta}$ onto $S$ is
approximated by the weak folded node/faux saddle singular canard $\gamma^C$
when $\lambda > -1$, but lies below $\gamma^C$ for $-2.5<\lambda<-1$, e.g.
within the wide grey band around $\lambda=-2$ in (c).
Although it is difficult to see, $\gamma^C$
terminates on $F$ just above $FF$.
Compare (c) with
Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(d).
}
\label{fig:case2a}
\end{figure*}
Shortly past the saddle-node bifurcation, there are three bands of
initial states on $S^a$ [Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}(a)]. The
threshold separating these bands is formed by two canard trajectories:
the folded saddle maximal canard $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, and the strong
folded node maximal canard $\gamma^N_{\delta}$. On $S^a$, trajectories
started in the white band enclosed by $\gamma^S_{\delta}$ and
$\gamma^N_{\delta}$ move directly towards the fold, then leave the
attracting slow manifold $S^a_{\delta}$ and destabilise along the fast
$x$-direction. Trajectories started in the grey band below
$\gamma^S_\delta$ approach the faux saddle maximal canard
$\gamma^C_\delta$ straight away, thereby staying on the attracting
slow manifold $S^a_\delta$ and tracking $\tilde{x}$. This is in
contrast to trajectories started in the other grey band on $S^a$, the one
above $\gamma^N_\delta$. These trajectories initially approach and
twist around the weak folded node maximal canard $\gamma^C_\delta$,
and leave $S^a_{\delta}$. However, rather than destabilising, they are
fed back along $\gamma^C_\delta$, onto $S^a_{\delta}$, and eventually
remain on $S^a_\delta$ [Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(b), blue trajectory].
Finally, grey initial states on $S^r$ are mapped along the
fast flow onto the grey bands on $S^a_\delta$.
As $\epsilon$ increases, the threshold becomes more complicated due to
the presence of the stable folded node $FN$. Additional threshold
curves appear successively above $\gamma^N_{\delta}$, giving up to
five white bands of initial states above $\gamma^N_{\delta}$ that
destabilise [Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}(b)]. Trajectories started within
these additional white bands twist around $\gamma^C_\delta$ before
destabilising, [Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(b), red trajectory]. These
white bands are separated by narrow grey bands which are difficult to
see in Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}; see the narrow grey band in the inset of
Fig.~\ref{fig:case2b}, or narrow blue bands in
Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(d). Trajectories started within
these narrow grey bands leave $S^a_\delta$, follow a maximal canard on
$S^r_\delta$ for some time, but then return to $S^a_\delta$ into the grey
region below $\gamma^S_\delta$, and converge to $\tilde{x}$. The white bands expand
with $\epsilon$ and approach the weak folded node maximal canard
$\gamma^{C}_{\delta}$ on both sides [Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}(c)]. When
the folded node $FN$ turns into a folded focus $FF$ at $\epsilon = (2
+\sqrt{4 + \lambda_{\max}^2}\,)/8\lambda_{\max}$, its canards
disappear~\cite{Szmolyan2001} and so does the band structure
[Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}(d)]. We are left with a simple threshold, given
just by $\gamma^S_{\delta}$ as in Ref.~\cite{Wechselberger2014}.
\begin{figure}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=13.5cm]{fig04_new-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{ (Colour online) (a) Initial states on the critical manifold
$S$ that (white) destabilise or (grey) track
$\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$ in
Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow})
and~(\ref{eq:example})--(\ref{eq:logistic}) with $\delta=0.01$ and
$\epsilon=0.204$. Inset shows grey band between c and d; a similar
band exists between e and f. Labels b--g at $\lambda=-0.7$, or $\tau=-\tanh^{-1}(0.28)$,
denote different threshold components including: (b) the folded saddle
maximal canard $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, (c) the strong folded node maximal
canard $\gamma^N_{\delta}$, (d) a composite canard that follows
$\gamma^N_{\delta}$ and $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, (e) a secondary folded
node maximal canard, (f) a composite canard that follows a secondary
maximal canard and $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, (g) a secondary folded node
maximal canard. }
\label{fig:case2b}
\end{figure}
The key mechanism for complicated thresholds is the phenomenon whereby
trajectories leave $S^a_\delta$ through the folded node region and
then, rather than destabilising, are fed back to $S^a_\delta$ through
the folded saddle region. This phenomenon has two
consequences. Firstly, not all initial states on $S^a_\delta$ and
above $\gamma^N_\delta$ destabilise. Secondly, the initial states on
$S^a_\delta$ that destabilise or track $\tilde{x}$ form alternating
bands, and these bands have not been identified before. More
generally, the alternating bands are related to the known
rotational sectors of a folded node; see \cite{Wechselberger2005}
for a detailed discussion of rotational sectors. However, whilst rotational
sectors are separated by a single canard
trajectory~\cite{Desroches2012,Wechselberger2005}, our white bands are
separated by a narrow grey band bounded by two different canard
trajectories.
Figure~\ref{fig:case2b} identifies the different components of the
complicated threshold. They consist of known maximal canards such as
(b) $\gamma^S_{\delta}$, (c) $\gamma^N_{\delta}$, and [(e) and (g)]
secondary folded node maximal canards that bifurcate off
$\gamma^C_{\delta}$~\cite{Wechselberger2005}. These canards form the
lower boundaries of the narrow grey bands. Most interestingly, they also consist of new
{\it composite canards} that follow canard segments of
different folded singularities. These canards form the upper
boundaries of the narrow grey bands. Figure~\ref{fig:case2b} shows
composite canards which initially (d) follow $\gamma^N_{\delta}$, or
(f) follow the first secondary folded node maximal canard, and then
[(d) and (f)] follow $\gamma^S_{\delta}$. This explains the
intriguing band structure with intermingled regions of white and grey
in Figs.~\ref{fig:case2a}(b)-(c) and~\ref{fig:case2b}(a), or red and
blue in Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(d). The
composite canards in Fig.~\ref{fig:case2b}(d) and (f) are reminiscent
of trajectories that switch between different primary and secondary
canards of the same folded node in a stellate cell
model~\cite{Wechselberger2009} and in a reduced Hodgkin-Huxley model~\cite[Fig. 9]{Desroches2010}.
{\it Case 2: Simple threshold due to an isolated folded saddle
singularity.} Consider example~(\ref{eq:example}) subject to an
exponential approach at a rate $\epsilon$:
\begin{eqnarray}
\lambda(\tau)=\lambda_{\max}\left(1 - e^{-\tau}\right),
\label{eq:exponential}
\end{eqnarray}
where $\lambda\in(0,\lambda_{\max})$, $\tau\in(0,\infty)$ and $\tau=\epsilon t$. The
desingularised system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) becomes
\begin{eqnarray}
dx/ds &=& -x + \epsilon\left(\lambda_{\max} - \lambda(\tau)\right), \label{eq:exponentialdfast}\\
d\tau/ds &=& \epsilon(1 - 2x).
\label{eq:exponentiald}
\end{eqnarray}
The steady state of~(\ref{eq:exponentialdfast})-(\ref{eq:exponentiald}) lies on the fold $x=1/2$, at $\lambda(\tau)$
satisfying the folded singularity condition~(\ref{eq:foldsing}):
\begin{equation}
\lambda(\tau) = \lambda_{\max} - \frac{1}{2\epsilon},
\label{eq:foldsing2}
\end{equation}
and its eigenvalues $\xi$ are found from the characteristic polynomial
\begin{equation}
\xi^2 + \xi + 2\epsilon^2\left(\lambda(\tau)-\lambda_{\max}\right)=0.
\label{eq:foldsing2b}
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=11cm]{fig05-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{
(Colour online) Initial states on the critical manifold $S$ that
(white) destabilise or (grey) track $\tilde{x}(\lambda(\tau))$
for Eqs.~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}), (\ref{eq:example}), and
(\ref{eq:exponential}) with $\delta=0.01$, $\lambda_{\max}=2.5$, and
(a) $\epsilon=0.25$, (b) $\epsilon=1$, shown projected onto the
$(x,\lambda)$ plane. Away from $F$ the instability threshold in
$S^a_{\delta}$ is well approximated by the white-grey boundary in
$S^a$. Compare (b) with
Fig.~\ref{fig:Rtiplg}(c). For labels see
Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}.}
\label{fig:case1}
\end{figure}
The main difference from Case 1 is that the different forcing
$\lambda(\tau)$ in (\ref{eq:exponential}) gives a folded singularity
condition~(\ref{eq:foldsing2}) with just a single root, corresponding
to an isolated folded saddle $FS$ at $(x,\lambda(\tau))
=(1/2,\,\lambda_{\max}-(2\epsilon)^{-1})$. Upon increasing $\epsilon$,
the folded saddle enters $(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$ via its lower
boundary when $\epsilon=(2\lambda_{\max})^{-1}$, which by Theorem 1 is
approximately the critical rate $\epsilon_c$ for $0<\delta\ll
1$. According to Theorem 2, there is an instability threshold given by
the folded saddle maximal canard $\gamma^S_\delta$, as in the
compost-bomb and the type III neuron
examples~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Mitry2013}. Numerical computations in
Fig.~\ref{fig:case1} confirm that for $\delta=0.01$, and away from $F$,
the threshold is well approximated by the singular canard $\gamma^S$.
It is interesting to note, the threshold in Fig.~\ref{fig:case1} is
very similar to that in Fig.~\ref{fig:case2a}(d).
{\it Note on types of non-obvious thresholds.}
Theorem 2 in conjunction with numerical investigations in this section show that
which case of a non-obvious threshold occurs, if any at all, depends both
on the system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}) and the form of
the external input $\lambda(\tau)$. Specifically, the threshold is determined
by the number, type and stability of the folded singularities. What is more,
our simple example~(\ref{eq:example}) demonstrates that both cases of a non-obvious
threshold can occur for the same system when subject to different $\lambda(\tau)$.
In both cases, the external input $\lambda(\tau)$
satisfies~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}). When $\lambda(\tau)$ does
not satisfy~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}), there can be an instability
threshold that is not associated with a folded saddle [Appendix,
Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(d)]. However,
it follows from the proof of Theorem 2 in the Appendix that such a
threshold is simple, akin to the case of an isolated folded saddle.
\vspace{5mm}
\section{Conclusions}
In summary, we analysed multiple timescale systems subject to an
aperiodically changing environment, identified nonlinear mechanisms
for the failure to adapt, and derived conditions for the existence of
these mechanisms. Specifically, we discussed instability thresholds
where a system fails to adiabatically follow a continuously changing
stable state. Despite their cross-disciplinary nature, these
thresholds are largely unexplored because they are ``non-obvious'',
meaning they cannot, in general, be revealed by traditional stability
theory. Thus, they require an alternative approach. We presented a
framework, based on geometric singular perturbation theory, that led
us to a novel type of threshold with an intriguing band structure. The
threshold has alternating bands, where the system tracks the moving
stable state, or destabilises. We showed that this structure is
organised by a folded saddle-node type I singularity. Intuitively, it
arises from an interplay of the complicated dynamics of twisting
canard trajectories due to a folded node singularity, and the simple
threshold behaviour illustrated for a folded saddle singularity. Most
importantly, trajectories which leave the attracting slow manifold
through the folded node region can be fed back to the attracting slow
manifold through the folded saddle region. In more technical terms,
the band structure is related to the rotational sectors of a folded
node, but also differs from them in one key aspect. Whereas the
rotational sectors are separated by a single canard trajectory, namely the
maximal canard~\cite{Desroches2012,Wechselberger2005}, the
corresponding wide bands are separated by a narrow band. These
separating narrow bands are bounded by two different canard
trajectories. One of them is a known maximal canard, and the other is
a composite canard that follows maximal-canard segments of different
folded singularities.
Whilst non-obvious thresholds can be complicated, they are generic,
and should explain counter-intuitive responses to a changing
environment in a wide range of multi-scale systems. We highlighted
their importance by examples of climate and ecosystems failing to
adapt to a rapidly changing
environment~\cite{Wieczorek2010,Ashwin2012,Luke2011}, and type III
excitable cells ``firing'' only if the voltage stimulus rises fast
enough~\cite{Mitry2013,Hill1936}. More generally, our results give new
insight into non-adiabatic processes in multi-scale dissipative
systems, and should stimulate further work in canard theory.
\section*{Acknowledgements}
We would like thank M. Wechselberger and T. Vo for
useful discussions. The research of C.P. was supported by the EPSRC
and the MCRN (via NSF grant DMS-0940363).
\section*{Appendix}
Consider system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow})
with assumptions
(A1)--(A2), and restrict the discussion to
$\tau\in(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$, which can be unbounded.
\subsection*{\it Proof of Theorem 1.}
Let $p$ be a point on the fold $F$ in the desingularised
system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}). By (A1) the vector field at
$p$ only has a component in the $x$-direction. When $\epsilon=0$, by
assumption (A2) the vector field points towards the attracting
critical manifold $S^a$ at every $p\in F$. This means all trajectories
starting on $F$ flow onto $S^a$, and no trajectories starting on $S^a$
reach $F$. When $\epsilon>0$, there may be trajectories that reach $F$
from $S^a$. This happens if, and only if, the vector field changes
sign at some $p\in F$ as $\epsilon$ is varied:
\begin{eqnarray}
(dx/ds)|_{p} &=& \left.[g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon\,(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d \lambda/d\tau)]\right|_{p} = 0,
\label{eq:cross1}\\
\frac{d}{d\epsilon}(dx/ds)\Big|_{p} &=& [(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d \lambda/d\tau)]|_{p} \ne 0.
\label{eq:cross2}
\end{eqnarray}
Furthermore, by assumption (A1) $S$ can be expressed as a graph over
$y$ meaning $(\partial f/\partial y)|_{p}\ne 0$, and by assumption
(A2) there are no steady states on $F$ in the full system meaning
$g|_{p}\ne0$, so~(\ref{eq:cross1}) already implies~(\ref{eq:cross2}).
By~\cite[Th. 1]{Jones1995}, if system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td})
has no trajectories started on $S^a$ that reach $F$, then
system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}) has no trajectories that leave
$S^a_{\delta}$ for $0<\delta\ll 1$. Furthermore,
by~\cite[Th. 1]{Szmolyan2004}, if system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t})
has trajectories starting on $S^a$ that reach $F$ away from a folded
singularity, then system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}) has
trajectories that leave $S^a_{\delta}$ and move away along the fast
$x$-direction for $0<\delta\ll 1$. Hence, the folded singularity
condition~(\ref{eq:cross1}) implies a critical rate for
system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}), and for the original
system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}).
By Definition 2, in the singular limit $\delta=0$ the critical rate is the largest
$\epsilon$ below which~(\ref{eq:cross1}) is never satisfied within
$(\tau_{\min},\tau_{\max})$. When $\delta$ is small but nonzero, the critical rate is given by
$$
\epsilon_c \approx \inf\left\{\epsilon>0: \left[g\,\partial f/\partial y + \epsilon(\partial f/\partial \lambda)(d\lambda/d\tau) \right]|_{F} = 0\right\} + E_\delta,
$$
where $E_\delta$ is a correction for nonzero $\delta$.
For $\delta$ small enough, the correction term $E_\delta$ is $O({\delta}^{\frac{1}{2}})$ if the
folded singularity at $\epsilon_c$ is a saddle, node, or folded saddle-node type II
\cite{Szmolyan2001, Krupa2010}, and is $O({\delta}^{\frac{1}{4}})$ if the
folded singularity at $\epsilon_c$ is a folded-saddle node type I \cite{Vo2014}.
\noindent
\subsection*{\it Proof of Theorem 2.}
\begin{figure}[t]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=13.5cm]{fig06_new-eps-converted-to.pdf}
\caption{ (Colour online) Sketches of selected phase portraits for
system~(\ref{eq:fastp})-(\ref{eq:tp}), containing folded saddles
($FS$), folded nodes ($FN$), and folded saddle-nodes ($FSN$). Singular
canards are shown in bold. On $S^a$, there are trajectories that (white)
approach $F$ away from a folded singularity, (blue)
leave $S^a$ via a folded singularity, and (grey) never reach $F$.}
\label{fig:phaseportraits}
\end{figure}
Consider a fixed value of $\epsilon > \epsilon_c$. We
are interested in phase portraits of
system~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp}) which have two types of
trajectories starting on $S^a$: those that reach $F$ away from a
folded singularity, and those that never reach $F$ and remain on
$S^a$. We refer to the separatrix dividing these two types of
trajectories as the {\it singular threshold}. Phase
portraits of system~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp}) that may contain a
singular threshold are identified as follows. We keep in mind that
$d\tau/dt>0$, construct possible phase portraits of the desingularised
system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}), reverse the flow on $S^r$, and
keep those portraits that allow a singular threshold.
The proof consists of three parts. Firstly, we analyse
an arbitrary external input $\lambda(\tau)$ to show that an isolated
folded saddle guarantees a singular threshold. Secondly, we
analyse
an asymptotically constant external input, i.e. $\lambda(\tau)$ satisfies condition~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}),
to show there is a singular threshold if, and only if, there is a folded
saddle. Lastly, we use recent results from canard theory to show that
singular thresholds persist as instability thresholds for $\delta$
small, but nonzero.
\subsubsection*{Part 1}
Firstly, assume condition (\ref{eq:foldsing}) is satisfied, meaning there
is a folded singularity $p$. Without loss of
generality, suppose $p$ is at the origin. According
to~\cite[Prop. 2.1]{Szmolyan2001}, under assumption (A1) and
condition (\ref{eq:foldsing}), there is a smooth change of
coordinates that projects the fold curve $F$ orthogonally onto the
$\tau$-axis and, in the neighbourhood of $p$, brings the
desingularised system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) to the normal form
\begin{eqnarray}
\frac{d\hat{x}}{d\hat{s}}&=&b\hat{\tau} + c\hat{x} +
O(\hat{x}^2,\hat{x}\hat{\tau},\hat{\tau}^2) \label{eq:fastn},\\
\frac{d\hat{\tau}}{d\hat{s}}&=&-2\epsilon\hat{x} +
O(\hat{x}^2,\hat{x}\hat{\tau}), \label{eq:tn}
\end{eqnarray}
where $\hat{x}$ and $\hat{\tau}$ are the new coordinates, the fold $F$
is defined by $\hat{x}=0$, and the attracting critical manifold $S^a$
is defined by $\hat{x}<0$. The eigenvalues of $p$:
$$
\xi_{1,2}=(c \pm \sqrt{c^2 - 8\epsilon b}\,)/2,
$$
determine the type of the folded singularity in
system~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp}). In particular, $p$ is a folded
saddle if $b<0$, a folded saddle-node if $b=0$, and a folded node,
focus or centre if $b>0$. The key observation for our purposes is that
$b\ne0$ determines the direction of the flow on $F$ where
$d\hat{\tau}/d\hat{s}=0$ and $d\hat{x}/d\hat{s}= b\hat{\tau}+
O(\hat{\tau}^2)$.
In the case of a folded saddle ($b<0$), trajectories starting on $S^a$
and near $F$ reach $F$ when $-1\ll\hat{\tau}<0$, or flow away from $F$
onto $S^a$ when $0<\hat{\tau}\ll 1$
[Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(a)]. If a folded saddle is the only
folded singularity, then there are no additional changes in the
direction of the flow on $F$. The local behaviour for $0<\hat{\tau}\ll
1$ extends to $0<\hat{\tau}<\hat{\tau}_{\max}$, meaning no
trajectories started on $S^a$ for $\hat{\tau}>0$ ever reach
$F$. Hence, an isolated folded saddle implies a singular threshold.
What is more, the threshold is given by the singular folded saddle
canard. This can be seen by noting that, in the desingularised
system~(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}), the separatrix between
trajectories starting on $S^a$ that reach $F$ and those that never
reach $F$ is the stable manifold of the saddle equilibrium. This
stable manifold becomes the singular folded saddle canard
$\gamma_{\delta}^S$ in system~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp})
[Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(a)].
If, in addition to a folded saddle, there are other folded
singularities, a singular threshold can no longer be guaranteed
[e.g. Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(c)], nor excluded
[e.g. Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(b)]. To obtain the threshold, one
needs to study the behaviour of trajectories started on $S^a$;
see the analysis of Case 1 in Section~3.
In the special case of a folded saddle-node ($b=0$), the
flow on $F$ in system~(\ref{eq:fastn})--(\ref{eq:tn}) is determined by
$d\hat{x}/d\hat{s}= O(\hat{\tau}^2)$. This means there is no change
in the sign of the flow at $p$
[e.g. Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(f)]. A folded saddle-node is
structurally unstable. Under arbitrarily small variation of system
parameters, it unfolds into a folded saddle at positive $\hat{\tau}$
and a folded node at negative $\hat{\tau}$ (multiple singularities discussed in the
paragraph above), or into no singularities.
In the case of a folded node, focus or centre ($b>0$), trajectories
starting on $S^a$ and sufficiently close to $F$ flow away from $F$
onto $S^a$ when $-1\ll\hat{\tau}<0$, or reach $F$ when
$0<\hat{\tau}\ll 1$; see an example of an unstable folded node in
Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(d). For $b \geq0$, a singular
threshold cannot be guaranteed
[e.g. Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(f)--(g)], nor excluded
[e.g. Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(d)--(e)].
Secondly, assume there are no folded singularities. If
the flow on $F$ in system~(\ref{eq:fastn})--(\ref{eq:tn}) points
towards $S^a$, a singular threshold can be excluded. If the flow on
$F$ points towards $S^r$, a singular threshold cannot be guaranteed,
nor excluded [restricting the $(\hat{\tau}_{\min},\hat{\tau}_{\max})$
interval to the lower part of the phase portrait in
Fig.~\ref{fig:phaseportraits}(d) gives a singular threshold without a
folded singularity].
Finally, if $\hat{\tau}_{\max}$ is positive and finite,
there may be `spurious' singular thresholds in phase portraits with a
folded singularity and $b\ge0$, or with no folded singularities, where
all trajectories starting on $S^a$ and near $F$ for $\hat{\tau}>0$
flow towards $F$. However, because $\hat{\tau}_{\max}$ is finite, some of these
trajectories will simply fail to reach $F$ by $\hat{\tau}_{\max}$.
It turns out that many examples of a singular threshold described
above, including the `spurious' singular threshold, can be eliminated
with a sensible assumption about $\lambda(\tau)$.
\subsubsection*{Part 2}
A more definitive statement about instability thresholds can be made
when $\tau_{\max}=\infty$, and the external input is
asymptotically constant, i.e. $\lambda(\tau)$ satisfies condition~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}).
Assume there is a singular threshold. On the one hand, it follows from
assumption (A1) and from condition~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}) that, for sufficiently large ${\tau}$,
trajectories started on $S^a$ and near $F$ must flow onto $S^a$ and
approach $\tilde{x}$. On the other hand, a singular threshold
requires trajectories that start on $S^a$ and reach $F$. Hence, the
flow on $F$ in the desingularised system
(\ref{eq:fastd})--(\ref{eq:td}) must point towards $S^a$
for large values of $\tau$, and towards $S^r$ for lower values of
$\tau$. Such a change in the direction of the flow on $F$ requires a
folded singularity with $b>0$
in~(\ref{eq:fastn})--(\ref{eq:tn}). Hence, a folded saddle is
necessary for a singular threshold.
Assume there is a folded saddle singularity. There are two possible
situations. First, a folded saddle is the only folded
singularity. Second, a folded saddle is one of many folded
singularities. In the second situation, assumption (A1)
and condition~(\ref{eq:asymptotic}) require that, typically, the
folded singularity with the largest $\tau$-component is a folded
saddle. ``Typically'' excludes a folded saddle-node which is not
structurally stable. In both situations, there is a singular
threshold by the argument used for an isolated folded saddle in Part 1
of this proof. Hence, a folded saddle is sufficient for a singular
threshold.
\subsubsection*{Part 3}
In the last step of the proof we use theorems from canard theory
stating that the singular canards due to a folded
saddle~\cite[Th.~4.1]{Szmolyan2001}, a folded
node~\cite[Th.~4.1]{Szmolyan2001}\cite[Prop.~4.1]{Wechselberger2005},
and a folded saddle-node type I~\cite[Ths.~4.1 and~4.4]{Vo2014}, perturb
to {\it maximal canards} in~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}) with
$0<\delta \ll 1$.
Maximal canards are transverse, robust intersections of
two-dimensional attracting $S_{\delta}^a$ and repelling $S_{\delta}^r$
slow manifolds~\cite{Szmolyan2001,Wechselberger2005}. Such
intersections are possible in system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t})
because the slow manifolds $S_{\delta}^a$ and $S_{\delta}^r$ can be
extended across the fold~\cite{Desroches2012}. Starting on
$S_{\delta}^a$ and near the fold, trajectories jump off $S_{\delta}^a$
in the fast $x$-direction on one side of such intersections,
and flow
onto $S_{\delta}^a$ on the other side~\cite[Fig. 13]{Szmolyan2001}.
Thus, a singular threshold in system~(\ref{eq:fastp})--(\ref{eq:tp})
implies an instability threshold in
system~(\ref{eq:fast})--(\ref{eq:t}), and in the original
system~(\ref{eq:ofast})--(\ref{eq:oslow}).\\
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 1,732 |
Raletta
We Make IT Happen
Here are the Top Industries that have been Revolutionised by Tech
by Carlina / December 3, 2021 December 6, 2021
Throughout the entire 21st Century, it would seem that the world has seen how much tech has evolved. It has changed our lives for the better. For example, now you have smartphones, self-driving cars and even tech sectors where investments are booming. That raises the question, which industries have been changed the most by tech, and which ones are going to see big benefits in the future?
Source: Pexels (CC0 License)
The healthcare sector has, and will always be one of the biggest industries to be transformed by tech. The IoMT or the Internet of Medical Things is one of the biggest tech advancements in the world. It is improving the way that professionals view their patients and the healthcare issues that they have. With this kind of revolutionary tech in place, it's safe to say that patients are now getting access to a higher level of care. People can now access glucose-monitoring technology and they can also view their health data via their apps as well.
The Casino Industry
If you look at the casino industry, you will soon see that it has radically transformed as well. At one point, you would have had to go into a brick and mortar casino if you wanted to play roulette, poker or blackjack for example, but now you can do it all online. You can play online blackjack, poker, roulette or anything else you could ever want and you don't even need to leave your armchair. This is only possible, because of the huge tech movement that is happening right now.
The Automotive Industry
Another very exciting and somewhat revolutionary movement that is happening right now would be tech and the automotive industry. Operations in Google's own Waymo cars have begun to offer driverless possibilities as well as taxi services. When you look at the implementation of driverless cars, you will soon see that the tech sector has transformed the nature of how vehicles operate as well as improving efficiency. Human error is also reduced, which is spearheading the driverless movement for the future.
Technology has transformed the manufacturing industry as well. When you look at technological advancements, you will soon see that manufacturers can easily use tech to print out products much faster. They can also rocket their time efficiency while boosting productivity. This is across the manufacturing business as a whole, which is remarkable, to say the least.
Finance is yet another industry that is being completely transformed by tech. It is becoming more and more accessible when you look at the online world, too. Online banking is becoming popular when you look at the way people access and manage their finances. Some banks are even providing an app for account holders so that they can manage their accounts with ease. This has led to a huge boom in fintech, which is again, largely because of the progress that has been made with technology in general. This is amazing, to say the least, and it just goes to show how much things have changed.
Automotive Industryautonomous car technologyHealthcare SectorHolographic TechnologyManufacturingRevolutionised by TechSelf Driven Car TechnologyTechTechnology
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Copyright © 2022 Raletta. All rights reserved. | {
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} | 799 |
//===== Copyright © 1996-2005, Valve Corporation, All rights reserved. ======//
//
// Purpose:
//
//===========================================================================//
#include "cbase.h"
#include "view.h"
#include "iviewrender.h"
#include "iviewrender_beams.h"
#include "view_shared.h"
#include "ivieweffects.h"
#include "iinput.h"
#include "iclientmode.h"
#include "prediction.h"
#include "viewrender.h"
#include "c_te_legacytempents.h"
#include "cl_mat_stub.h"
#include "tier0/vprof.h"
#include "IClientVehicle.h"
#include "engine/IEngineTrace.h"
#include "mathlib/vmatrix.h"
#include "rendertexture.h"
#include "c_world.h"
#include <KeyValues.h>
#include "igameevents.h"
#include "smoke_fog_overlay.h"
#include "bitmap/tgawriter.h"
#include "hltvcamera.h"
#if defined( REPLAY_ENABLED )
#include "replaycamera.h"
#endif
#include "input.h"
#include "filesystem.h"
#include "materialsystem/itexture.h"
#include "toolframework_client.h"
#include "tier0/icommandline.h"
#include "IEngineVGui.h"
#include <vgui_controls/Controls.h>
#include <vgui/ISurface.h>
#include "ScreenSpaceEffects.h"
#include "vgui_int.h"
#include "engine/sndinfo.h"
#ifdef GAMEUI_UISYSTEM2_ENABLED
#include "gameui.h"
#endif
#ifdef GAMEUI_EMBEDDED
/*#if defined( SWARM_DLL )
#include "swarm/gameui/swarm/basemodpanel.h"
#else
#error "GAMEUI_EMBEDDED"
#endif*/
#include "hl2/gameui/hl2/basemodpanel.h"
#endif
#ifdef INFESTED_DLL
#include "c_asw_marine.h"
#endif
#if defined( HL2_CLIENT_DLL ) || defined( INFESTED_DLL )
#define USE_MONITORS
#endif
// memdbgon must be the last include file in a .cpp file!!!
#include "tier0/memdbgon.h"
void ToolFramework_AdjustEngineViewport( int& x, int& y, int& width, int& height );
bool ToolFramework_SetupEngineView( Vector &origin, QAngle &angles, float &fov );
bool ToolFramework_SetupEngineMicrophone( Vector &origin, QAngle &angles );
extern ConVar default_fov;
extern bool g_bRenderingScreenshot;
#if !defined( _X360 )
#define SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_WIDTH 180
#define SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_HEIGHT 100
#else
#define SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_WIDTH 128
#define SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_HEIGHT 128
#endif
#ifndef _XBOX
extern ConVar sensitivity;
#endif
ConVar zoom_sensitivity_ratio( "zoom_sensitivity_ratio", "1.0", 0, "Additional mouse sensitivity scale factor applied when FOV is zoomed in." );
// Each MOD implements GetViewRenderInstance() and provides either a default object or a subclassed object!!!
IViewRender *view = NULL; // set in cldll_client_init.cpp if no mod creates their own
#if _DEBUG
bool g_bRenderingCameraView = false;
#endif
static Vector g_vecRenderOrigin[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
static QAngle g_vecRenderAngles[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
static Vector g_vecPrevRenderOrigin[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ]; // Last frame's render origin
static QAngle g_vecPrevRenderAngles[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ]; // Last frame's render angles
static Vector g_vecVForward[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ], g_vecVRight[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ], g_vecVUp[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
static VMatrix g_matCamInverse[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
extern ConVar cl_forwardspeed;
static ConVar v_centermove( "v_centermove", "0.15");
static ConVar v_centerspeed( "v_centerspeed","500" );
// 54 degrees approximates a 35mm camera - we determined that this makes the viewmodels
// and motions look the most natural.
ConVar v_viewmodel_fov( "viewmodel_fov", "54", FCVAR_CHEAT );
static ConVar mat_viewportscale( "mat_viewportscale", "1.0", FCVAR_CHEAT, "Scale down the main viewport (to reduce GPU impact on CPU profiling)",
true, (1.0f / 640.0f), true, 1.0f );
ConVar cl_leveloverview( "cl_leveloverview", "0", FCVAR_CHEAT );
ConVar r_mapextents( "r_mapextents", "16384", FCVAR_CHEAT,
"Set the max dimension for the map. This determines the far clipping plane" );
static ConVar cl_camera_follow_bone_index( "cl_camera_follow_bone_index" , "-2", FCVAR_CHEAT, "Index of the bone to follow. -2 == disabled. -1 == root bone. 0+ is bone index." );
Vector g_cameraFollowPos;
// UNDONE: Delete this or move to the material system?
ConVar gl_clear( "gl_clear","0");
ConVar gl_clear_randomcolor( "gl_clear_randomcolor", "0", FCVAR_CHEAT, "Clear the back buffer to random colors every frame. Helps spot open seams in geometry." );
static ConVar r_farz( "r_farz", "-1", FCVAR_CHEAT, "Override the far clipping plane. -1 means to use the value in env_fog_controller." );
static ConVar cl_demoviewoverride( "cl_demoviewoverride", "0", 0, "Override view during demo playback" );
static Vector s_DemoView;
static QAngle s_DemoAngle;
static void CalcDemoViewOverride( Vector &origin, QAngle &angles )
{
engine->SetViewAngles( s_DemoAngle );
input->ExtraMouseSample( gpGlobals->absoluteframetime, true );
engine->GetViewAngles( s_DemoAngle );
Vector forward, right, up;
AngleVectors( s_DemoAngle, &forward, &right, &up );
float speed = gpGlobals->absoluteframetime * cl_demoviewoverride.GetFloat() * 320;
s_DemoView += speed * input->KeyState (&in_forward) * forward ;
s_DemoView -= speed * input->KeyState (&in_back) * forward ;
s_DemoView += speed * input->KeyState (&in_moveright) * right ;
s_DemoView -= speed * input->KeyState (&in_moveleft) * right ;
origin = s_DemoView;
angles = s_DemoAngle;
}
CViewSetup &CViewRender::GetView(int nSlot /*= -1*/)
{
Assert( m_bAllowViewAccess );
if ( nSlot == -1 )
{
ASSERT_LOCAL_PLAYER_RESOLVABLE();
return m_UserView[ GET_ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_SLOT() ];
}
return m_UserView[ nSlot ];
}
const CViewSetup &CViewRender::GetView(int nSlot /*= -1*/) const
{
Assert( m_bAllowViewAccess );
if ( nSlot == -1 )
{
ASSERT_LOCAL_PLAYER_RESOLVABLE();
return m_UserView[ GET_ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_SLOT() ];
}
return m_UserView[ nSlot ];
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Accessors to return the main view (where the player's looking)
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
const Vector &MainViewOrigin( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecRenderOrigin[ nSlot ];
}
const QAngle &MainViewAngles( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecRenderAngles[ nSlot ];
}
const Vector &MainViewForward( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecVForward[ nSlot ];
}
const Vector &MainViewRight( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecVRight[ nSlot ];
}
const Vector &MainViewUp( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecVUp[ nSlot ];
}
const VMatrix &MainWorldToViewMatrix( int nSlot )
{
return g_matCamInverse[ nSlot ];
}
const Vector &PrevMainViewOrigin( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecPrevRenderOrigin[ nSlot ];
}
const QAngle &PrevMainViewAngles( int nSlot )
{
return g_vecPrevRenderAngles[ nSlot ];
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Compute the world->camera transform
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void ComputeCameraVariables( const Vector &vecOrigin, const QAngle &vecAngles,
Vector *pVecForward, Vector *pVecRight, Vector *pVecUp, VMatrix *pMatCamInverse )
{
// Compute view bases
AngleVectors( vecAngles, pVecForward, pVecRight, pVecUp );
for (int i = 0; i < 3; ++i)
{
(*pMatCamInverse)[0][i] = (*pVecRight)[i];
(*pMatCamInverse)[1][i] = (*pVecUp)[i];
(*pMatCamInverse)[2][i] = -(*pVecForward)[i];
(*pMatCamInverse)[3][i] = 0.0F;
}
(*pMatCamInverse)[0][3] = -DotProduct( *pVecRight, vecOrigin );
(*pMatCamInverse)[1][3] = -DotProduct( *pVecUp, vecOrigin );
(*pMatCamInverse)[2][3] = DotProduct( *pVecForward, vecOrigin );
(*pMatCamInverse)[3][3] = 1.0F;
}
bool R_CullSphere(
VPlane const *pPlanes,
int nPlanes,
Vector const *pCenter,
float radius)
{
for(int i=0; i < nPlanes; i++)
if(pPlanes[i].DistTo(*pCenter) < -radius)
return true;
return false;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose:
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
static void StartPitchDrift( void )
{
view->StartPitchDrift();
}
static ConCommand centerview( "centerview", StartPitchDrift );
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Initializes all view systems
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::Init( void )
{
memset( &m_PitchDrift, 0, sizeof( m_PitchDrift ) );
m_bDrawOverlay = false;
m_pDrawEntities = cvar->FindVar( "r_drawentities" );
m_pDrawBrushModels = cvar->FindVar( "r_drawbrushmodels" );
beams->InitBeams();
tempents->Init();
m_TranslucentSingleColor.Init( "debug/debugtranslucentsinglecolor", TEXTURE_GROUP_OTHER );
m_ModulateSingleColor.Init( "engine/modulatesinglecolor", TEXTURE_GROUP_OTHER );
m_WhiteMaterial.Init( "vgui/white", TEXTURE_GROUP_OTHER );
extern CMaterialReference g_material_WriteZ;
g_material_WriteZ.Init( "engine/writez", TEXTURE_GROUP_OTHER );
for ( int i = 0; i < MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ; ++i )
{
g_vecRenderOrigin[ i ].Init();
g_vecRenderAngles[ i ].Init();
g_vecPrevRenderOrigin[ i ].Init();
g_vecPrevRenderAngles[ i ].Init();
g_vecVForward[ i ].Init();
g_vecVRight[ i ].Init();
g_vecVUp[ i ].Init();
g_matCamInverse[ i ].Identity();
}
}
CMaterialReference &CViewRender::GetWhite()
{
return m_WhiteMaterial;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Called once per level change
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::LevelInit( void )
{
beams->ClearBeams();
tempents->Clear();
m_BuildWorldListsNumber = 0;
m_BuildRenderableListsNumber = 0;
for ( int i = 0 ; i < MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS; ++i )
{
m_FreezeParams[ i ].m_bTakeFreezeFrame = false;
m_FreezeParams[ i ].m_flFreezeFrameUntil = 0;
}
// Clear our overlay materials
m_ScreenOverlayMaterial.Init( NULL );
// Init all IScreenSpaceEffects
g_pScreenSpaceEffects->InitScreenSpaceEffects( );
InitFadeData();
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Called once per level change
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::LevelShutdown( void )
{
g_pScreenSpaceEffects->ShutdownScreenSpaceEffects( );
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Called at shutdown
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::Shutdown( void )
{
m_TranslucentSingleColor.Shutdown();
m_ModulateSingleColor.Shutdown();
m_WhiteMaterial.Shutdown();
beams->ShutdownBeams();
tempents->Shutdown();
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Returns the worldlists build number
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
int CViewRender::BuildWorldListsNumber( void ) const
{
return m_BuildWorldListsNumber;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Start moving pitch toward ideal
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::StartPitchDrift (void)
{
if ( m_PitchDrift.laststop == gpGlobals->curtime )
{
// Something else is blocking the drift.
return;
}
if ( m_PitchDrift.nodrift || !m_PitchDrift.pitchvel )
{
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = v_centerspeed.GetFloat();
m_PitchDrift.nodrift = false;
m_PitchDrift.driftmove = 0;
}
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose:
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::StopPitchDrift (void)
{
m_PitchDrift.laststop = gpGlobals->curtime;
m_PitchDrift.nodrift = true;
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = 0;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Moves the client pitch angle towards cl.idealpitch sent by the server.
// If the user is adjusting pitch manually, either with lookup/lookdown,
// mlook and mouse, or klook and keyboard, pitch drifting is constantly stopped.
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::DriftPitch (void)
{
float delta, move;
C_BasePlayer *player = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
if ( !player )
return;
#if defined( REPLAY_ENABLED )
if ( g_bEngineIsHLTV || engine->IsReplay() || ( player->GetGroundEntity() == NULL ) || engine->IsPlayingDemo() )
#else
if ( g_bEngineIsHLTV || ( player->GetGroundEntity() == NULL ) || engine->IsPlayingDemo() )
#endif
{
m_PitchDrift.driftmove = 0;
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = 0;
return;
}
// Don't count small mouse motion
if ( m_PitchDrift.nodrift )
{
if ( fabs( input->GetLastForwardMove() ) < cl_forwardspeed.GetFloat() )
{
m_PitchDrift.driftmove = 0;
}
else
{
m_PitchDrift.driftmove += gpGlobals->frametime;
}
if ( m_PitchDrift.driftmove > v_centermove.GetFloat() )
{
StartPitchDrift ();
}
return;
}
// How far off are we
delta = prediction->GetIdealPitch( player->GetSplitScreenPlayerSlot() ) - player->GetAbsAngles()[ PITCH ];
if ( !delta )
{
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = 0;
return;
}
// Determine movement amount
move = gpGlobals->frametime * m_PitchDrift.pitchvel;
// Accelerate
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel += gpGlobals->frametime * v_centerspeed.GetFloat();
// Move predicted pitch appropriately
if (delta > 0)
{
if ( move > delta )
{
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = 0;
move = delta;
}
player->SetLocalAngles( player->GetLocalAngles() + QAngle( move, 0, 0 ) );
}
else if ( delta < 0 )
{
if ( move > -delta )
{
m_PitchDrift.pitchvel = 0;
move = -delta;
}
player->SetLocalAngles( player->GetLocalAngles() - QAngle( move, 0, 0 ) );
}
}
// This is called by cdll_client_int to setup view model origins. This has to be done before
// simulation so entities can access attachment points on view models during simulation.
void CViewRender::OnRenderStart()
{
VPROF_("CViewRender::OnRenderStart", 2, VPROF_BUDGETGROUP_OTHER_UNACCOUNTED, false, 0);
IterateRemoteSplitScreenViewSlots_Push( true );
FOR_EACH_VALID_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER( hh )
{
ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER_GUARD_VGUI( hh );
// This will fill in one of the m_UserView[ hh ] slots
SetUpView();
// Adjust mouse sensitivity based upon the current FOV
C_BasePlayer *player = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
if ( player )
{
default_fov.SetValue( player->m_iDefaultFOV );
//Update our FOV, including any zooms going on
int iDefaultFOV = default_fov.GetInt();
int localFOV = player->GetFOV();
int min_fov = player->GetMinFOV();
// Don't let it go too low
localFOV = MAX( min_fov, localFOV );
GetHud().m_flFOVSensitivityAdjust = 1.0f;
#ifndef _XBOX
if ( GetHud().m_flMouseSensitivityFactor )
{
GetHud().m_flMouseSensitivity = sensitivity.GetFloat() * GetHud().m_flMouseSensitivityFactor;
}
else
#endif
{
// No override, don't use huge sensitivity
if ( localFOV == iDefaultFOV )
{
#ifndef _XBOX
// reset to saved sensitivity
GetHud().m_flMouseSensitivity = 0;
#endif
}
else
{
// Set a new sensitivity that is proportional to the change from the FOV default and scaled
// by a separate compensating factor
if ( iDefaultFOV == 0 )
{
Assert(0); // would divide by zero, something is broken with iDefatulFOV
iDefaultFOV = 1;
}
GetHud().m_flFOVSensitivityAdjust =
((float)localFOV / (float)iDefaultFOV) * // linear fov downscale
zoom_sensitivity_ratio.GetFloat(); // sensitivity scale factor
#ifndef _XBOX
GetHud().m_flMouseSensitivity = GetHud().m_flFOVSensitivityAdjust * sensitivity.GetFloat(); // regular sensitivity
#endif
}
}
}
}
// Setup the frustum cache for this frame.
m_bAllowViewAccess = true;
FOR_EACH_VALID_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER( iSlot )
{
const CViewSetup &view = GetView( iSlot );
FrustumCache()->Add( &view, iSlot );
}
FrustumCache()->SetUpdated();
m_bAllowViewAccess = false;
IterateRemoteSplitScreenViewSlots_Pop();
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose:
// Output : const CViewSetup
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
const CViewSetup *CViewRender::GetViewSetup( void ) const
{
return &m_CurrentView;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose:
// Output : const CViewSetup
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
const CViewSetup *CViewRender::GetPlayerViewSetup( int nSlot /*= -1*/ ) const
{
// NOTE: This code path doesn't require m_bAllowViewAccess == true!!!
if ( nSlot == -1 )
{
ASSERT_LOCAL_PLAYER_RESOLVABLE();
return &m_UserView[ GET_ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_SLOT() ];
}
return &m_UserView[ nSlot ];
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose:
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::DisableVis( void )
{
m_bForceNoVis = true;
}
#ifdef DBGFLAG_ASSERT
static Vector s_DbgSetupOrigin[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
static QAngle s_DbgSetupAngles[ MAX_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYERS ];
#endif
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Gets znear + zfar
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
float CViewRender::GetZNear()
{
return VIEW_NEARZ;
}
float CViewRender::GetZFar()
{
// Initialize view structure with default values
float farZ;
if ( r_farz.GetFloat() < 1 )
{
// Use the far Z from the map's parameters.
farZ = r_mapextents.GetFloat() * 1.73205080757f;
C_BasePlayer *pPlayer = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
if( pPlayer && pPlayer->GetFogParams() )
{
if ( pPlayer->GetFogParams()->farz > 0 )
{
farZ = pPlayer->GetFogParams()->farz;
}
}
}
else
{
farZ = r_farz.GetFloat();
}
return farZ;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Sets up the view parameters
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::SetUpView()
{
ASSERT_LOCAL_PLAYER_RESOLVABLE();
int nSlot = GET_ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_SLOT();
m_bAllowViewAccess = true;
VPROF("CViewRender::SetUpView");
// Initialize view structure with default values
float farZ = GetZFar();
CViewSetup &view = GetView();
view.zFar = farZ;
view.zFarViewmodel = farZ;
// UNDONE: Make this farther out?
// closest point of approach seems to be view center to top of crouched box
view.zNear = GetZNear();
view.zNearViewmodel = 1;
view.fov = default_fov.GetFloat();
view.m_bOrtho = false;
// Enable spatial partition access to edicts
partition->SuppressLists( PARTITION_ALL_CLIENT_EDICTS, false );
C_BasePlayer *pPlayer = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
bool bNoViewEnt = false;
if( pPlayer == NULL )
{
pPlayer = GetSplitScreenViewPlayer( nSlot );
bNoViewEnt = true;
}
if ( g_bEngineIsHLTV )
{
HLTVCamera()->CalcView( view.origin, view.angles, view.fov );
}
#if defined( REPLAY_ENABLED )
else if ( engine->IsReplay() )
{
ReplayCamera()->CalcView( view.origin, view.angles, view.fov );
}
#endif
else
{
// FIXME: Are there multiple views? If so, then what?
// FIXME: What happens when there's no player?
if (pPlayer)
{
pPlayer->CalcView( view.origin, view.angles, view.zNear, view.zFar, view.fov );
// If we are looking through another entities eyes, then override the angles/origin for GetView()
int viewentity = render->GetViewEntity();
if ( !bNoViewEnt && !g_nKillCamMode && (pPlayer->entindex() != viewentity) )
{
C_BaseEntity *ve = cl_entitylist->GetEnt( viewentity );
if ( ve )
{
VectorCopy( ve->GetAbsOrigin(), view.origin );
VectorCopy( ve->GetAbsAngles(), view.angles );
}
}
pPlayer->CalcViewModelView( view.origin, view.angles );
// Is this the proper place for this code?
if ( cl_camera_follow_bone_index.GetInt() >= -1 && input->CAM_IsThirdPerson() )
{
VectorCopy( g_cameraFollowPos, view.origin );
}
}
// Even if the engine is paused need to override the view
// for keeping the camera control during pause.
GetClientMode()->OverrideView( &GetView() );
}
// give the toolsystem a chance to override the view
ToolFramework_SetupEngineView( view.origin, view.angles, view.fov );
if ( engine->IsPlayingDemo() )
{
if ( cl_demoviewoverride.GetFloat() > 0.0f )
{
// Retreive view angles from engine ( could have been set in IN_AdjustAngles above )
CalcDemoViewOverride( view.origin, view.angles );
}
else
{
s_DemoView = view.origin;
s_DemoAngle = view.angles;
}
}
// Disable spatial partition access
partition->SuppressLists( PARTITION_ALL_CLIENT_EDICTS, true );
//Find the offset our current FOV is from the default value
float flFOVOffset = default_fov.GetFloat() - view.fov;
//Adjust the viewmodel's FOV to move with any FOV offsets on the viewer's end
view.fovViewmodel = GetClientMode()->GetViewModelFOV() - flFOVOffset;
// Compute the world->main camera transform
ComputeCameraVariables( view.origin, view.angles,
&g_vecVForward[ nSlot ], &g_vecVRight[ nSlot ], &g_vecVUp[ nSlot ], &g_matCamInverse[ nSlot ] );
// set up the hearing origin...
AudioState_t audioState;
audioState.m_Origin = view.origin;
audioState.m_Angles = view.angles;
audioState.m_bIsUnderwater = pPlayer && pPlayer->AudioStateIsUnderwater( view.origin );
ToolFramework_SetupAudioState( audioState );
view.origin = audioState.m_Origin;
view.angles = audioState.m_Angles;
GetClientMode()->OverrideAudioState( &audioState );
engine->SetAudioState( audioState );
g_vecPrevRenderOrigin[ nSlot ] = g_vecRenderOrigin[ nSlot ];
g_vecPrevRenderAngles[ nSlot ] = g_vecRenderAngles[ nSlot ];
g_vecRenderOrigin[ nSlot ] = view.origin;
g_vecRenderAngles[ nSlot ] = view.angles;
#ifdef DBGFLAG_ASSERT
s_DbgSetupOrigin[ nSlot ] = view.origin;
s_DbgSetupAngles[ nSlot ] = view.angles;
#endif
m_bAllowViewAccess = false;
}
void CViewRender::WriteSaveGameScreenshotOfSize( const char *pFilename, int width, int height )
{
CMatRenderContextPtr pRenderContext( materials );
pRenderContext->MatrixMode( MATERIAL_PROJECTION );
pRenderContext->PushMatrix();
pRenderContext->MatrixMode( MATERIAL_VIEW );
pRenderContext->PushMatrix();
g_bRenderingScreenshot = true;
m_bAllowViewAccess = true;
// Push back buffer on the stack with small viewport
pRenderContext->PushRenderTargetAndViewport( NULL, 0, 0, width, height );
// render out to the backbuffer
CViewSetup viewSetup = GetView();
viewSetup.x = 0;
viewSetup.y = 0;
viewSetup.width = width;
viewSetup.height = height;
viewSetup.fov = ScaleFOVByWidthRatio( GetView().fov, ( (float)width / (float)height ) / ( 4.0f / 3.0f ) );
viewSetup.m_bRenderToSubrectOfLargerScreen = true;
// draw out the scene
// Don't draw the HUD or the viewmodel
RenderView( viewSetup, viewSetup, VIEW_CLEAR_DEPTH | VIEW_CLEAR_COLOR, 0 );
// get the data from the backbuffer and save to disk
// bitmap bits
unsigned char *pImage = ( unsigned char * )malloc( width * 3 * height );
// Get Bits from the material system
pRenderContext->ReadPixels( 0, 0, width, height, pImage, IMAGE_FORMAT_RGB888 );
// allocate a buffer to write the tga into
int iMaxTGASize = 1024 + (width * height * 4);
void *pTGA = malloc( iMaxTGASize );
CUtlBuffer buffer( pTGA, iMaxTGASize );
if( !TGAWriter::WriteToBuffer( pImage, buffer, width, height, IMAGE_FORMAT_RGB888, IMAGE_FORMAT_RGB888 ) )
{
Error( "Couldn't write bitmap data snapshot.\n" );
}
free( pImage );
// async write to disk (this will take ownership of the memory)
char szPathedFileName[_MAX_PATH];
Q_snprintf( szPathedFileName, sizeof(szPathedFileName), "//MOD/%s", pFilename );
filesystem->AsyncWrite( szPathedFileName, buffer.Base(), buffer.TellPut(), true );
// restore our previous state
pRenderContext->PopRenderTargetAndViewport();
pRenderContext->MatrixMode( MATERIAL_PROJECTION );
pRenderContext->PopMatrix();
pRenderContext->MatrixMode( MATERIAL_VIEW );
pRenderContext->PopMatrix();
g_bRenderingScreenshot = false;
m_bAllowViewAccess = false;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: takes a screenshot of the save game
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::WriteSaveGameScreenshot( const char *pFilename )
{
WriteSaveGameScreenshotOfSize( pFilename, SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_WIDTH, SAVEGAME_SCREENSHOT_HEIGHT );
}
float ScaleFOVByWidthRatio( float fovDegrees, float ratio )
{
float halfAngleRadians = fovDegrees * ( 0.5f * M_PI / 180.0f );
float t = tan( halfAngleRadians );
t *= ratio;
float retDegrees = ( 180.0f / M_PI ) * atan( t );
return retDegrees * 2.0f;
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Sets view parameters for level overview mode
// Input : *rect -
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
void CViewRender::SetUpOverView()
{
static int oldCRC = 0;
GetView().m_bOrtho = true;
float aspect = (float)GetView().width/(float)GetView().height;
int size_y = 1024.0f * cl_leveloverview.GetFloat(); // scale factor, 1024 = OVERVIEW_MAP_SIZE
int size_x = size_y * aspect; // standard screen aspect
GetView().origin.x -= size_x / 2;
GetView().origin.y += size_y / 2;
GetView().m_OrthoLeft = 0;
GetView().m_OrthoTop = -size_y;
GetView().m_OrthoRight = size_x;
GetView().m_OrthoBottom = 0;
GetView().angles = QAngle( 90, 90, 0 );
// simple movement detector, show position if moved
int newCRC = GetView().origin.x + GetView().origin.y + GetView().origin.z;
if ( newCRC != oldCRC )
{
Msg( "Overview: scale %.2f, pos_x %.0f, pos_y %.0f\n", cl_leveloverview.GetFloat(),
GetView().origin.x, GetView().origin.y );
oldCRC = newCRC;
}
CMatRenderContextPtr pRenderContext( materials );
pRenderContext->ClearColor4ub( 0, 255, 0, 255 );
// render->DrawTopView( true );
}
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
// Purpose: Render current view into specified rectangle
// Input : *rect -
//-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
ConVar ss_debug_draw_player( "ss_debug_draw_player", "-1", FCVAR_CHEAT | FCVAR_DEVELOPMENTONLY );
void CViewRender::Render( vrect_t *rect )
{
VPROF_BUDGET( "CViewRender::Render", "CViewRender::Render" );
m_bAllowViewAccess = true;
CUtlVector< vgui::Panel * > roots;
VGui_GetPanelList( roots );
// Stub out the material system if necessary.
CMatStubHandler matStub;
engine->EngineStats_BeginFrame();
// Assume normal vis
m_bForceNoVis = false;
float flViewportScale = mat_viewportscale.GetFloat();
vrect_t engineRect = *rect;
// The tool framework wants to adjust the entire 3d viewport, not the per-split screen one from below
ToolFramework_AdjustEngineViewport( engineRect.x, engineRect.y, engineRect.width, engineRect.height );
IterateRemoteSplitScreenViewSlots_Push( true );
FOR_EACH_VALID_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER( hh )
{
ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER_GUARD_VGUI( hh );
CViewSetup &view = GetView( hh );
float engineAspectRatio = engine->GetScreenAspectRatio( view.width, view.height );
Assert( s_DbgSetupOrigin[ hh ] == view.origin );
Assert( s_DbgSetupAngles[ hh ] == view.angles );
// Using this API gives us a chance to "inset" the 3d views as needed for splitscreen
int insetX, insetY;
VGui_GetEngineRenderBounds( hh, view.x, view.y, view.width, view.height, insetX, insetY );
float aspectRatio = engineAspectRatio * 0.75f; // / (4/3)
view.fov = ScaleFOVByWidthRatio( view.fov, aspectRatio );
view.fovViewmodel = ScaleFOVByWidthRatio( view.fovViewmodel, aspectRatio );
// Let the client mode hook stuff.
GetClientMode()->PreRender( &view );
GetClientMode()->AdjustEngineViewport( view.x, view.y, view.width, view.height );
view.width *= flViewportScale;
view.height *= flViewportScale;
if ( IsX360() )
{
// view must be compliant to resolve restrictions
view.width = AlignValue( view.width, GPU_RESOLVE_ALIGNMENT );
view.height = AlignValue( view.height, GPU_RESOLVE_ALIGNMENT );
}
view.m_flAspectRatio = ( engineAspectRatio > 0.0f ) ? engineAspectRatio : ( (float)view.width / (float)view.height );
int nClearFlags = VIEW_CLEAR_DEPTH | VIEW_CLEAR_STENCIL;
if ( gl_clear_randomcolor.GetBool() )
{
CMatRenderContextPtr pRenderContext( materials );
pRenderContext->ClearColor3ub( rand()%256, rand()%256, rand()%256 );
pRenderContext->ClearBuffers( true, false, false );
pRenderContext->Release();
}
else if ( gl_clear.GetBool() )
{
nClearFlags |= VIEW_CLEAR_COLOR;
}
// Determine if we should draw view model ( client mode override )
bool drawViewModel = GetClientMode()->ShouldDrawViewModel();
// Apply any player specific overrides
C_BasePlayer *pPlayer = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
if ( pPlayer )
{
// Override view model if necessary
if ( !pPlayer->m_Local.m_bDrawViewmodel )
{
drawViewModel = false;
}
}
if ( cl_leveloverview.GetFloat() > 0 )
{
SetUpOverView();
nClearFlags |= VIEW_CLEAR_COLOR;
drawViewModel = false;
}
render->SetMainView( view.origin, view.angles );
int flags = (pPlayer == NULL) ? 0 : RENDERVIEW_DRAWHUD;
if ( drawViewModel )
{
flags |= RENDERVIEW_DRAWVIEWMODEL;
}
// This is the hook for per-split screen player views
C_BaseEntity::PreRenderEntities( hh );
if ( ( ss_debug_draw_player.GetInt() < 0 ) || ( hh == ss_debug_draw_player.GetInt() ) )
{
CViewSetup hudViewSetup;
VGui_GetHudBounds( hh, hudViewSetup.x, hudViewSetup.y, hudViewSetup.width, hudViewSetup.height );
RenderView( view, hudViewSetup, nClearFlags, flags );
}
GetClientMode()->PostRender();
}
IterateRemoteSplitScreenViewSlots_Pop();
engine->EngineStats_EndFrame();
#if !defined( _X360 )
// Stop stubbing the material system so we can see the budget panel
matStub.End();
#endif
// Render the new-style embedded UI
// TODO: when embedded UI will be used for HUD, we will need it to maintain
// a separate screen for HUD and a separate screen stack for pause menu & main menu.
// for now only render embedded UI in pause menu & main menu
#if defined( GAMEUI_UISYSTEM2_ENABLED ) && 0
BaseModUI::CBaseModPanel *pBaseModPanel = BaseModUI::CBaseModPanel::GetSingletonPtr();
// render the new-style embedded UI only if base mod panel is not visible (game-hud)
// otherwise base mod panel will render the embedded UI on top of video/productscreen
if ( !pBaseModPanel || !pBaseModPanel->IsVisible() )
{
Rect_t uiViewport;
uiViewport.x = rect->x;
uiViewport.y = rect->y;
uiViewport.width = rect->width;
uiViewport.height = rect->height;
g_pGameUIGameSystem->Render( uiViewport, gpGlobals->curtime );
}
#endif
// Draw all of the UI stuff "fullscreen"
if ( true ) // For PIXEVENT
{
#if PIX_ENABLE
{
CMatRenderContextPtr pRenderContext( materials );
PIXEVENT( pRenderContext, "VGui UI" );
}
#endif
CViewSetup view2d;
view2d.x = rect->x;
view2d.y = rect->y;
view2d.width = rect->width;
view2d.height = rect->height;
render->Push2DView( view2d, 0, NULL, GetFrustum() );
render->VGui_Paint( PAINT_UIPANELS );
{
// The engine here is trying to access CurrentView() etc. which is bogus
ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_PLAYER_GUARD( 0 );
render->PopView( GetFrustum() );
}
}
m_bAllowViewAccess = false;
}
static void GetPos( const CCommand &args, Vector &vecOrigin, QAngle &angles )
{
int nSlot = GET_ACTIVE_SPLITSCREEN_SLOT();
vecOrigin = MainViewOrigin(nSlot);
angles = MainViewAngles(nSlot);
#ifdef INFESTED_DLL
C_ASW_Marine *pMarine = C_ASW_Marine::GetLocalMarine();
if ( pMarine )
{
vecOrigin = pMarine->GetAbsOrigin();
angles = pMarine->GetAbsAngles();
}
#endif
if ( ( args.ArgC() == 2 && atoi( args[1] ) == 2 ) || FStrEq( args[0], "getpos_exact" ) )
{
C_BasePlayer *pPlayer = C_BasePlayer::GetLocalPlayer();
if ( pPlayer )
{
vecOrigin = pPlayer->GetAbsOrigin();
angles = pPlayer->GetAbsAngles();
}
}
}
CON_COMMAND( spec_pos, "dump position and angles to the console" )
{
Vector vecOrigin;
QAngle angles;
GetPos( args, vecOrigin, angles );
Warning( "spec_goto %.1f %.1f %.1f %.1f %.1f\n", vecOrigin.x, vecOrigin.y,
vecOrigin.z, angles.x, angles.y );
}
CON_COMMAND( getpos, "dump position and angles to the console" )
{
Vector vecOrigin;
QAngle angles;
GetPos( args, vecOrigin, angles );
const char *pCommand1 = "setpos";
const char *pCommand2 = "setang";
if ( ( args.ArgC() == 2 && atoi( args[1] ) == 2 ) || FStrEq( args[0], "getpos_exact" ) )
{
pCommand1 = "setpos_exact";
pCommand2 = "setang_exact";
}
Warning( "%s %f %f %f;", pCommand1, vecOrigin.x, vecOrigin.y, vecOrigin.z );
Warning( "%s %f %f %f\n", pCommand2, angles.x, angles.y, angles.z );
}
ConCommand getpos_exact( "getpos_exact", getpos, "dump origin and angles to the console" );
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 2,260 |
Produced by Greg Bergquist, Diane Monico, and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was produced from images generously made available
by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.)
BY THE SEA
AND OTHER VERSES
_By_
_H. Lavinia Baily_
[Illustration]
BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
The Gorham Press
1907
_Copyright 1907 by H. Lavinia Baily_
_All Rights Reserved_
_The Gorham Press, Boston_
CONTENTS
Myself and You 7
By the Sea 8
At the Close of the Year 14
Risen 16
Elizabeth Crowned 18
Who is Sufficient 19
Peace 21
Boys and Girls 22
A Smile 23
A Sparrow Alone on the Housetop 24
To Mother 24
Psalm CXXI 25
To R. T. B. 26
On New Year, 1897 27
To Anna 27
A Song of Tens 28
Jessica 29
Transition 29
To A. H. B. 30
To Winnie 31
A Life Work 32
Visions 32
Be Ye also Ready 39
Mimosa 40
At the Crisis 41
On the Death of Dr. James E. Rhoads 42
Eternal Youth 43
Building Time 44
Sunrise 45
Neal Dow 47
"Paradise will Pay for All" 48
Forgiveness 49
A Lost Song? 51
A New Earth 52
Recall 53
Philistia's Triumph 54
The White Ribbon Army 55
Christmas 57
"A Day in June" 57
To-day 59
Losing Victories 59
Not Mine 61
In the Desert 61
A Phantom in the "Circle" 62
A Valentine 66
A Convention Hymn 66
A Collection Song 67
The Ballad of the Boundary Line 68
Margaret Lee 71
Soaring Upward 74
The End of the Road 75
BY THE SEA
_AND OTHER VERSES_
MYSELF AND YOU
There are only myself and you in the world,
There are only myself and you;
'Tis clear, then, that I unto you should be kind,
And that you unto me should be true.
And if I unto you could be always kind,
And you unto me could be true,
Then the criminal courts might all be adjourned,
And the sword would have nothing to do.
A few fertile acres are all that I need,--
Not more than a hundred or two,--
And the great, wide earth holds enough, I am sure,
Enough for myself and for you.
The sweet air of heaven is free to us all;
Upon all fall the rain and the dew;
And the glorious sun in his cycle of light
Shines alike on myself and on you.
The infinite love is as broad as the sky,
And as deep as the ocean's blue,
We may breathe it, bathe in it, live in it, aye,
It is _life_ for myself and for you.
And the Christ who came when the angels sang
Will come, if the song we renew,
And reign in his kingdom,--the Prince of Peace,--
Reigning over myself and you.
O, then, may I be unto you always kind,
And be you unto me always true;
So the land may rest from its turmoil and strife,
And the sword may have nothing to do.
BY THE SEA
AN ARGUMENT FOR PEACE
"You do but dream; the world will never see
Such time as this you picture, when the sword
Shall lie inglorious in its sheath, and be
No more of valorous deeds incentive or reward."
The ocean breezes fanned them where they sat,
At leisure from life's conflict, toil and care,
Yet not unthoughtful, nor unmindful that
In all its weal and woe they held their share.
The rose-light charm and pride of earliest youth
A chastening touch had toned to lovelier hue,
And the white soul of purity and truth
Looked out alike from eyes of brown and blue.
"I covet your fair hope," he spake again,
"I cannot share it; all the hoary past
Denies that mightier prowess of the pen
The poet claims, and proves it still surpassed
"By sword and musket and the arts of war.
And 'twere not so,--the query will return,
Albeit such conflict we must all abhor--
How should the fires of patriotism burn?
"Their flames are kindled by the flash of arms,
And fed by recount of heroic deed;
The sanguinary story has its charms
Tho the heart sicken o'er it as we read.
"And what were Greece without her Marathon?
Or Rome, had not her Caesars fought and won?
How reigns Britannia, Empress near and far,
But for her Waterloo and Trafalgar?
"And we, know not our souls a quickening thrill
At thought of Lexington and Bunker Hill?
And with a pride no rival passion mars
Greet we not now our glorious Stripes and Stars?
"Yes, friend, I own your theory is fine;
I grant your outlook far exceedeth mine
In excellence and beauty, in its scope
Embracing that millennial age of bliss
The spirit pants for while it chafes in this;
I covet, tho I cannot share, your hope."
"My hope," she answered, smiling, "is a faith;
The kingdoms of this world are yet to be
The kingdoms of our blessed Lord, the Christ;--
Lord of all life thro' dire and vengeful death--
Wrought thro' such sacrifice, unspared, unpriced,
His word and purpose must fulfilment see,
And realms by mountains bounded or by seas
Must own allegiance to the Prince of Peace.
"I yield to none"--and as she spoke there sped
Across the opal beauty of the sea
A light-winged vessel, bearing at its head
The starry emblem of the brave and free--
"I yield to none in loyalty and love
For yon bright banner, but I hold it still
As token to the world, all else above,
Of peace on earth and unto man good will.
"God gave His land to be the home of man;
And all that brightens and upbuilds the home
Uplifts humanity; tramp, tribe and clan,
Knowing no hearthstone, are content to roam,
"But drawing nearer God the man returns
And rears his household altar. In some quest
The feet may wander, but the heart still yearns
For the soft home-light and the quiet rest.
"Think yet again, good brother, is it not
From off such altar, whether it may glow
In princely palace or in lowliest cot,
That the true flame of country-love must flow?
While that enkindled by the flash of arms
Is a 'strange fire,' consuming while it charms.
"Lives Greece less nobly in her Parthenon,
In what her Solons wrote, her poets sang,
Than in the gastly pride of Marathon,
And kindred fields where victors' praises rang?
"And we, enriched thro' Commerce, Letters, Art,
Forgot our earlier grievances and scars,
Are we not ready for a better part?
Have we not now outgrown our need of wars?
"Surely it should be so," he made reply;
"The sated earth cries out against the flow
Of human blood: 'How long? how long?' The cry
Must pierce the heavens from writhing hearts below.
"But men heed not; the glamor and the gain
Of warfare blind them to its sin and pain;
They know not pity and they count not cost
Till armies meet and life and cause are lost.
"Would they but listen 'twere an errand blest
To plead against oppressor for oppressed;
Would they but follow it were joy indeed
Up the white hills of truth and peace to lead.
"But, ah! the multitudes are gone astray,
The powerful of the earth will have their way;
What profit, sister, in our prayers and tears?
Why mar the spring-time gladness of our years
"In vain pursuit of universal good?
In fruitless care for earth's vast brotherhood?
Glad would I grasp such work could I but see.
Or near, or far, your hoped-for victory."
"Whether they hear," she answered, "or forbear,
'Tis ours with signal truths to light the skies;
God's promises and warnings to declare;--
How can men follow if no leader rise?
"The Christ shall be the victor; O my friend,
Why do we limit His almighty power
Who sees from far beginning to the end?
Whose day may be an aeon or an hour?
"The sea is His; He made it; and His word
Can speak its wildest tumult into calm;
As He may will its deepest founts are stirred,
Or surface-ripples breathe a praiseful psalm.
"As well His power the rise and fall doth sway
Of human passion, tho He suffer long;
The puny pride of man shall yet obey
The mandate of the Only Wise and Strong.
"But God would have the children of His grace
In this great reclamation have a share;
And each in his appointed hour and place
Must stand, or other brow his crown will wear."
She paused, and o'er them, as with magic spell,
For a brief space a holy silence fell;
Then while the sunset crimson of the sky
Set ocean all a-blush, he made reply:
"Reason and candor justify your claim;
The Infinite is infinite in all;
The Power that touches into life that flame
Holds earth and heaven subject to His call,
And at His fiat peoples rise and fall.
"Your dauntless zeal doth shame my coward heart;
Your word of faith my courage doth inspire;
I see 'tis only noble to have part
In moral contest; not to fan the fire
Of a false glory, which must ever feed
On souls that perish, and on hearts that bleed.
"And this I gather from your earnest plea;--
That souls which walk in light and see the way
To heights of truth yet unattained, must be
Fore-runners for their Lord, must work and pray
For the incoming of the perfect day.
"Join we in this sweet service; cherish still
The trust that gives you courage for the fight;
Your 'peaceful war' on all that's base and ill,
Your patient battle for the pure, the right.
Let us press on and mount the hills of light."
The ocean murmur fell upon their ears
Sweeter than bird-song or the voice of mirth,
As beamed her answering smile, thro' grateful tears,
While her lips whispered only "Peace on earth."
"Peace! peace!"--the evening zephyrs caught the strain,
The wavelets sent the word across the sea;
Exultant Nature trilled the glad refrain;--
"Peace! peace! The Christ is come, and peace shall be!"
AT THE CLOSE OF THE YEAR
Neighbor, neighbor, prithee stay;
Wherefore hasten on thy way?
Give a moment's heed to me,
I would ask a thing of thee.
Neighbor, days and months have fled,
Seasons one by one have sped,
And to-night I greet thee here
At the passing of the year.
'Tis the time of reckoning now,
Of new resolves and annual vow;
Time of straightening ugly crooks,
And careful balancing of books.
Pardon if I now demand
How accounts of thine may stand;
Hast thou rendered, fair and true,
Unto every man his due?
Hast thou given timely heed
To thy poorer brother's need?
Hath thy strong arm been a stay
To the weaker on the way?
When didst thou a joy impart
To thy sister, sad at heart!
When didst thou her grief beguile
With the sunshine of thy smile?
When the heavy-laden came
Didst thou breathe a Saviour's name?
When temptations fierce did prove
Didst thou whisper of His love?
When hosts of evil have assailed,
And against the right prevailed,
Hast thou still undaunted stood
Pleading for the pure and good?
When--but neighbor, this is strange!
While I question comes a change:
All that I have asked of thee
Comes for answer back to me.
Comes, against my wish and will,
Comes and sets my heart a-thrill;
Comes with terrors of the law,
Filling me with fear and awe.
Strange transition! Can it mean?--
The marvel of this shifting scene--
Yes, I read the mystery now.
Neighbor, mine own soul art thou.
Now, my soul, 'tis thine to say
How the record stands to-day
Give account of loss or gain,
Talent used or spent in vain.
All unwitting how they sped
I my listed queries read;
Raised the duty-standard high,
Challenged measurement thereby.
While I queried came a change,
Silent, solemn, passing strange;--
Neighbor glided into mist,
Soul and self were keeping tryst.
And the queries come anew:
Soul of mine, be brave and true;
Lo! _our_ books we balance now;
I have questioned; answer thou.
RISEN
"He is risen; He is risen,
Here His empty tomb you see;
And He goeth as He told you
To the hills of Galilee."
Thus to loving, loyal women,
In the centuries agone,
Angel voices told the story
Of the resurrection morn.
He is risen! He is risen!
Years hand down the glad refrain;
Let the ages on to ages
Waft the tidings yet again.
He who near the Bethlehem manger
Lowly child of earth was born,
King of kings reigns all triumphant
Since the resurrection morn.
Christ is risen! Calvary's anguish
All a lost world's ransom paid;
Then, with tears, "the hope of Israel"
In the new-made tomb was laid.
Deep and dark the desolation
Falling with that night forlorn;
Radiant the dawn awakening
With the resurrection morn.
He has risen! By this token
We with Him shall rise again;
Faith shall vanquish doubt and terror,
Joy shall banish grief and pain.
No more fear of sin's temptation,
No more dread of hatred's scorn,
O the glory purchased for us
On the resurrection morn!
Christ is risen! Bow before Him,
To His courts an offering bring;
Suffering Lord and Lamb victorious,
Crown Him Conquerer, Priest and King.
Robe of light for robe of mocking,
Diadem for crown of thorn,
Wears He now, and in His likeness
Rise we, satisfied, immortal,
In the resurrection morn.
ELIZABETH CROWNED
Elizabeth of Hungary, a widow at the age of twenty, was sought
in marriage by Frederick II., Emperor of Germany. She, having taken
a vow never to marry again, declined his offer, and devoted her life
to deeds of kindness and charity. She died at the age of twenty-four,
and was canonized as a saint by Gregory IX. At this ceremony Frederick
placed upon her head a golden crown, saying, "Since thou wouldst
not be crowned as my Empress, I crown thee to-day as an immortal
Queen in the kingdom of God."
When once I saw thee, fair, yet sad and lone,--
Tho wealth and beauty waited at thy hand--
I would have crowned thee, saintly one, mine own;
Glad would have had thee share with me my throne,
Bride of my heart, and Empress of my land!
But thou wert wedded to thy valiant dead,
And to the service of a Christ-like love;
So by thy hand the suffering poor were led,
And from thy bounty were the hungry fed,
Till came thy summons to the Court Above.
Now hast thou passed from tears and pain away,
Thine ear hath caught the heavenly melodies;--
So be it mine, with reverent touch, to-day,
On thy fair head this diadem to lay,
And crown thee Queen immortal for the skies!
WHO IS SUFFICIENT?
Six-and-thirty little mortals
Coming to be taught;
And mine that most "delightful task
To rear the tender thought."
Merry, mischief-loving children,
Thoughtless, glad and gay,
Loving lessons--"just a little,"
Dearly loving play.
Six-and-thirty souls immortal,
Coming to be fed;
Needing "food convenient for them,"
As their daily bread.
Bright and happy little children,
Innocent and free,
Coming here their life-long lessons
Now to learn of me.
Listen to the toilsome routine,
List, and answer them,
For these things who is sufficient
'<DW41> the sons of men?
Now they, at the well-known summons,
Cease their busy hum;
And, some with pleasure, some reluctant,
To the school-room come.
Comes a cunning little urchin
With defiant eye,
"Making music" with his marbles
As he passes by.
But, alas! the pretty toys are
Taken from him soon,
And the music-loving Willie
Strikes another tune!
Comes a lisping little beauty,
Scarce five summers old;
Baby voice and blue eyes pleading,
"Please, misth, I'm stho cold!"
Little one, the world is chilly,
All too cold for thee;
From its storms "Our Father" shield thee,
And thy refuge be.
While I turn to caution Johnny
Not to make such noise;
Mary parses: "Earth's an adverb,
In the passive voice."
Well, indeed, it must be passive,
Else it is not clear
How such open language-murder,
Goes unpunished here.
"Second Reader Class" reciting--
"Lesson verse or prose?"
None in all the class is certain;
Each one thinks he knows.
"Well," is queried then, "the difference
Who can now define?"
Answers Rob: "In verse they never
Finish out the line!"
Boy, thy thought doth strangely thrill me,
And as hours roll on,
Hears my heart a solemn query:
Is my day's work done?
Do I make of this my life-task
Prose or idle rhyme?
Do I in the sight of Heaven
Finish out the line?
Oh, it is "too fine a knowledge"
For our mortal sight,
All these restless little creatures
How to lead aright.
He who prayeth while he worketh,
Taking lessons still
Of the Friend of little children,
Learning all His will;
He alone can walk before them
Worthily and well;
He alone of life's strange language
Can the meaning tell.
May I then with heart as tender
As a little child
Lead my flock; and Father, keep them
Pure and undefiled.
PEACE
O blessed peace, that floweth like a river,
Unstayed, unwearied, ever on and on;
That hath its fount and spring in Christ the giver,
And finds its ocean round the great white Throne.
O peace of God, that passeth understanding,
Thou art the answer to my soul's long quest;
Doubts, fears and sins, their serried hosts disbanding,
I leave, launch on thy wave, and anchored, rest.
BOYS AND GIRLS
We were "seven in all," as the dear rustic maid
To the poet so sweetly protested;
And together we rambled and studied and played,
Each imbibing a share of the sunshine and shade
Wherewith our young life was invested.
And black eyes and blue eyes and brown eyes and gray
Looked up to the face of our mother,
As she led us in study in labor or play,
Or told of "Our Father," and taught us to pray,
And to cherish and love one another.
O, the rapture of being when life is a-tune
With the song-life and beauty of morning;
When the roseate dawn brightens into the noon,
And the year hastens on to the splendor of June,
In her fragrance and matchless adorning.
So our years flitted by and the youngest of all--
Our dark-eyed and fun-loving brother--
Was grown to be manly and lithesome and tall,
And to couteous titles we answered the call,
But were still "boys" and "girls" to each other.
O, the joy of endeavor, endurance and toil
On thro' summer-time vigor and sweetness,
Of triumph o'er that which would hinder or foil,
Of the patience of hope after tears and turmoil,
In the glory of autumn's completeness.
And the toil and the turmoil and tears have been ours--
From our ranks we have missed a loved brother
We've encountered the thorns, but we've cherished the flowers;
We've passed under the clouds on to sunnier hours,
And we're still "boys" and "girls" to each other.
A SMILE
The gliding of a fairy form
And rosy lips that knew no guile,
With wonder parted, came to ask,
"Papa, what is a smile?"
A smile, whate'er it is, then stole
That gentle parent's features o'er;
For ne'er to him had been proposed
Query so strange before.
But while he pondered in his heart
How he should to his child reply,
A new, triumphant joy lit up
Her loving, lustrous eye;--
And with this gladsome, new-found thought,
She answered in her own behalf:
"Oh, now, I know; a smile must be
_The whisper to a laugh!_"
"A SPARROW ALONE ON THE HOUSETOP"
Sing, little sparrow, sing thy song.
No peril neareth thee;
Tho night be dark or day be long,
Or clouds hang low, sing on, sing on,
The dear God heareth thee.
Sing, little bird, whate'er befall--
Trill out thine utmost need;
Thou canst not soar, thou canst not fall
But He will note who knoweth all,
And He thy plaint will heed.
O little sparrow, far and high
Thy soft notes God-ward go,
And I with thee send up my cry,
And both shall somewhere find reply,
_God careth for us so._
TO MOTHER
O mother, from thy home beyond the stars
Hast thou not known the yearning of thy child
For thy sweet love? Hast thou not heard her wild
And piteous moaning for thy soft caress?
Felt her heart's aching for the tenderness
And the low patience of thy loving voice?
Hast thou not seen her 'mid life's toils and jars,
Pant as a bird behind its prison bars,
For freedom to fly forth and be with thee?
And canst thou not, sweet mother, send reply?
Oh, thro' the depths of glory, thro' the sky,
Look for one moment down and say to me
That all of loss on earth thou findest to be
Great gain in heaven; that thou dost rejoice
In all that was, and is, and shall betide
At last to all; and that, in Him who died,
Yet liveth evermore, I, too, shall see
All discord blended into harmony;
And that I, too, shall be, as thou art, satisfied.
PSALM CXXI
INSCRIBED TO MY SISTER, R. S. B.
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
A pure and fragrant breath
Is wafted from their purple tops,--
The Heaven-sent breath of _Faith_.
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
Beyond their shadowy <DW72>
The Sun of Righteousness doth rise
In roseate dawn of _Hope_.
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;
Around, below, above,
The holy sky is all aglow
With the warm light of _Love_.
Lift up thine eyes unto the hills;--
Faith, Hope and Love are given
To point from fading joys of earth,
To endless joy of Heaven.
TO R. T. B.
ON HER MARRIAGE DAY
Sister, we know
That God is good, and He hath led us on
By pleasant ways or painful to this day.
Our lives went on together until now.
In childhood and in youth the same fond home
Hath been our earthly refuge; the same Rock
Our shelter when earth had no rest or shade.
At the same fancy we have often smiled,
For the same sorrow wept; and oft our souls,
In mingling aspirations, have sent up
The same thanksgiving, the same burning prayer.
Yes, we have lived _together_; we have known
The visible blending of the outward life
Made real by the holier unison
Of loving spirit and aspiring mind.
The spells of joy have bound us--and of hope,
And tears--which are the diamond links of love--
Have made the chain of our affection strong.
It may be thus no more; yet--God is good--
I hush the moaning of my riven heart,
And smile that thou art happy; and give thanks
That thy sweet life, rejoicing, hath put on
Its richest diadem, its crown of love.
May the kind Father grant that crown to be
All worthy of the wearer; may His smile
Lend brightness to it ever; and at last,
When it is laid with earthly robes away,
O may the infinite and eternal Love
Rest like a glory on thy radiant brow.
ON NEW YEAR, 1897
TO G. D. AND S. F. B.
God bless you thro' this bright new year,
The first you spend together;
Give peace and trust thro' cloudy days,
Joy in its sunny weather.
And may the days as days go by,
Still richer seem and sweeter,
And passing seasons make your lives
In every good completer.
There are not words to tell the love
In which I could caress you;
Your dear united names I breathe,
And once more pray, God bless you.
TO ANNA
ON HER SIXTEENTH BIRTHDAY
Sixteen! and life to thee looks bright and fair;--
A book unread, rose-tinted, golden edged,
Encased in binding curious, costly, rare;--
And all the years to be thou holdest pledged
To give thee from its pages, day by day,
Readings to cheer and bless the blithesome way.
And life is such a volume, only thou,
From garnered storage of the heart and mind,
Must fill unwritten pages, and allow
Fair pictures--of pure thought, of self resigned,
Of kindly deeds--each new-made page to grace;--
How blest if none thou, later, woulds't efface!
Sixteen! A May-day in the path of life,
A marvelous puzzle on the finger twirled;
Sixteen again; a stir of earnest strife
And toil and tumult in a restless world;
Repeated still,--a patient, steadfast hold
On good attained,--ripe fruit, and grain of gold.
Sixteen once more! Serene in shade or sun,
A brighter outlook now; existence grand!
Content in hopes fulfilled, in victories won,
Mingling with holier yearnings for that land,
Whose o'er-flown radiance and whose surplus bliss
Have been the glory and the joy of this.
A SONG OF TENS
TO MARY
At the tenth birthday all the world looks fair;
The twentieth scarcely shades it with a care;
At the third decade life soars grand and high;
But with the fourth its heyday passes by.
The fifth comes on,--a century's half is told;
The sixth,--our little girl is growing old.
Another half-score milestone passed, and then
We've reached the allotted three-score years and ten.
Years may be added; should they come to thee
May Faith and Wisdom their companion be;
Hope thy sure anchor; Peace with thee abide,
And Love still be thy light at eventide.
JESSICA
A gentleman once wrote of Elizabeth Fry: "Her name has long
been a word of beauty in our household."
Make thy name a word of beauty,
Like the lily pure and fair,
From its perfumed cup exhaling
Sweetest fragrance on the air.
Make thy name a word of beauty
Lustrous as the ocean pearl;
Constant in life's loving service,
Guileless through youth's mazy whirl.
Make thy name a word of beauty,
Radiant, steadfast, like a star;
Shedding from a glowing center
Love's effulgence near and far.
Aye, we greet thee, rare-sweet maiden,
(Make it evermore thy right),
Jessica--our word of beauty,
Lily, pearl, and star of light.
TRANSITION
Out of the blindness and the night
Into clear and constant light.
Out of the weariness and pain
Into everlasting gain.
Out of the toil and durance hard
Into rest and rich reward.
Out of the doubting and distress
Into certain blessedness.
Out of the dusty lanes of care
Into pastures green and fair.
Out of the glaring desert sun
To shades where cooling waters run.
Out of the din of woe and wrong
Into choral waves of song
Out of the dwelling, worn and old,
Into the city of pearl and gold.
Where now, O Death, where is thy sting?
Thou art the summons to the King.
O Grave, where is thy victory?
Thou art the gateway to the free!
TO A. H. B.
A "COMMENCEMENT" GREETING
With Portraits of Eminent Authors
Dear Hallam, with this trifling gift
Best wishes now I send thee;
Through all thy future life may joy
And grace and peace attend thee.
May this the bright beginning be
Of days love-crowned and royal;
May griefs and faults and foes be few,
Friends manifold and loyal.
May gems from authors such as these
Store well thy mental coffer,
But for thy heart's enrichment please
Accept the love I offer.
1882
TO WINNIE
ON HER WEDDING DAY
Stars will shine on, tho thou art gone,
But we shall miss the gleaming
Of one bright eye's responsive smile,
And love-light softly beaming.
And flowers will bloom,--but we shall miss
A fragrance and a beauty
That brightened for us here and there
The sombre path of duty.
And friends will greet us on our way,
But we shall miss the sweetness
Of a fair presence that hath made
So much of life's completeness.
And yet 'tis well; we give thee joy,
And pray with this caressing;
That love and peace without alloy
May be thy bridal blessing.
A LIFE WORK
IN MEMORY OF DANIEL HILL
He heard the cry of man enslaved
In bonds and servile toil;
And gave his voice for freedom till
The "Freedman" tilled "free-soil."
He saw his weaker brother reel,
Pierced by Drink's poisoned dart,
And wrought and wrote with fervent zeal
To stay the Tempter's art.
He heard the clash of sword and gun
In deadly battle-strife;
And pleaded till his day was done
For Love's sweet rule in life.
He rests in peace. Who now shall wear
The mantle he let fall?
Who teach as he the Father-love,
The brotherhood of all?
VISIONS
I saw when Israel toiled and groaned beneath the Pharoah's rod,
And in his hopeless bondage moaned his helpless prayer to God.
I saw when from the river's brink the infant leader rose,
Who, reared in Egypt's royal court, still felt his brothers' woes.
I heard him at the burning bush his swift excuses bring:
"Who, who am I, that I should stand before the Egyptian king?
"And who am I that I should lead the people of thy choice?
My warning word they will not heed, nor hearken to my voice.
"And who am I that I should move a monarch to relent?
I, but a man, and slow of speech, nor wise, nor eloquent."
I marked the answer: "Plead no more thy vain excuse to me;
I am the Lord; my servant thou; my glory thou shalt see.
"I am the Lord; the power is mine; 'tis thine to hear and do;
The Lord almighty is to save, by many or by few."
The man of doubt exchanged his fears for faith in God and right,
While meek obedience on his brow sat like a crown of light.
The slow of speech grew eloquent, till Israel gladly heard;
And bolder waxed the Leader, till the king's hard heart was stirred,
And he in fierce displeasure drove the captives from his land;
Not knowing their deliverance was all divinely planned.
Down the long line of two-score years I looked and saw at last,
The blissful view from Pisgah's height; the Jordan safely passed;
And heard--as Memnon's harp had caught the sweet enchanting strain,
And sent adown the waves of time brave Miriam's glad refrain--
"Sing, for the Lord hath triumphed; sing, great wonders can he do;
The Lord is mighty and can save by many or by few."
I saw again, when sin-enslaved, by Jabin's hand oppressed,
A people's cry went up to God for rescue and for rest.
Then up rose Deborah, judge and seer, with all her valiant band,
And drove the oppressor from her gates, his chariots from her land.
And Jael, wife of Heber, slew his captain with the sword;
So woman's hand achieved that day the victory for the Lord.
And woman's voice extolled in song the great Deliverer's name:--
"Praise God! He hath avenged His own, for willingly they came.
"The mountains melt before His face, the tribes their strength renew;
The Lord is mighty and doth save by many or by few."
I saw when Gideon led his band down to the water's bank
To prove and set them in array, as man by man they drank,
And with the handful chosen thus went forth against the foe,
And vanquished all the Midian host, and laid their princes low.
Not with the thousands called from far, who pitched by Harod's well;
Nor yet the undismayed who stood when the faint-hearted fell;
But "Now, with these three hundred men, go forward," said the Lord;
"Do thou thy part, let them do theirs, trust, and obey my word."
Their torches flashed like dancing flames, their trumpets loudly blew;
Strange warfare! but the Lord can save by many or by few.
Once more I saw when Israel quailed before Philistia's pride;
While great Goliath, day by day, Jehovah's power defied.
The weak and timid fled away, the valiant shrank with fear;--
'Twas threatened death or dire defeat, and life and fame are dear.
Even Saul, their chosen king, forgot (admiring Israel's boast!)
That he stood head and shoulders high above his martial host.
"And are there none," he cried, "who dare to meet this vaunting foe?
And must the banner of our God trail in dishonor low?"
Then forth there came a ruddy youth: "That banner I'll defend;
Be it not said our God hath none on whom He may depend.
"Let no heart fail to-day because of this Philistine's boast;
The battle is the Lord's and He will vanquish this proud host."
Then spake he to the giant foe: "A loyal servant I
Of Israel's God, whose holy name thou darest to defy.
"In that dread name I charge thee stand, and shield thee as thou may;
The fowls of air, the beasts of earth shall feast on thee to-day."
'Twas but a pebble from the brook, sent by a loyal will;
But sword and spear not mightier were God's purpose to fulfil.
For one may chase a thousand, and ten thousand flee from two;
The God of right is strong to save by many or by few.
* * * * *
Years, ages pass and now I see a land beloved and fair;
And lo! a cruel enemy hath gained possession there.
The riches of this goodly land into his coffers pour;
Insatiate and unscrupulous, his constant cry is "More!"
"More money clinking in my till, more men--my licensed prey;
More _boys_ to feed my traffic when these men have passed away."
Thus man is robbed of purse and soul, home of its peace and joy;
The wife of husband is bereft, the mother of her boy.
The land doth mourn. On every side the spoiler hath his way;
No past oppression hath surpassed this vision of to-day.
And who, like Moses, will exchange his self-distrust and fear
For faith to meet the encroaching foe and check his bold career?
And who, like Deborah, will arise and lead a valiant band
To drive the Tyrant from her gates, the Traffic from her land?
Who will, like Gideon and his men, the light of truth dare throw
On darkest evil, and the trump of coming victory blow?
Or who, like David, will come forth in God's great name, alone,
And lay the boastful giant low, as once with sling and stone?
When Avarice and unholy Pride against the good contend,
The battle is the Lord's and He His people will defend.
The great Red Sea of wrong, while He doth pass, shall stand aside;
Mountains shall bow before Him, and proud Jordan's waves divide.
Each epoch hath its burning bush, and each its palm-tree shade;
And each its oak of Ophrah, where the pledge of peace is made.
And each its fold, where kingly soul in shepherd guise is found;
And when the Master calleth there the place is "holy ground."
Holy the place; but whose the hour? perchance He calleth _thee_,
Or _thee_; who, who will answer now, "Lord, here am I; send me?"
O, for the love of land and home, make answer brave and true;
Our God is mighty still to save, by many or by few.
BE YE ALSO READY
Let us be still before Him. Yet once more
That voice hath spoken to our startled souls
Which fell in solemn cadence on the ear
Of the hushed listeners on Mt. Olive's hill:
"At eventide, at midnight, or at morn,
The Son of Man shall come, shall surely come;
Be ready, for ye may not know the hour."
And if at eventide, when Nature folds
Her toil-spent hands and sinks into repose;
Or if at midnight hour of gloom Thou come,
Or when the morning spreads her wings of light,
Oh make us ready for the solemn call.
Supply our need, of knowledge, wisdom, grace,
Dear Lord, that with confiding joy our souls,
Made pure of sin and strong in faith, may go
To meet Thee at Thy coming. If the sound
Of sweet home-voices follow to the brink
Of death's dark river, as they fainter grow,
Then let us hear Thy still small voice of love;
Say to us, "It is I--be not afraid."
Or if the angel of the icy hand
Should find us when no human friend is near
And summon us away, then as we lose
Our hold of earth and fall away from life,
O wilt Thou grant our parting spirits may
Go out in silence and be found with Thee.
MIMOSA
A modest plant; soft shades of green
In leaflets poised on slender stem;
And all outspread to catch the glow
Of morning sun or dew-drop gem.
But, lo, what change! When finger-tips
But touch the leaflets' fringe, the charm
Of life is gone--Mimosa shrinks,
As conscious of some present harm.
So would I have my soul recoil
From touch of wrong or thought of sin;
So throw its portals wide again,
To let the dew and sunshine in.
AT THE CRISIS
I.--THE STEAMBOAT BELLS
When steamboats approach Mt. Vernon their bells begin to toll,
and continue the mournful service until the sacred spot is again left
in the distance.
Mt. Vernon's shade sweet vigil keeps
Where on her breast her hero sleeps;
O passing bells, soft be your tone,
Toll gently for our Washington.
Toll, the great Warrior's strife is o'er;
Toll, for the Statesman pleads no more;
Toll--for a Man is fallen--on,
Peal out your dirge for Washington.
Toll for a people's wounded heart,
Toll for a bleeding Nation's smart,
Toll for a World!--toll sadly on--
The world hath lost a Washington.
Ring out your wailing on the air,
And let it be a voice of prayer;
He whom we greatly need is gone;--
God give another Washington.
1863
Thus while she listened to the mournful knell
That woke sad echoes on Potomac's shore;
Saw how from Sumter's height her banner fell,
And heard, not distant far, loud battle's roar;--
Thus, while she heard the impatient bondman's moan,
Knew her own power defied, her trust betrayed;
While Treason rose to hurl her from her throne--
The Spirit of the Union mused and prayed.
II.--THE EMANCIPATOR
God gave another; while we stood
Aghast before the coming flood
Of war, and its attending woes,
The one for whom she prayed arose.
Blinded and deaf, we knew him not;
Yet saw him wipe out slavery's blot;
Heard him proclaim his people free,
From lake to gulf, from sea to sea.
Saw this and heard, but deaf and blind,
We failed to recognize the Mind,
Which, going on from strength to strength,
From grace to grace, had grown at length,
Thro the stern lessons of the hour,
Of danger, censure, praise and power,
To be the Man among us, one,
Whom now we hail, since he is gone,
Lincoln, our more than Washington.
1866
ON THE DEATH OF DR. JAMES E. RHOADS
Fallen? No; his part was finished
In the earthly toil and strife;
He hath but lain his armor by,
And entered into life.
Silent? No; tho' hushed forever
Tones that did like music thrill,
Through example, helpful, holy,
Lo, he speaketh still.
Vanished? Lost to those that loved him?
No; his spirit lingering near
Still doth woo them, onward, upward,
Whispering, "Be of cheer."
Crowned? Aye, crowned in earth and heaven;
Here with laurels fairly won;
There with star-lit diadem,
Inscribed "Well done! well done!"
ETERNAL YOUTH
Looking in thine eyes of azure,
Looking on thy hair of gold,
Once I wished, Evangelina,
That there were no growing old.
For I thought of how thy sweet eyes
Would grow dim with tears and care;
How the years would turn to silver
All thy wealth of golden hair.
How the lines of life would gather
O'er the face so placid now;
Traces of its toil and struggle
Touching lip and cheek and brow.
This I thought, and wished the shadows
Might not lengthen o'er thy way;
Wished there were no time but spring-time,
Were no evening of the day.
Now I fear, Evangelina,
That my wish was half a prayer,
That the listening Father heard me,
That thou liest, an answer, there.
For thou liest in thy beauty,--
Eyes of blue and hair of gold,
Lip and cheek and brow of marble,
Folded fingers, still and cold;--
O my angel, God hath called thee
Where there is no growing old.
BUILDING TIME
The time of the singing of birds is come;
'Tis the happiest time of the year:
They are saying, "Let's build us our summer home,
For the frost-king no longer we fear."
The time of the singing of birds is come,
And the time of their building, too;
With a feather, a straw and a stray bit of gum
They will shew what bird-builders can do.
The time of the singing of birds is come:
I was eaves-dropping under the trees;
And as I translated the twitter and hum,
I thought the words sounded like these:
"Twirr-a-whirr, twirr-a-whirr,
The young leaves are astir;
We will make us a nest snug and warm
On this apple-tree bough--
We are at it e'en now--
All secure from intruders and storm.
"'Tis for home, 'tis for love,
'Tis for heaven above,
And our roof is the clear azure sky;
The foundations we lay
In this rough straw and clay,
But we'll line it with moss by and by."
The time of the singing of birds is here,
And if under the apple-tree bough
Orlando and May would a domicile rear,
Let them hear what the birds tell them now:
"Build for home, build for love,
Build for heaven above,
Build with music and cheer like the birds;
And if palace or cot,
Built of marble or what,
Line your nest with the moss of kind words,"
SUNRISE
The incident here narrated occurred some years ago at the Media
Training School for Feeble-Minded Children, then in care of Dr. I.
N. Kerlin.
A feeble, idiot boy, he stood
Where Nature in her beauty grew,
And over field and flowering wood
Her summer mantle lightly threw.
The scene had met his eye before;
The pleasant path he oft had trod;
And one who sought in simple lore
To teach him things of heaven and God
Had often wandered with him there,
And pointed out each lovely spot,--
The sunlit cloud--the floweret fair--
But still he comprehended not.
For all his soul was void and still,
And darkness held his mind in thrall;
He recognized no Sovereign Will,
Nor saw the hand of God in all.
In Nature's presence now alone
He stood, and filled with silent awe,
Beheld, before the coming sun,
The curtained Night in haste withdraw.
And gazing there with vacant eye,
All motionless and mute he waits,
When lo! the chariot of the sky
Rolls through the morning's crimson gates.
The orient beams with beauteous light--
Hath not his soul its radiance caught?
His being grasps a new delight;
A deep, mysterious change is wrought.
A light is kindled in his breast;
A temple-veil at length is riven;
And in that hour of strange unrest
A thought is born--of God in heaven.
In haste he seeks his tutor's side,
For he who "bore in grief a part"
Will, in this happy hour of pride,
Responsive hail his joy of heart.
The glowing cheek, the flashing eye,
The parted lips--_not voiceless now_--
And, caught from that resplendent sky,
The marvelous light upon his brow,--
While these, ere yet he speaks, attest
The rapture which that thought has given;
He lifts his finger toward the east
And softly whispers, "_God, in Heaven!_"
O blessed hour! and happy he
To whom, thro patient love 'twas given
To set a fettered spirit free,
And wake a hope of God in Heaven
NEAL DOW
WRITTEN FOR A MEMORIAL DAY SERVICE
A Soul was stirred as one thro' blinding tears
Rehearsed a tale of want and cruel wrong;
Keen indignation banished doubts and fears;
The purpose of imperial youth grew strong.
A Voice was heard: "Alas! that on the side
Of sin and mad oppression there is power,
But we will change all this, if God so aid":--
And Maine's new freedom dated from that hour.
A Life was given; fraught with noble deeds;--
Aflame with words of truth, and tireless zeal,
And boldness for the right that gave no heed
To threatening hate, or sycophant's appeal.
But men decried the fervor of that Soul,
And would have hushed the Voice that pleaded still
Against the oppressors' power, and such control
As brought _them_ gain, all others loss and ill.
And men denounced that Life; and where it came
Ofttimes their scoffings tainted the sweet air,
As with malicious scorn they hailed a name
That calumny itself left clean and fair.
And now that Soul hath entered into rest;
That Voice is silent, and that peerless Life
Hath crossed the threshold where the good and blest
Enter, and cease from sorrow, toil and strife.
O Life and Voice and Soul! O princely one!
Our loyal hearts send greeting to thee now;
Thy name has lighted near a century gone,--
'Twill brighten ages yet to come, Neal Dow.
"PARADISE WILL PAY FOR ALL"
LAST WORDS OF SAMUEL A. PURDIE
From the charm of idle pleasure,
From Ambition's siren song,
From the rush for earthly treasure
Of the busy, careless throng;
In the dawn of life's fair morning
He had heard the Master's call;
"Yea, I come," his heart made answer,
"Paradise will pay for all."
On through years of toil and struggle
Walked he, faithful to his word;
Blameless life and kind entreaty
Leading many to the Lord.
Meeting dangers, bearing burdens
Well might stoutest heart appal;
But to every doubt replying,
"Paradise will pay for all."
Now at eve, toil-spent and weary,
Pierced with pain the pilgrim lay;
Watching still with faith triumphant
For the dawn of brighter day.
Then upon his ear there falleth
Once again the Master's call:
"Come up higher." "Yea," he answers,
"Paradise will pay for all."
FORGIVENESS
Father in Heaven, I thank Thee for this hour,
This blessed hour wherein my contrite soul
Humbled and happy bows itself to Thee,
Pleading that all its error and its sin
May be forgiven--even as I forgive.
The cruel wrong swept o'er me like a flood;
And my hurt soul in fierce defiance rose,
And all forgetful that itself could sin
Heaped heavy hatred on the offender's head.
There came a calmer hour in which I saw
The strong temptation that had moved him thus
To barter all his better life away--
Love, honor, principle--to gain the world.
And seeing this I learned to pity him.
For well I knew the bauble he had won
Would only mock him with its faithless glare;
And well I knew the golden fruit he grasped
Would be but dust and ashes in his hand;
And knowing this I learned to pity him.
And as my pity grew it turned to prayer--
That when the glitter of the gold was gone,
And the sweet fruit was bitter to his taste;
When the sad memory of the slighted past
Came, and made deeper still the present gloom,
The darkness might be lifted, and the Soul,
Self-robbed and famishing, might find its way
To the green pastures and the springs of life,
That in the heart whence love and joy had fled,
Whence hope was exiled, there might yet be peace.
But suddenly I queried in my heart
What power had moved me that I should have prayed
For him I counted as my life-long foe.
Greatly I marveled what it meant that thus
I had called down such blessing upon him--
The kindliest boon of heaven, the peace of God.
Deep in my soul there came an answering voice:
"O Child, _it is but this--thou hast forgiven_!"
Then thanks, O Father, for this plessed hour,
Wherein my soul, by Thine own Spirit taught,
Prays with no mockery of words Thy prayer:
"Forgive my trespasses, _as I forgive_."
A LOST SONG?
Horror of combat, and tumult and dread;
Thunder of cannon and bursting of bomb;
Moans of the wounded (who envy the dead)
Lost in the clamor of trumpet and drum.
O where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."
Here is fierce anger and hatred and death,
Pitiless slaughter of pitiless foe;
Blessings and curses poured forth in a breath;
Brave self-forgetting, and measureless woe.
But where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."
Blue waves of ocean are reddened with gore,
Victor and victim earth holds to her breast;
Hearts that will thrill with ambition no more;
Heads that so lately fond mothers caressed.
O where is the song of the angels?
O when shall we hear it again?
"Peace on earth," rang the chorus seraphic,
"And good will evermore among men."
Victory, purchased at infinite cost,
Honors and titles so fearfully won,
Fame, at the price of lives blighted and lost,
Graves, all unnoted, unnumbered, unknown.
O where is the song of the angels?
Dear Christ, let us hear it again;
"Peace on earth," send the chorus seraphic,
"Peace on earth, and good will among men."
A NEW EARTH
I have dreamed a sweet dream; I have seen a fair vision;
I have looked the wide universe o'er;
And earth's nations arise in a glory elysian--
They do not learn war any more.
There are music and mirth; there are childhood's sweet voices,
Winsome age lends its placid charm there;
There are laughter and glee as when home-life rejoices
Unshadowed by sorrow or care.
In all noble achievement, all worthy endeavor,
Men in kindly ambition contend;
But the valiant of heart may yet know he hath ever
In his sturdiest foeman a friend.
Nevermore the proud boast or the haughty defiance;--
Without end shall His kingdom increase;
'Tis the day of _all nations in Holy Alliance_,
'Tis the reign of truth, justice, and peace.
Nevermore shall a nation lift sword against nation,
The dominion of Hatred is o'er;
'Tis the triumph of Love, 'tis the dawn of Christ's kingdom,
They shall not learn war any more.
RECALL
Put up thy sword, O Nation, grand and strong!
Call in thy fleet-winged missiles from the sea;
Art thou not great enough to suffer wrong,
Land of the brave, the freest of the free?
Put up thy sword. 'Tis nobler to endure
Than to avenge thee at another's cost;
And while thy claim and purpose are made sure,
Behold that other's life and honor lost.
Put up thy sword. It hath not hushed the cry
That called it all too rashly from its sheath;
Still o'er the fated isle her children lie
And find surcease from anguish but in death.
Put up thy sword, O Country, strong and free,
Let strife and avarice and oppression cease;
So shall the world thy Star of Empire see
Resplendent o'er the heaven-touched hills of Peace.
PHILISTIA'S TRIUMPH
1 Samuel 4: 10, 11; 7: 3.
(WRITTEN ON THE DEFEAT OF THE PROHIBITION AMENDMENT
IN PENNSYLVANIA.)
They fought with lances in that ancient day,
With sword and spear and arrow deftly sped.
At eventide the hosts of Israel lay
Vanquished and spoiled, the dying with the dead;
And the Ark of God was taken.
They fought with ballots in our nearer day;
From morn to eve the light-winged missiles flew;
Again Philistia's triumph brought dismay,
And Wrong, victorious, struggling Virtue slew,
And the Ark of God was taken.
O ye to whom the sacred trust was given
To guard the altar and the ark of God,
Have ye been recreant to the charge of heaven,
That thus we fall before the avenging rod,
And the Ark of God is taken?
Rouse from your shameful slumbers. Put away
Your strange gods from among you. Turn again;
That in the drawing of some nobler day
The hosts of sin may be rebuked of men,
And the Ark of God re-taken.
THE WHITE RIBBON ARMY
(Air: King Bibbler's Army.)
FOR M. B. T.
In the years, years ago, when the true-hearted women,
Started forth on their errand of prayer,
Many said, "'Tis the cry of the Home for protection";
Many said, "'Tis delusion and snare."
Some said, softly, "God bless you"; some murmured, "Mistaken";
Some the swift shafts of calumny hurled;
But they went bravely forward, a praying procession,
Marching out, out, out in the world.
_Chorus_
Hark! hark! a trembling chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And now to save our young men the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.
At the head of the host came the silver-haired mothers,
Arm in arm with the daughters so fair;
While the wives for their husbands, the girls for their brothers,
Raise their voices to heaven in prayer.
As their pleadings prevail, and "the worst foe" surrenders,
The white banner of peace is unfurled;
And we now may behold them, a joyful procession,
Marching on, on, on round the world.
_Chorus_
Hark! hark! a swelling chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And oh to save our country the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.
They have entered the gates of the Empire Celestial,
They have compassed the Isles of the Sea,
And they carry glad tidings of good to all people,
From the land of the brave and the free.
On the peeress of England, on Afric's dark daughter,
Is the white-ribbon emblem now twirled;
And the army moves onward, a dauntless procession,
Marching on, on, on round the world.
_Chorus_
Hark! hark! a ringing chorus:
No, no, no, no;
We cannot have Rum ruling o'er us;
No, no, no, no;
And lo! to save all nations the White-Ribbon Army
Marches on, on, on round the world.
CHRISTMAS
Dawn of glory! radiant morn!
To-day the Christ, our King, is born.
Our King, our Saviour, Son of Man,
And Son of God--all-wondrous plan!
A Virgin's joy; a world's salvation;
Humblest type of exaltation!
Highest form of life despised;
Visage marred, and beauty prized.
By angels heralded on high;
By men abhorred and doomed to die.
Entombed secure 'neath seal and stone;
Uprisen to the Eternal Throne!
Hail, blessed light! Hail glorious morn!
The Wonderful, the Christ is born!
"A DAY IN JUNE"
The Early Dawn looked out upon the world
And cried, "How beautiful a world to be!"
The Dawn herself was beautiful to see;
Her hair of glowing golden light uncurled
About a face of clear serenity,
Whereon rose-tinted smiles played daintily and free.
"Aye, fair the earth," she said, "most fair--and yet
How can I for one briefest space forget
How dark a stain its loveliness doth mar;
A stain, a scourge, the cruel curse of war!
Even now I dimly see and faintly hear
The clang of drum, the clash of sword and spear."
And pale with pity, swift she shrank away,
Leaving the world and war to broader day.
The Sun at noon looked down upon the world;
From depths of vast ethereal blue looked down,
And mused, "You far, fair Earth, sure we must crown
Queen of the Universe. Great flags unfurled
O'er her bright waters witness high renown
Won by her creature, Man; aye, bring for Earth a crown!
Yet stay--there riseth over Afric plains
A cloud of battle-smoke; with crimson stains
Her rivers run; her hills and meadows fair,
Trampled by hostile hordes, lie waste and bare.
And yonder, in the islands of the sea,
A people struggle vainly to be free;
And everywhere the banners of fair fame
Trail in the dust of hatred, greed and shame.
No crown for Earth; I mourn so bright a star
Lost in the chaos of consuming war."
And veiled in robe of woe, he went his way,
Borne by the passing hours to close of day.
The twilight lingered, and the Evening Star
Looked back upon the world and whispered low:
"These who have spoken surely could not know:--
Earth is a great, pure pearl, and seems from far
Set with fair homes, like gems; in amber glow,
Or emerald green, or gold or roseate snow.
But hush! In palace hall a bitter cry;
A mangled hero is borne in to die;
And in yon lowly cot, a widow's moan;--
A mother's heart-break o'er her only son.
Alas! 'tis true. Earth's battle-fields destroy
Her noblest manhood; rob her homes of joy."
And sad the Star of Evening sank from sight,
While Earth lay shrouded in the gloom of night.
But from afar--beyond the Morning's birth,
Beyond the depths whence Sun looked down on earth,
Beyond the dreamy distance of the Star,--
A voice proclaimed: "They shall no more learn war."
TO-DAY
Light on my pathway, blessed Lord,
The light of life, I pray;
O, let the glory of Thy word
Shine o'er my life to-day.
I cry to Thee for present help,
Turn not my prayer away;
O Strength and Refuge of Thine own,
Keep Thou my soul to-day.
My willing but uncertain feet
Guide in Thy chosen way;
And let Thy grace sufficient be
For all my need to-day.
LOSING VICTORIES
My 'Infant Class' one summer morn,
Was gathered in the maple shade
Near the church door, and there we talked
Of the fair world our Lord had made--
The swaying trees upon the hill,
The waving grain, the shadowy grove--
Till every little heart seemed filled
With the sweet sense of Jesus' love.
A query came: Dear little ones,
As days go by what shall we do--
Since Jesus has so loved us all--
To show him that we love him too?
"I'll mind mama," said wilful Tim;
And Ben, "I'll carry in the wood;"
Said Mary, "I will lessons learn;"
While Dimple lisped, "I will be dood."
And how will Helen show her love?
She, with a wistful glance at Rose--
A sweet, but pale and timid child--
Replied, "By giving up, I 'spose."
Dear girl! To fragile sister Rose
She oft must yield her will and way;
But now this duty shall disclose
Her love for Jesus, day by day.
Oh oft, were we but wise, we'd find
Our triumph in another's gain;
On glowing altar--coals of love--
Would joy to see self-idols slain.
In simplest ways the soul may drink
With Christ the sacrificial cup,
And many a victory is won,
And nobly won, by 'giving up.'
NOT MINE
Thy will, Thy way, not mine, O blessed Lord;
My will would choose the smooth and pleasant way,
And that might lead from duty's path astray;
Nay, I would walk "according to Thy word,"
Choosing Thy way, not mine.
Thy peace, my gracious Saviour, would I choose,
My peace might lead me man, not God, to please,
Might lure my soul to take its selfish ease,
And, gaining all the world, itself to lose,
Give me Thy peace, not mine.
Thy will, Thy way, Thy peace, Thou knowest best;
Let me but see the guiding of Thine eye,
Let me but know Thy voice, and swift reply
My soul shall make to every know behest,
Doing Thy will, not mine.
IN THE DESERT
Ah me! what life since hers in age agone
Hath not known Hagar's hour in desert wild;
Outcast from sheltering home, adrift, alone,
Bereft of love's sweet ministry, her child--
Her heart's one treasure--late so fond and fair,
Become a burden more than she could bear;
All earth and sky a strange enfolding scroll
Writ o'er with nameless pain and sense of need
To which nor pitying eye nor ear gave heed
_Till came the thought of God._ Even so the soul,
Consumed with vain regret and doubt and dread--
As she upon the barren sand her boy--
Lays all it once had counted hope and joy
Upon the desolate waste itself had spread;
Self-abnegating, tho with bitter cry--
"I yield thee, but I cannot see thee die."
But, passing thence, the agonizing plea
Faith transforms into tuneful harmony,
Glad to remember "Thou, God, seest me."
A PHANTOM IN THE "CIRCLE"
Written for a literary club, to which the author had formerly belonged,
in Waterford, Va.
Start not, good friends; there was a time
When I, whom fate, in kindly mood,
Made brief sojourner in your clime,
Was glad partaker of the good
That from your "Circle" emanated;
And as the seven days went 'round
The appointed "Fourth-day evening" found
Me with its members congregated.
And also now I recognize
The smiling lips and beaming eyes
Of some, who, cordial, kind and free,
Had smiles and loving words for me.
Who, when I entered rose to greet,
And welcome gave, sincere and sweet.
But that was years ago, and now
There may be wrinkles on my brow;
There may have fled from form and face
The transient charms of youth and grace,
And time and sadness may have thrown
A shadow o'er the "chestnut brown"
Of locks that once--well, let that pass;--
These are but sorrowful reflections,
And, like those of my looking-glass,
Do but discover imperfections;
So let us leave this train of thought
And start in happier directions.
But first I think it may be due
Alike unto myself and you,
Lest some should think I may have brought
My ghostly presence here unsought,
To make this note of explanation:--
That not for pride, or praise, or gloom,
Or curious motive am I come;
Nor yet for want of occupation;
Far from intruding thus, I would
Have it distinctly understood
I'm here by "special invitation."
Here! and my phantom pulses quicken!
Pale memories gather round me fast,
And now they grow, and gleam, and thicken,
And fan me with their wings of light,
And bear me to a realm more bright
Than fairy land or elfin home,
Or that sweet world whence dreams do come
The heaven of a happy Past!
* * * * *
Familiar faces on me smile,
Remembered voices greet my ear,
And social converse gives the while,
The old-time wisdom and good cheer.
But while we're all engaged in chat,
Of work, of weather, and all that,
And voices rise and smiles grow broader,
Presiding dignity comes forth
With modest but "amazing" worth
And calls the whole concern to order.
Then "minutes" penned by snow-white hand,
Approved without dissension stand;
And hushed is all the talk and noise
The while some soft or manly voice
From gifted author doth unfold
Before us treasures new and old.
We grant them rare, yet lay them by
Our intellectual strength to try
In essay, speech, or declamation;
We reverence the might of mind,
But here our home-spun thoughts still find
A kindlier appreciation.
With hushed breath and eyes that glisten,
To some fine argument we listen,
From one with head so full of lore
That to prevent its brimming o'er
He must impart his information.
The which he does "by book and rule,"
Achieving in the village school
A never-ceasing reformation.
With rapt attention now we hear
A discourse upon Sound and Ear,
Wherein is beautifully blended,
The Science and the History,
The Knowledge and the Mystery
So fair, when fairly comprehended.
Then some poetic brain is fired,
Some secret spring unlocked, for
A brother brings, with love inspired,
Kind thoughts in glowing words attired,
And prays at once with heart and pen--
And all the people say Amen--
"God bless the Country Doctor."
And "lesser lights" send out a gleam
Of intellectual glory;
And many a grave or playful theme,
Or fact profound, or doubtful dream,
Or song, or allegory
Beguiles the gloom of winter night,
And makes the slow hours swift and light;
To social pleasure adds a charm,
Makes young hearts wise and old hearts warm,
And Life a pleasant story.
* * * * *
O friends, I live it o'er again!
I cross the gulf 'twixt Now and Then,
And live that happy time again;
Its varied joy and brightness, all--
The crowded room, the lighted hall,
The merry laugh, the friendly nod--
And bless the Fate that brought--but no,
Let us not read these chances so--
_Fate is the Sovereign will of God_;
He marks the paths by mortals trod;
And He appoints our joy and woe.
Then bless we God, whose gracious hand
Hath led us gently on our way;
By whose good will to-day we stand
Rejoicing that we live to-day.
By whose sweet mercy yet we trust
That all of us which is not dust,
From time and toils of earth shall rise
To nobler life beyond the skies.
A VALENTINE
Up in the same sweet heaven,
Though parted far,
We two may see at even
The same bright star.
So the same blessed guide-star
Of Love divine
Illumines with its glory
Thy path and mine.
When thoughts of these, of heaven
And love are thine,
Be one kind memory given
Thy Valentine.
A CONVENTION HYMN
Bless us now, our Heavenly Father,
As we gather once again
And unite our hearts and voices
In a grateful, glad refrain;
Praises for a Father's bounty,
Praises for a Saviour's reign.
Guide us by thy Holy Spirit,
Lead us in thy perfect way;
Show us as we strive to serve Thee,
What to do and what to say;
Teach us how to work and suffer,
How to watch and how to pray.
Gracious Lord, we come with pleading
For our tempted brother's sin;
At the open door of mercy
Praying Thou wilt take him in.
Sin-sick, heart-sore and repentant,
Let him now new life begin.
And we bring our sister, moaning
Over blighted hope and home;
Robbed of all life's best possessions
By the ruthless spoiler--Rum,
To her rest in Thy compassion,
Bid the heavy-laden "Come."
And we pray, O God of Nations,
That thine outstretched arm of might,
May rebuke this prowling evil,
May drive back the powers of night,
And preserve us Home and Country
Overruled by Love and Right.
A COLLECTION SONG
FOR THE LOYAL TEMPERANCE LEGION
Kind friends, we thank you, one and all,
For giving such attention,
While we've arraigned Old Alcohol,
And of his faults made mention.
And if you'd like to see him now
Put "in a pretty pickle,"
Just lend a hand and help us on
By giving us a nickel.
He stalks the earth from east to west,
A deal of mischief doing;
But we are "on the war-path" now,
Old Alcohol pursuing.
So if you'd like to see him caught
And punished for his crime, sir,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By tossing us a dime, sir.
He robs our homes of peace and joy;
He fills the land with sighing;
Sets snares and pitfalls for our feet,
(He'd better be a-dying.)
So if you think he should be slain,
As we believe he'd or'ter,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By handing out a quarter.
He boasts himself a King--by law
And license well protected;
But now "the children are a-field"
We'll have him soon ejected.
So if you'd see us tackle him,
And take him by the collar,
Just lend a hand and help us on
By dropping in a dollar.
THE BALLAD OF THE BOUNDARY LINE
"Here shall the Boundary Line be laid."
"Not so, but here," the other said.
Clamor of contest ran fierce and high,--
Defiant challenge and proud reply.
For heights of the Andes rose between
The Chilean States and the Argentine;
And the mooted question, day by day,
Was "What doth limit my neighbor's sway?"
The sunlight rose and the shadows fell
On either <DW72>, but none could tell
Just where the morning's magic wand
Touched the Argentine or Chile land.
Fair in their verdure, pure in their snow,
So near to heaven their summits go--
Why should they ever by man be trod?
'Twould seem they should only belong to God.
But the strife went on with passing years,
Fed by resentment and pride and fears;
Nor priest nor people could yet define
The rightful range of the Boundary Line.
The strife went on with its loss and shame,
As generations went and came,
And each in its turn the task essayed
To solve the problem so long delayed.
* * * * *
Then kinder, kinglier thought prevailed,
Where threat of sword and gun had failed;
And love-illumined reason wrought
The adjustment long so vainly sought.
"For how can a trifle of earth and air
With the worth of human lives compare?
And what can it matter if thine or mine
Be the narrow side on the Boundary Line?
"And why should greed and grim distrust
Despoil us of our faith and trust?
Enough, enough, let us pledge our word
To settle by judgment, not by sword.
"Let us heed the counsel our good priests bring,
And raise the standard of Christ our King,
And the here or there of the Boundary Line
Let God and the British king define."
Then the mother-heart of the nation stirred,
As the fair De Costa's plea was heard:
"Fathers and brothers! warriors, men!
Shall we give our bravest to death and pain?
"Shall we hush our hearts as we see them go--
God pity!--to strive with a brother foe?
Long we have waited, have suffered and prayed
For a joy still denied us, a hope still delayed.
"Enough; let the sun in highest heaven
Pencil the line for which you have striven;
Let a princely people on either side
In friendship and fair accord abide;
"Be the strife of the past to the wild winds swept;
The faith of the future unswervingly kept;
And let 'The Christ of the Andes' rest
In token of peace on the mountain's crest."
Grandly the people made reply;
The pledge was taken, the arms laid by,
And glad thanksgiving and festal song
Witnessed the joy of the gathered throng.
Joy! for the strife of the past was o'er;
Joy! for the promise of war no more;
Joy in the gladness of land and home,
Joy for the world-wide peace to come.
On snow-tipped height of the Andean range
They planted the statue fair and strange;
And there, to the query of the sky,
Its bronze and granite make reply:
"I witness the failure of the sword,
The victory of the Love-sent word;
To dust may crumble rock and hill,
This pledge of nations abideth still."
* * * * *
So now the Boundary Line is laid;
Christ in the heart hath the conflict stayed;
And now doth "the Christ of the Andes" rest
In token of peace on the mountain's crest.
MARGARET LEE
Margaret Lee--you do not know her?
Rightly named--a pearl is she;
Half a score of years I've loved her--
Precious Margaret Lee.
"Dimples?" No; nor "golden tresses,"
Nor yet "voice of silvery tone";--
If such phrases must express her,
Beauty she has none.
Soft brown hair and grey eyes dreaming
Visions that none others see;
Plain her features; _you_ might call her
Homely Margaret Lee.
Margaret owns no stately mansion,
Carries not a heavy purse;
Heiress to no "lordly acres,"
Humble station hers.
Quietly she treads life's highway;
Quiet, yet with noble mien;
'Mid the lowly, 'mid the lofty
Journeying like a queen.
Some have called her cold and haughty,
From her bearing, high and free;
Some have said a lofty spirit
Dwells with Margaret Lee.
Why then do the "heavy-laden"
Hail with joy her coming nigh?
Why the childern love her shadow
As she passeth by?
Some have deemed her weak, erratic.
Some, too self-reliant, strong;
One avers, her mood too gloomy;
One, too light her song.
All may be; the clouds of error
Ofttimes overshade her way,
Hiding where the rough and changeful
Paths of duty lay.
But unseen by mortal vision
Daily bends a suppliant knee;
Humbly bows a contrite spirit--
Praying Margaret Lee--
Asking of the All-forgiving
Pardon for her erring life;
Seeking wisdom, faith and patience
For its coming strife.
So with footstep sometimes faltering,
But with steadfast hope in God,
Keeps she still a blithesome journey
O'er the earthly road.
And at last all loss and failure
Lost in mercy, it may be
Heaven's gate of pearl will open
For sweet Margaret Lee.
There redeemed from sin and sorrow,
There from care and conflict free;
She will walk the angel city,
Angel Margaret Lee.
SOARING UPWARD
A. G. M., lingering on the threshold of eternity, looked lovingly
back to tell of the glory revealed to her purified vision. "Angels are
waiting," she whispered, "and all is beautiful, beautiful." Then, as
her spirit winged its happy way, a sweet murmur again was heard,
and the words were: "Soaring upward, upward into Heaven."
They call thee dead. They say that thou art gone,
Forevermore from earth. It is not so;
I know thy gentle spirit will return
And linger fondly round the loved below.
They call thee dead. And now thou art not ours;
"God touched thee," for thy work on earth was done.
Thy presence was to us like summer flowers;
And they are faded now; and thou art gone.
I had not thought, fair girl, that thou couldst die;
I knew thee gentle, innocent and gay;
And dreamed not that the brightness of thine eye,
Was destined thus so soon to fade away.
'Tis well: "He giveth His beloved sleep,"--
O Sleeper, thou so early loved and blest!
Say, were it wrong, if we who linger weep,
And long to sleep, like thee, and be at rest?
Ay, we who linger should not idlers be;
Day hath appointed work from morn till even;
And while we wait 'tis sweet to think of thee
As "soaring upward, upward into heaven!"
THE END OF THE ROAD
Do you wonder at my smiling?
Do you wonder that I faint not 'neath the burden of my load?
O, the gloom and toil and duty
Change to light and praise and beauty
While I'm looking toward the end of the road.
Though the way is long and dreary,
And I languish for a happier, a more serene abode,
As the light of earth grows dimmer,
Looking up, I see the glimmer
Of its glory at the end of the road.
Though the talent seemeth meager,
And my Sovereign Lord doth gather, ever, where He hath not strowed,
Yet I would not therefore spurn it,
But "with usury" return it,
At His coming at the end of the road.
Though I now go forth with weeping,
If I bear the precious seed which the Master would have sowed,
I shall come again with singing,
Sheaves of plenty with me bringing
To His harvest at the end of the road.
Peace shall follow tribulation:
This the boon Divine Compassion upon mortal hath bestowed;
Heavy now the cross I'm bearing;
Bright the crown I'll soon be wearing
In the Temple at the end of the road.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Note
Spelling oddities have been retained from the original book.
End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of By the Sea and Other Verses, by
Hannah Lavinia Baily
*** | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaBook"
} | 4,484 |
Die Ruta 27 (kurz 27-CH) ist eine internationale Fernstraße in der Región de Antofagasta im großen Norden Chiles. In ihrem Verlauf ist sie auf 156,1 km vollständig asphaltiert. Sie verbindet San Pedro de Atacama, wo sich die Zollkontrolle befindet, mit dem Paso de Jama, dem Grenzpass nach Argentinien. Auch wenn dieser Pass mit einer Höhe von 4200 m namensgebend für die Straße ist, erreicht sie ihren Scheitelpunkt an einem Bergpass auf einem Bergsattel (S23° 4.3518 W67° 30.2856) 57,6 Straßenkilometer vor dem Paso de Jama in einer Höhe von 4831 m, was sie zu einer der höchsten asphaltierten Fernstraßen Südamerikas macht. Sie verläuft größtenteils im Altiplano und führt dabei vorbei an Vulkanen wie z. B. dem Purico-Komplex und dem Licancabur, dem Quepiaco-Feuchtgebiet (km 78), sowie Salzseen und einem Teil des Naturschutzgebiets Nationalreservat Los Flamencos.
Ausgesetztheit
Die Fernstraße führt über weite völlig vegetationslose Strecke und ist durch sehr starke Sonneneinstrahlung bei niedriger Lufttemperatur, starkem Wind und dünner Luft sehr ausgesetzt. Die durchquerte Region ist zwischen Zollkontrolle und Grenze extrem dünn besiedelt und ohne Tankmöglichkeit. Sie gehört zu San Pedro mit einer Bevölkerungsdichte von einem Erwachsenen auf 4 km², die zum ganz überwiegenden Teil in dieser Stadt und den dazugehörigen Teilorten leben. San Pedro hat eine Fläche von 23.439 km² und hat damit bei etwa 5300 Einwohnern eine größere Fläche als das deutsche Bundesland Hessen. Es wird ausdrücklich auf einem Schild darauf hingewiesen, dass die 27-CH auf einer Distanz von etwa 120 Straßenkilometern bis zum Paso die Jama außerhalb des Mobilfunknetzes liegt.
Corredor Bioceánico Eje del Capricornio
Zusammen mit den Rutas 25, 23 und 5 Panamericana gehört sie zum Corredor Bioceánico Eje del Capricornio, der bis nach Antofagasta führt. Die offizielle Funktion dieser Ruta wurde im Jahre 2000 durch das Dekret Nº 2136 durch das MOP ratifiziert.
Städte und Ortschaften
Die direkten Anbindungen an Städte, Ortschaften und städtische Gebiete entlang dieser Straße von Westen nach Osten sind:
Anbindung an den Paso Hito Cajón nach Bolivien.
Es gibt nach San Pedro keine weiteren Ortschaften mehr an der Strecke, einzige zugängliche Siedlungen sind die Grenzposten.
Die Straße führt im Nachbarland als Ruta 52 weiter bis zu den Städten Susques und San Salvador de Jujuy.
Ansichten
Trivia
Die Straße ist in der Sammlung dangerousroads.org aufgeführt, einer globalen Liste besonders gefährlicher Straßen.
Diese asphaltierte Straße erreicht eine Höhe, die 21 Meter über der des höchsten Bergs Europas Mont Blanc liegt.
Región de Antofagasta
Länge: 156 km (km 0 bis 156).
Provincia de El Loa: San Pedro de Atacama (km 0).
Einzelnachweise
Weblinks
Complejo fronterizo San Pedro de Atacama.
Unidad de pasos fronterizos en twitter.
27
Ruta Chile027
Región de Antofagasta
San Pedro de Atacama | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 5,050 |
{"url":"http:\/\/encyclopedia.kids.net.au\/page\/to\/Tommy_Lee_Jones","text":"## Encyclopedia > Tommy Lee Jones\n\nArticle Content\n\n# Tommy Lee Jones\n\nTommy Lee Jones (born September 15, 1946) is an actor and director from San Saba, Texas, USA.\n\nHe attended Harvard on a scholarship, where he was a roommate of the future Vice-President Al Gore and there he received a B.A. in English literature and graduated cum laude in 1969.\n\nHe then moved to New York to become an actor. He started acting on Broadway and he made his debut in Love Story. Between 1971 and 1975 he acted in a soap opera called One Way To Live[?], then he played the role of an escaped convict that was hunted down by the police in Jackson County Jail[?] (1976).\n\nIn 1983 he received an Emmy for Best Actor for his performance as Gary Gilmore in The Executioner's Song[?].\n\nIn the '90s, movies such as The Fugitive costarring Harrison Ford and Men In Black[?] with Will Smith brought him tens of millions of dollars and made him one of the top actors of Hollywood.\n\nAll Wikipedia text is available under the terms of the GNU Free Documentation License\n\nSearch Encyclopedia\n Search over one million articles, find something about almost anything!\n\nFeatured Article\n Quadratic formula ... \\frac{b}{a} \\right) x + \\frac{c}{a}=0 [\/itex] which is equivalent to $x^2+\\frac{b}{a}x=-\\frac{c}{a}.$ The equation is now in a form ...","date":"2022-01-29 03:38:41","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.18577420711517334, \"perplexity\": 5384.318287309821}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2022-05\/segments\/1642320299927.25\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20220129032406-20220129062406-00409.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
from __future__ import unicode_literals, division, absolute_import
from builtins import * # noqa pylint: disable=unused-import, redefined-builtin
from past.builtins import basestring
import logging
from flexget import plugin
from flexget.event import event
log = logging.getLogger('sort_by')
class PluginSortBy(object):
"""
Sort task entries based on a field
Example::
sort_by: title
More complex::
sort_by:
field: imdb_score
reverse: yes
Reverse the order of the entries, without sorting on a field::
sort_by:
reverse: yes
"""
schema = {
'oneOf': [
{'type': 'string'},
{
'type': 'object',
'properties': {
'field': {'type': 'string'},
'reverse': {'type': 'boolean'}},
'additionalProperties': False
}
]
}
def on_task_filter(self, task, config):
if isinstance(config, basestring):
field = config
reverse = False
else:
field = config.get('field', None)
reverse = config.get('reverse', False)
log.debug('sorting entries by: %s' % config)
if not field:
task.all_entries.reverse()
return
task.all_entries.sort(key=lambda e: e.get(field, 0), reverse=reverse)
@event('plugin.register')
def register_plugin():
plugin.register(PluginSortBy, 'sort_by', api_ver=2)
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 5,438 |
Speaker Rental - Sound solutions for any size event.
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Whether you need a simple speaker setup for wedding announcements, something sleek and low profile for a cocktail hour or corporate event, or a 10,000 watt line array setup for a live band or DJ, we've got solutions to fit your needs and your budget. We offer delivery, setup, and on-site technical services including sound engineering, mixing, and stage management.
Have questions? Give us a call @ 1.888.826.1299 or email us and we're happy to make recommendations - we can help you choose the right speakers for your event. We offer assistance in fulfilling Technical Riders, so feel free to send over your DJ, band, or artist's requests.
One of our most popular and versatile packages, the Wi-Mic and Music Package is up to any number of challenges--from small corporate conferences to wedding season and church services. Package includes speakers and stands, mixer, wireless microphone and iPod / laptop cable.The QSC K12s provide sound for rooms of up to 150 people. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 8,556 |
include_recipe "bcpc::ceph-common"
bash 'ceph-mon-mkfs' do
code <<-EOH
mkdir -p /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}
ceph-mon --mkfs -i "#{node['hostname']}" --keyring "/etc/ceph/ceph.mon.keyring"
EOH
not_if "test -f /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring"
end
template '/etc/init/ceph-mon-renice.conf' do
source 'ceph-upstart.ceph-mon-renice.conf.erb'
mode 00644
notifies :restart, "service[ceph-mon-renice]", :immediately
end
service 'ceph-mon-renice' do
provider Chef::Provider::Service::Upstart
action [:enable, :start]
restart_command 'service ceph-mon-renice restart'
end
execute "ceph-mon-start" do
command "initctl emit ceph-mon id='#{node['hostname']}'"
end
ruby_block "add-ceph-mon-hints" do
block do
get_head_nodes.each do |server|
system "ceph --admin-daemon /var/run/ceph/ceph-mon.#{node['hostname']}.asok " +
"add_bootstrap_peer_hint #{server['bcpc']['storage']['ip']}:6789"
end
end
# not_if checks to see if all head node IPs are in the mon list
not_if {
mon_list = %x[ceph mon stat]
get_head_nodes.collect{ |x| x['bcpc']['storage']['ip'] }.map{ |ip| mon_list.include? ip }.uniq == [true]
}
end
ruby_block "wait-for-mon-quorum" do
block do
clock = 0
sleep_time = 2
timeout = 120
status = { 'state' => '' }
until %w{leader peon}.include?(status['state']) do
if clock >= timeout
fail "Exceeded quorum wait timeout of #{timeout} seconds, check Ceph status with ceph -s and ceph health detail"
end
Chef::Log.warn("Waiting for ceph-mon to get quorum...")
status = JSON.parse(%x[ceph --admin-daemon /var/run/ceph/ceph-mon.#{node['hostname']}.asok mon_status])
clock += sleep_time
sleep sleep_time unless %w{leader peon}.include?(status['state'])
end
end
end
%w{get_monstatus if_leader if_not_leader if_quorum if_not_quorum}.each do |script|
template "/usr/local/bin/#{script}" do
source "ceph-#{script}.erb"
mode 0755
owner "root"
group "root"
end
end
template "/etc/sudoers.d/monstatus" do
source "sudoers-monstatus.erb"
user "root"
group "root"
mode 00440
end
bash "initialize-ceph-admin-and-osd-config" do
code <<-EOH
ceph --name mon. --keyring /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring \
auth get-or-create-key client.admin \
mon 'allow *' \
osd 'allow *' \
mds 'allow' > /dev/null
ceph --name mon. --keyring /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring \
auth get-or-create-key client.bootstrap-osd \
mon 'allow profile bootstrap-osd' > /dev/null
EOH
end
bash "set-ceph-crush-tunables" do
code <<-EOH
ceph --name mon. --keyring /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring \
osd crush tunables optimal
EOH
# do not apply if any tunables have been modified from their defaults
not_if do
show_tunables = Mixlib::ShellOut.new('ceph osd crush show-tunables')
show_tunables.run_command
raise 'Could not check Ceph tunables' if show_tunables.error!
JSON.load(show_tunables.stdout) != node['bcpc']['ceph']['expected_tunables']
end
end
# Remove MDS in a later pull request... Wait_for_pg_create uses mdmap so it will need to change...
#directory "/var/lib/ceph/mds/ceph-#{node['hostname']}" do
# user "root"
# group "root"
# mode 00755
#end
#bash "initialize-ceph-mds-config" do
# code <<-EOH
# ceph --name mon. --keyring /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring \
# auth get-or-create-key mds.#{node['hostname']} \
# mon 'allow *' \
# osd 'allow *' \
# mds 'allow' > /dev/null
# EOH
#end
#bash "write-mds-#{node['hostname']}-key" do
# code <<-EOH
# MDS_KEY=`ceph --name mon. --keyring /var/lib/ceph/mon/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring auth get-or-create-key mds.#{node['hostname']}`
# ceph-authtool "/var/lib/ceph/mds/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring" \
# --create-keyring \
# --name=mds.#{node['hostname']} \
# --add-key="$MDS_KEY"
# EOH
# not_if "test -f /var/lib/ceph/mds/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/keyring"
#end
#execute "ceph-mds-start" do
# command "initctl emit ceph-mds id='#{node['hostname']}'"
#end
# End MDS block
template "/tmp/crush-map-additions.txt" do
source "ceph-crush.erb"
owner "root"
mode 00644
end
bash "ceph-get-crush-map" do
code <<-EOH
false; while (($?!=0)); do
echo Trying to get crush map...
sleep 1
ceph osd getcrushmap -o /tmp/crush-map
done
crushtool -d /tmp/crush-map -o /tmp/crush-map.txt
EOH
end
bash "ceph-add-crush-rules" do
code <<-EOH
cat /tmp/crush-map-additions.txt >> /tmp/crush-map.txt
crushtool -c /tmp/crush-map.txt -o /tmp/crush-map-new
ceph osd setcrushmap -i /tmp/crush-map-new
EOH
not_if "grep ssd /tmp/crush-map.txt"
end
# Beginning in Hammer these two are not automatically created
vms_optimal_pg = power_of_2(get_ceph_osd_nodes.length*node['bcpc']['ceph']['pgs_per_node']/node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['replicas']*node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['portion']/100)
# Create the VMs pool and any others that may need creating
vms_rule = (node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['type'] == "ssd") ? node['bcpc']['ceph']['ssd']['ruleset'] : node['bcpc']['ceph']['hdd']['ruleset']
bash "create-rados-pool-#{node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['name']}" do
user "root"
code <<-EOH
ceph osd pool create #{node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['name']} #{vms_optimal_pg}
ceph osd pool set #{node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['name']} crush_ruleset #{vms_rule}
sleep 15
EOH
not_if "rados lspools | grep ^#{node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['name']}$"
end
# notifies :run, "bash[wait-for-pgs-creating]", :immediately
# Commented out 'data' and 'metadata' since the number of pools can impact pgs
# data metadata - removed from loop below - After firefly data and metadata are no longer default pools
if get_head_nodes.length == 1; then
rule = (node['bcpc']['ceph']['default']['type'] == "ssd") ? node['bcpc']['ceph']['ssd']['ruleset'] : node['bcpc']['ceph']['hdd']['ruleset']
["rbd"].each do |pool|
bash "move-#{pool}-rados-pool" do
user "root"
code "ceph osd pool set #{pool} crush_ruleset #{rule}"
end
end
end
replicas = [search_nodes("recipe", "ceph-osd").length, node['bcpc']['ceph']['default']['replicas']].min
if replicas < 1; then
replicas = 1
end
# data metadata - removed from list since they are no longer created by default in ceph
["rbd", node['bcpc']['ceph']['vms']['name']].each do |pool|
bash "set-#{pool}-rados-pool-replicas" do
user "root"
code "ceph osd pool set #{pool} size #{replicas}"
not_if "ceph osd pool get #{pool} size | grep #{replicas}"
end
end
# mds is only used by CephFS so need for it here at this time but will remain until mds is removed
%w{mon}.each do |svc|
%w{done upstart}.each do |name|
file "/var/lib/ceph/#{svc}/ceph-#{node['hostname']}/#{name}" do
owner "root"
group "root"
mode "0644"
action :create
end
end
end
%w{noscrub nodeep-scrub}.each do |flag|
if node['bcpc']['ceph']['rebalance']
execute "ceph-osd-set-#{flag}" do
command "ceph osd set #{flag}"
only_if "ceph health"
end
else
execute "ceph-osd-unset-#{flag}" do
command "ceph osd unset #{flag}"
only_if "ceph health"
end
end
end
bash "create-ceph-cinder-user" do
user "root"
code "ceph auth get-or-create client.cinder mon 'allow r' osd 'allow class-read object_prefix rbd_children, allow rwx pool=volumes-ssd,allow rwx pool=volumes-hdd, allow rwx pool=vms, allow rx pool=images'"
not_if "ceph auth get client.cinder"
end
bash "create-ceph-glance-user" do
user "root"
code "ceph auth get-or-create client.glance mon 'allow r' osd 'allow class-read object_prefix rbd_children, allow rwx pool=images'"
not_if "ceph auth get client.glance"
end
bash "create-ceph-cinder-keyring" do
user "root"
code "ceph auth get-or-create client.cinder > /etc/ceph/ceph.client.cinder.keyring"
not_if "test -f /etc/ceph/ceph.client.cinder.keyring"
end
ruby_block "store-cinder-ceph-key" do
block do
make_config("cinder-ceph-key", `ceph auth get-key client.cinder`, force=true)
end
only_if { File.exist?('/etc/ceph/ceph.client.cinder.keyring') and ((config_defined('cinder-ceph-key') and (get_config('cinder-ceph-key') != `ceph auth get-key client.cinder`)) or (not config_defined('cinder-ceph-key'))) }
end
bash "create-ceph-glance-keyring" do
user "root"
code "ceph auth get-or-create client.glance > /etc/ceph/ceph.client.glance.keyring"
not_if "test -f /etc/ceph/ceph.client.glance.keyring"
end
ruby_block "store-glance-ceph-key" do
block do
make_config("glance-ceph-key", `ceph auth get-key client.glance`, force=true)
end
only_if { File.exist?('/etc/ceph/ceph.client.glance.keyring') and ((config_defined('glance-ceph-key') and (get_config('glance-ceph-key') != `ceph auth get-key client.glance`)) or (not config_defined('glance-ceph-key'))) }
end
include_recipe "bcpc::ceph-osd"
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 1,793 |
<div class="container" ng-controller="ListaCtrl">
<div class="row">
<div class="text-left"><a class="btn btn-primary" href="#/"><i class="fa fa-pencil"></i> Realizar Checklist</a></div>
<div class="text-right"><a href="" ng-click="logOut()">cerrar sesión</a></div>
<div class="row">
<div class="col-md-4">
<button class="btn btn-default" ng-disabled="disablePaginacion" ng-click="setPaginacionAnterior()">< Anterior</button>
<button class="btn btn-default" ng-disabled="disablePaginacion || disablePaginacionNext" ng-click="setPaginacionSiguiente()"> Siguiente ></button>
</div>
</div>
<div ng-show="spin" class="text-center"><i class="fa fa-spinner fa-spin fa-2x"></i></div>
<div ng-show="sinRegistros" class="alert alert-info" role="alert" style="margin-top: 15px">
No hay registros aún, realiza tu primer checkList de dimensionamiento diario.
</div>
<div ng-show="disablePaginacionNext" class="alert alert-info" role="alert" style="margin-top: 15px">
No hay mas registros. (Presiona "Anterior")
</div>
<div ng-repeat="(key, lista) in listas" class="panel panel-primary" style="margin-top: 15px">
<div class="panel-body">
<div style="font-size: 10px;cursor:pointer" type="button" data-toggle="collapse" data-target="#collapseExample{{key}}" aria-expanded="false" aria-controls="collapseExample{{key}}">
<strong>Codpos: </strong>{{lista.ch_codPos}},
<strong>Usuario: </strong>{{lista.ch_usuario}},
<strong>Autor: </strong>{{lista.ch_nombre}},
<strong>Fecha: </strong>{{lista.ch_log | date:'yyyy-MM-dd HH:mm:ss'}}.
</div>
<div class="collapse" id="collapseExample{{key}}">
<table class="table table-striped table-hover table-responsive table-condensed" style="font-size: 12px">
<thead>
<tr>
<th>Contratados</th>
<th>Compensatorios</th>
<th>Incapacitados</th>
<th>Prestados</th>
<th>Ausentes</th>
<th>Entrenamiento</th>
<th>Capacitacion</th>
<th>Vacio Lab</th>
<th>Vacaciones</th>
<th>Venta externa</th>
<th>Retiros</th>
<th>AseApoyos</th>
</tr>
</thead>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>{{lista.ch_contratados}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_compensatorio}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_incapacitados}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_prestados}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_ausentes}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_entrenamiento}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_capacitacion}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_vacioLab}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_vacaciones}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_ventaExterna}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_retiros}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_aseApoyos}}</td>
<td ng-show="0 == key"><a href="#/{{lista.cd_id}}" class="btn btn-primary btn-xs">Editar</a></td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<table class="table table-striped table-hover table-responsive table-condensed" style="font-size: 12px">
<thead>
<tr>
<th>Orientador</th>
<th>PL</th>
<th>SL</th>
<th>DM</th>
<th>GB</th>
<th>LZ</th>
<th>Apertura</th>
<th>Seg Turno</th>
<th>Tercer Turno</th>
</tr>
</thead>
<tbody>
<tr>
<td>{{lista.ch_orientador}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_PL}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_SL}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_DM}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_GB}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_LZ}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_apertura}}</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_segTurno}} ({{JSONparse(lista.ch_otro).ch_horaSegTurno}})</td>
<td>{{lista.ch_terTurno}} ({{JSONparse(lista.ch_otro).ch_horaTerTurno}})</td>
</tr>
</tbody>
</table>
<strong>Observaciones: </strong>
<div>
{{lista.ch_observaciones}}
</div>
</div><!-- End collapse -->
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div> | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 410 |
package greycat.taskide;
import greycat.Graph;
import greycat.Type;
import greycat.internal.heap.HeapBuffer;
import greycat.struct.Buffer;
import greycat.websocket.WSServer;
import io.undertow.server.HttpHandler;
import io.undertow.server.HttpServerExchange;
import io.undertow.server.handlers.resource.ClassPathResourceManager;
import io.undertow.server.handlers.resource.ResourceHandler;
import io.undertow.util.HttpString;
import io.undertow.util.StatusCodes;
import greycat.internal.task.TaskHelper;
import greycat.plugin.ActionDeclaration;
import greycat.plugin.ActionRegistry;
public class TaskIDE {
public static void attach(final WSServer server, final Graph graph) {
server.addHandler("taskide", new ResourceHandler(new ClassPathResourceManager(TaskIDE.class.getClassLoader(), "taskide")).addWelcomeFiles("index.html").setDirectoryListingEnabled(false));
server.addHandler("actionregistry", new HttpHandler() {
@Override
public void handleRequest(HttpServerExchange httpServerExchange) throws Exception {
Buffer builder = new HeapBuffer();
builder.writeString("[");
ActionRegistry registry = graph.actionRegistry();
ActionDeclaration[] declarations = registry.declarations();
for (int i = 0; i < declarations.length; i++) {
ActionDeclaration declaration = declarations[i];
if (i != 0) {
builder.writeString(",");
}
builder.writeString("{\"name\":");
TaskHelper.serializeString(declaration.name(), builder, false);
builder.writeString(",\"description\":");
TaskHelper.serializeString(declaration.description(), builder, false);
byte[] params = declaration.params();
if (params != null) {
builder.writeString(",\"params\":[");
for (int j = 0; j < params.length; j++) {
if (j != 0) {
builder.writeString(",");
}
TaskHelper.serializeString(Type.typeName(params[j]), builder, false);
}
builder.writeString("]");
}
builder.writeString("}");
}
builder.writeString("]");
httpServerExchange.getResponseHeaders().add(new HttpString("Access-Control-Allow-Origin"), "*");
httpServerExchange.setStatusCode(StatusCodes.OK);
httpServerExchange.getResponseSender().send(builder.toString());
}
});
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 8,448 |
\section{Introduction}
The greatest example of the geometrization of the fundamental interactions is Einstein's General Relativity (GR).
Since then, gravity goes hand in hand with geometry to the point that we identify the gravitational phenomena as a manifestation of a curved space-time. Moreover, Yang-Mills (YM) theory, which is the basis for the standard model of particle physics, is another geometrical theory. Although there are many differences between GR and YM there have been attempts to unify them in the framework of some classical field theory \cite{Peldan1990,Krasnov2018}.
To construct a unified model for the fundamental interactions, different approaches have been used. One can consider higher dimensional models of gravity where the metric is the main field, and it components describe the fundamental interactions \cite{fairlie,nueva}. On the other hand, elementary interactions are described is by the connection associated to an internal symmetry group where the space-time is non-dynamical (but let us remember that in GR the metric is a dynamical entity). Various attempts have been made to construct Yang-Mills type gauge theories of gravity. There are interesting formulations in the literature, known as pure connection actions for gravity \cite{Capovilla1991,Krasnov2011,Rosales-Quintero2016,Mitsou2019}.The fundamental field is gauge field (for a corresponding symmetry group).
Therefore, the metric is no longer the main field for describing gravity,but a derived object. Consequently, GR arises from the proposed gauge theory.
The description of the gravitational field without explicit reference to a metric, but rather to
gauge fields or $p$-forms has been largely developed in the past years, with some motivation coming from
the attempts to quantize gravity because of the relative simplicity that this constructions entail. In these theories the metric
is reconstructed from the dynamical fields under consideration. This kind of descriptions
are sometimes referred to as \emph{form theories of gravity}.
One of the first and best known examples of this type of theories is
MacDowell-Mansouri (MM) gravity \cite{PhysRevLett.38.739}
(see \cite{Blagojevic:2012bc} for a review).
It is constructed
purely from the field strength of the gauge potential on either the de-
Sitter group $SO(4,1)$ for a positive cosmological constant, or the anti de-
Sitter group $SO(3,2)$ for a negative cosmological constant. The gauge
potential acts as an internal connection that unifies into a single object the tetrad and spin connection used in the
Palatini formulation. This is done by associating
the translational part of the gauge connection to the tetrad and the
Lorentz part to the spin connection.
By explicitly breaking the
original gauge group to its Lorentz
subgroup, one obtains the action for MM gravity. This action
turns out to be equivalent to Einstein-Hilbert gravity with
cosmological constant, supplemented with the Euler topological
term. The MM action is thus an elegant mathematical construct with
deep connections to the infrared and ultraviolet physics of
space-time. It naturally includes a cosmological constant and signals
the way to the inclusion of topological terms that modify the quantum
predictions of the theory with respect to those of pure GR
\cite{Kaul:2011va}.
Einstein-Hilbert gravity with a cosmological constant is the basis of the standard cosmological model, $\Lambda$CDM, which is in good agreement with many different observations. Despite the observational success of the $\Lambda$CDM
model, there are motivations to search for alternatives. First of all, in order to conclude that $\Lambda$CDM is our best cosmological model we need to compare it against other models. Second, the ingredients of $\Lambda$CDM -- cold dark matter and a dark energy sector modelled by a cosmological constant -- are difficult to reconcile with the theoretical pillars of contemporary physics. In view of this, there have been several proposals for alternative
theories of gravity. A large class of these proposals modifies gravity by adding new degrees of freedom, for instance from scalar or vector fields. The development of these proposals led to theories such as Horndeski, beyond Horndeski, and degenerate scalar-tensor theories of gravity in the case of scalar fields~\cite{Horndeski:1974wa,Gleyzes:2014dya,Langlois:2015cwa}, or generalised Proca in the case of vector fields~\cite{Tasinato:2014eka,Heisenberg:2014rta,Heisenberg:2016eld}, which admit a rich phenomenology with solutions relevant for astrophysics and cosmology. This rich phenomenology comes with a caveat: the Lagrangians for these theories include several self-interactions of the scalar or vector fields and their derivatives. However, it has been shown that subsets of these theories can be recovered from simpler Lagrangians in higher dimensional setups, such as brane-world scenarios or compactifications~\cite{Dvali:2000hr,Hinterbichler:2010xn,VanAcoleyen:2011mj}, or considering a Higgs mechanism~\cite{Hull:2014bga}. Following the discussion in the previous paragraphs, it seems natural to explore how these scalar and vector-tensor theories might emerge from a construction inspired in Yang-Mills gauge theory. Here we focus on the vector-tensor theories, and we show that a modification of the MacDowell-Mansouri framework allows one to construct a model of generalised Proca.
This work is organised as follows. In Sec.~\ref{sec:gr} we present the standard procedure to obtain GR with a cosmological constant from the MM action. In Sec.~\ref{sec:gp} we review the vector-tensor theory known as generalised Proca. In Sec.~\ref{sec:vtbgs} we obtain a vector-tensor theory from a construction similar to the one used to obtain GR from the MM action, and we show the relation between this theory and generalised Proca. In sections~\ref{sec:static} and~\ref{sec:cosmo} we explore static
and cosmological solutions to this model. Finally, in section~\ref{sec:conc}
we discuss our results and provide some concluding remarks.
\section{GR as a broken gauge symmetry}\label{sec:gr}
Some years ago MacDowell and Mansouri \cite{MacDowell:1977jt} proposed a unified theory of
gravitation and supergravity that is independent of the metric, and instead
takes as fundamental field the gauge fields of a certain group. In this formulation the metric is not present in the action, but it can be recovered from the gauge fields of the theory
To develop this theory we first consider a gauge potential, or connection, associated to a fiber bundle
$SO(3,2)$ (or $SO(4,1)$) on a 4-dimensional base space-time. We
denote this connection as $\omega_\mu{}^{AB}$
, where greek indices run
from $0$ to $3$ and correspond to the base space-time, while capital
Latin indices (\textit{internal} indices) run from $0$ to $4$ and correspond to the fiber anti-de Sitter group. The connection
is antisymmetric in its internal indices, $\omega_\mu{}^{AB}=-\omega_\mu{}^{BA}$.
The curvature associated to this connection is
\begin{equation}\label{eq:5curv}
\mathcal R^{AB}_{\mu\nu}= \partial_\mu \omega_\nu{}^{AB}-\partial_\nu \omega_\mu{}^{AB} + \frac{1}{2} f^{[AB]}_{[[CD][EF]]}\omega_\mu{}^{CD}\omega_\nu{}^{EF},
\end{equation}
where the notation $[AB]$ means antisymmetrization in the indices $A$ and $B$ and
\begin{align}\label{eq:stctes}
f^{[AB]}_{[[CD][EF]]}=&\frac{1}{2}\left[\eta_{CE}\delta^A_D\delta^B_F-\eta_{CF}\delta^A_D\delta^B_E+\eta_{DF}\delta^A_C\delta^B_E-\eta_{DE}\delta^A_C\delta^B_F\right]\nonumber\\
&-\frac{1}{2}\left[\eta_{CE}\delta^B_D\delta^A_F-\eta_{CF}\delta^B_D\delta^A_E+\eta_{DF}\delta^B_C\delta^A_E-\eta_{DE}\delta^B_C\delta^A_F\right]
\end{align}
are the structure constants of $SO(3,2)$ with $(\eta_{AB})=diag(1,-1,-1,-1,-\lambda^2)$ \cite[see e.g.][]{Nieto:1994rm}. With the use of \eqref{eq:stctes} we rewrite the curvature as
\begin{equation}\label{eq:curva4}
\mathcal R^{a4}_{\mu\nu}= \partial_\mu \omega_\nu{}^{a4}-\partial_\nu \omega_\mu{}^{a4} +\omega_\mu{}^{4b}{\omega_{\nu b}}^{a}-\omega_{\mu b}{}^{a}{\omega_{\nu }}^{4b}
\end{equation}
and \
\begin{equation}\label{eq:curvab}
\mathcal R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}= R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}-\lambda^2\left({\omega^{4a}}_\mu{\omega^{4b}}_\nu-{\omega^{4a}}_\nu{\omega^{4b}}_\mu\right),
\end{equation}
where lowercase Latin indices run from $0$ to $3$ and
\begin{equation}
R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}=\partial_\mu \omega_\nu{}^{ab}-\partial_\nu \omega_\mu{}^{ab}
+ \omega_{\mu}{}^{ca}\omega_{\nu c}{}^b - \omega_{\nu}{}^{ca}\omega_{\mu c}{}^b
\end{equation}
is the usual four-dimensional Riemann curvature tensor. The
proposal by MM was to identify the components of ${\omega_\mu}^{AB}$ as a
four-dimensional part $\omega_\mu{}^{ab}$ and a vierbein
\begin{equation}\omega_\mu{}^{4a} = e_\mu^a.\label{eq:mmans}
\end{equation}
Thus, the mixed and 4-dimensional parts of the curvature become
\begin{equation}\label{eq:curva42}
\mathcal R^{a4}_{\mu\nu}= \partial_\mu e_\nu{}^{a}-\partial_\nu e_\mu{}^{a} +e_\mu{}^{b}{\omega_{\nu b}}^{a}-\omega_{\mu b}{}^{a}{e_{\nu }}^{b},
\end{equation}
and
\begin{equation}\label{eq:curvab2}
\mathcal R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}= R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}-\lambda^2\left({e^{a}}_\mu{e^{b}}_\nu-{e^{a}}_\nu{e^{b}}_\mu\right).
\end{equation}
Then the MM action is written in terms of the 4-dimensional part of the curvature~\eqref{eq:curvab} as
\begin{equation}\label{eq:mma}
S = \int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd} \mathcal R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}\mathcal R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta},
\end{equation}
where $\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}$ is the Levi-Civita symbol. We can write this action explicitly in terms of the connection and the vierbein by using Eqs.~\eqref{eq:curva42} and~\eqref{eq:curvab2} ,
\begin{align}\label{eq:mmact}
S&= \int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd}\left[R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} - 2 \lambda^2\left({e^{a}}_\mu{e^{b}}_\nu-{e^{a}}_\nu{e^{b}}_\mu\right)R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} + 4\lambda^4 e^a_\mu e^b_\nu e^c_\alpha e^d_\beta \right] .
\end{align}
To see how this action is related to the standard Einstein-Hilbert action we consider a 4-dimensional space-time $M$ with metric $g_{\mu\nu}$ and an orthonormal frame field $e$ (or tetrad) such that
\begin{equation}
g_{\mu\nu}{e^\mu_a}e^\nu_b=\eta_{ab},
\end{equation}
where the lower case Latin indices correspond to the inner space basis which is endowed with an internal metric $\eta_{ab}$. The inverse frame field (or co-tetrad) defined by ${e^a_\mu}e^\mu_b=\delta^a_b$ is related to the space-time metric by
\begin{equation}
g_{\mu\nu}=\eta_{ab}{e^a_\mu}e^b_\nu.
\end{equation}
Moreover, the Levi-Civita symbols in the internal and space-time indices are related by
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:lcs1}
\epsilon_{abcd}e^a_\mu e^b_\nu e^c_\alpha e^d_\beta = e \epsilon_{\mu\nu\alpha\beta},
\end{equation}
where $e=\sqrt{-det(g)}$.
For their contraction, we use
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:lctensordensity1}
\epsilon^{\mu_1\dots\mu_k\mu_{k+1}\dots\mu_n}\epsilon_{\nu_1\dots\nu_k\mu_{k+1}\dots\mu_n}=-k!(n-k)!\delta^{\mu_1\dots\mu_k}_{\nu_1\dots\nu_k},
\end{equation}
and similarly for the Levi-Civita symbols in the internal space (which
also has 1 timelike dimension).
The use of the relations given above enable us to rewrite \eqref{eq:mmact} as
\begin{align}\label{eq:mmaction0}
S&= \int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd}R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} +8 \lambda^2 \int d^4 x e\left[R -12\lambda^2 \right].
\end{align}
The second term contains the Einstein-Hilbert action with a cosmological constant, while the first term is the so called Euler topological term. In four dimensions, the Euler topological term is proportional to the Gauss-Bonnet term and, since it is a total derivative, has not contribution to the field equations in the classical regime \cite{Giribet:2020aks, Glavan:2019inb}. Notice that a proper identification of the second term in \eqref{eq:mmaction0} with General Relativity and a cosmological constant requires us to put by hand the appropriate gravitational constant in front of the action, otherwise we get a theory where
the gravitational and cosmological constants are not independent. Another alternative is to consider a different construction, also inspired in MM, but where the resulting 4d theory contains enough free parameters for describing the gravitational and cosmological constants. This alternative construction makes use of the self-dual and
anti-self-dual parts of the curvature~\cite[e.g.][]{Nieto:1998mz,Chagoya:2016zhy}.
\section{Generalised Proca theory}\label{sec:gp}
A few years ago, a galileon-type generalization of the Proca action containing derivative self-interactions of a vector field was proposed~\cite{Tasinato:2014eka,Heisenberg:2014rta}. The original Proca theory describes a massive vector field whose temporal component does not have a kinetic term,
the only three propagating degrees of freedom correspond to two transverse modes plus one longitudinal mode. In the generalization of the Proca theory, the key idea is to include all the possible derivative self-interactions of the vector field preserving three propagating degrees of freedom whilst the temporal component remains non-dynamical. The theory in flat space-time is described by
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{L}=-\frac{1}{4}F_{\mu\nu}F^{\mu\nu}+\sum_{n=2}^6 \alpha_n\mathcal{L}_n,
\end{equation}
with
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:lnproca}
\mathcal{L}_2& = &f_2 ( X, F,Y), \nonumber \\
\mathcal{L}_3& = &f_3 (X)\partial_\mu A^\mu \nonumber, \\
\mathcal{L}_4& = &f_4 (X)\left[(\partial_\mu A^\mu)^2-\partial_\alpha A_\beta \partial^\beta A^\alpha \right] +c_2 \tilde{f}_4(X)F_{\mu\nu}F^{\mu\nu}\nonumber ,\\
\mathcal{L}_5& = &f_5 (X)\left[(\partial_\mu A^\mu)^3-3(\partial_\mu A^\mu)\partial_\alpha A_\beta \partial^\beta A^\alpha+2\partial_\alpha A_\beta \partial^\gamma A^\alpha \partial^\beta A_\gamma \right] \nonumber\\
&&+d_2 \tilde{f}_5(X)\tilde F^{\alpha\mu}{\tilde F^\beta}{}_\mu\partial_\alpha A_\beta\nonumber, \\
\mathcal{L}_6& = &-\epsilon^{\mu\nu\rho\sigma}\epsilon_{\alpha\beta\delta\kappa}\left[f_6(X)\partial_\mu A^\alpha \partial_\nu A^\beta\partial_\rho A^\delta\partial_\sigma A^\kappa+e_2 \tilde{f}_6 (X)\partial_\mu A_\nu \partial^\alpha A^\beta \partial_\rho A^\delta\partial_\sigma A^\kappa\right].
\end{eqnarray}
Here $F_{\mu\nu}=\partial_\mu A_\nu-\partial_\nu A_\mu$, $f_{3,4,5,6}$ and $\tilde f_{4,5,6}$ are arbitrary functions depending on $X=-A_\mu A^\mu/2$, $F=-F_{\mu\nu} F^{\mu\nu}/4$, $Y=-A^\mu A^\nu F_\mu^\alpha F_{\nu\alpha}$, and $c_2$,$d_2$, $e_2$ are constant coefficients. The function $f_2$ depends on all possible terms with $U(1)$ symmetry and terms with no time derivatives acting on the time component of the vector field. The Lagrangian densities $\mathcal L _n$ shown above were constructed exploring order by order all the possible Lorentz invariant terms that can be built and determining the suitable coefficients in order to remove the emerging ghost-instabilities.
The set of parameters generated for all the possible self-interactions is then fixed with the help of the constraint equation provided by the vanishing determinant of the Hessian matrix $\mathcal H^{\mu\nu}_{\mathcal{L}}=\partial^2 \mathcal L /\partial \dot A_\mu \partial \dot A_\nu$. This ensures the propagation of only three degrees of freedom
The extension of this theory to a curved space-time could be realized by promoting the partial derivatives appearing in the Lagrangian to covariant derivatives. Nevertheless, this naive covariantization propagates additional degrees of freedom. To avoid this, non-minimal couplings to the curvature are included, playing the role of counter-terms to keep only the three physical degrees of freedom and maintain second order equations of motion.
On curved space-time the generalised Proca theory~\cite{Heisenberg:2016eld} is represented by the Lagrangian
\begin{equation}
\mathcal{L}^{\text{curved}}_{\text{gen.Proca}}=-\frac{1}{2}F_{\mu\nu}F^{\mu\nu}+\sum_{n=2}^6 \beta_n\mathcal{L}_n,
\end{equation}
where the $\mathcal L_n$ Lagrangians are given by
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:lncurved}
\mathcal{L}_2& = &G_2 (X, F,Y) ,\nonumber \\
\mathcal{L}_3& = &G_3 (X)\nabla_\mu A^\mu , \nonumber \\
\mathcal{L}_4& = &G_4 (X)R+G_{4,X}\left[(\nabla_\mu A^\mu)^2-\nabla_\alpha A_\beta \nabla^\beta A^\alpha \right] \nonumber ,\\
\mathcal{L}_5& = &G_5(X)G_{\mu\nu}\nabla^\mu A^\nu-\frac{1}{6}G_{5,X} (X)\left[(\nabla_\mu A^\mu)^3-3(\nabla_\mu A^\mu)\nabla_\alpha A_\beta \nabla^\beta A^\alpha\right. \nonumber\\
&&\left.+2\nabla_\alpha A_\beta \nabla^\gamma A^\alpha \nabla^\beta A_\gamma \right]-g_5(X) \tilde{F}^{\alpha\mu}{\tilde F^\beta}{}_\mu \nabla_\alpha A_\beta\nonumber ,\\
\mathcal{L}_6& = &G_6(X) P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\nabla_\mu A_\nu \nabla_\alpha A_\beta\nonumber\\
&&-\epsilon^{\mu\nu\rho\sigma}\epsilon_{\alpha\beta\delta\kappa}\left[g_6(X)\nabla_\mu A^\alpha \nabla_\nu A^\beta\nabla_\rho A^\delta\nabla_\sigma A^\kappa+e_2 G_{6,X} (X)\nabla_\mu A_\nu \nabla^\alpha A^\beta \nabla_\rho A^\delta\nabla_\sigma A^\kappa\right],\nonumber\\
\end{eqnarray}
where $F_{\mu\nu}= \nabla_\mu A_\nu-\nabla_\nu A_\mu$, $X=-\frac{1}{2}A_\mu A^\mu$ and $\nabla$ represents the covariant derivative operator. $G_2$ is an arbitrary function of $X$, $F$ and $Y$ whereas $G_{3,4,5,6}$ and $g_5$, $g_6$, $e_2$ are arbitrary functions of $X$, with $G_{i,X}\equiv \partial G_i /\partial X$. $P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}$ and $\tilde F^{\mu\nu}$ are the components of the double dual Riemann tensor and the dual strength tensor, defined, respectively, by
\begin{equation}
\label{eq:ddual}
\begin{split}
P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} &=\frac{1}{4} \epsilon^{\mu\nu\rho\lambda}\epsilon^{\alpha\beta\gamma\sigma} R_{\rho\lambda\gamma\sigma} \,,
\qquad
\tilde F^{\mu\nu} =\frac{1}{2} \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} F_{\alpha\beta} \,.
\end{split}
\end{equation}
The term multiplying $g_6(X)$ in $\mathcal L_6$ can be omitted since, as argued in \cite{BeltranJimenez:2016rff, BeltranJimenez:2019wrd}, this term in flat space-time is a total derivative and on curved backgrounds it can be included as a combination of the self-interactions $\mathcal L_{2,3,4,5}$. It is worth to mention that for the terms $G_3(X) \nabla _\mu A^\mu$ and $g_5(X)\tilde F^{\alpha\mu} \tilde {F^{\beta}}_\mu \nabla_\alpha A_\beta$ appearing in $\mathcal L_3$ and $\mathcal L_5$, respectively, the addition of a counter-term is not required since the coupling with the connection is linear and so they do not give rise to higher order equations of motion. As commented in \cite{BeltranJimenez:2013btb}, in the construction of this theory all the possible contractions of the vector field derivative self-interactions with Riemann constructed tensors could be included, however, in order to keep second order equations the couplings must be to a divergence-free tensor constructed out of the Riemann tensor. In four dimensional space these includes the metric tensor, the Einstein tensor and the Riemann dual tensor. Hence, the term $G_6(X)P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\nabla_\mu A_\nu\nabla_\alpha A_\beta$ in $\mathcal L_6$ yields second order equations of motion.
Furthermore, if $A_\mu\rightarrow\nabla_\mu\pi$, the generalised covariant Galileon theory~\cite{Kobayashi:2019hrl}
is recovered.
\section{Vector-tensor gravity as a broken gauge symmetry}\label{sec:vtbgs}
Here we show that a simple modification of the ansatz \eqref{eq:mmans} leads to a vector-tensor theory that is a linear combination of the vector Galileon actions. The ansatz we consider is \begin{equation}\omega_\mu^{4a}=e^a_\mu+\Phi^a_\mu,\end{equation}
where $\Phi$ is a 1-form constructed out of some vector field $A_\mu$. Then the 4-dimensional curvature is
\begin{eqnarray}
\mathcal R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}&=&\partial_\mu \omega_\nu{}^{ab}-\partial_\nu \omega_\mu{}^{ab}
+ \omega_{\mu}{}^{ca}\omega_{\nu c}{}^b - \omega_{\nu}{}^{ca}\omega_{\mu c}{}^b \nonumber \\
& &- \lambda^2[(e^a_\mu + \Phi^a_\mu) (e^b_\nu + \Phi^b_\nu) -(e^a_\nu + \Phi^a_\nu )(e^b_\mu+ \Phi^b_\mu )] \nonumber \\
& & \equiv R^{ab}_{\mu\nu} - \lambda^2 \Sigma^{ab}_{\mu\nu}. \end{eqnarray}
Substituting this in (\ref{eq:mma}) gives
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:mmv}
S & = & \int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd}\left[R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} - 2 \lambda^2\Sigma^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} \right. \nonumber \\
& & \qquad\qquad\qquad\qquad \left. + 4\lambda^4 (e^a_\mu + \Phi^a_\mu) (e^b_\nu + \Phi^b_\nu)(e^c_\alpha + \Phi^c_\alpha) (e^d_\beta + \Phi^d_\beta) \right] \nonumber \\
& \equiv & S_{Euler} + S_{A R} + S_{A}.
\end{eqnarray}
The first term is the Euler topological term, while the last two terms
describe interactions of the vector field non-minimally coupled to gravity.
For the rest of this work we will assume $\Phi^a_\mu$ is defined as
$\Phi^a=e^a_\nu \nabla_\mu A^\nu d x^\mu$. We can verify $e^\nu_a \Phi^a_\mu= \nabla_\mu A^\nu$ and $e_\nu^b e_a^\nu \Phi_\mu^a = \Phi_\mu^b$, which will be used thoroughly in the following.
In this way, the action in \eqref{eq:mma} now is written as
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:mmp}
S & = & \int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd}\left[R^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} - 2 \lambda^2\Sigma^{ab}_{\mu\nu}R^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} \right. \nonumber \\
& & \qquad\left. + 4\lambda^4 (e^a_\mu + e^a_\gamma\nabla_\mu A^\gamma) (e^b_\nu + e^b_\rho \nabla_\nu A^\rho)(e^c_\alpha + e^c_\sigma\nabla_\alpha A^\sigma ) (e^d_\beta + e^d_\delta \nabla_\beta A^\delta) \right].
\end{eqnarray}
The explicit calculation of $S_{AR}$ leads to the following result:
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:sar}
S_{AR}&=&\int d^4 x \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{abcd} \left[- 2 \lambda^2R^{ab}{}_{\mu\nu}\Sigma^{cd}_{\alpha\beta} \right]\nonumber\\
&=&-2\int d^4 x e \lambda^2 \left[ \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\rho\lambda\alpha\beta}R^{\rho\lambda}{}_{\mu\nu} +2\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\rho\lambda\alpha\tau}R^{\rho\lambda}{}_{\mu\nu}\nabla_\beta A^\tau\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.\quad+\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\rho\lambda\tau\gamma}R^{\rho\lambda}{}_{\mu\nu}\nabla_\alpha A^\tau\nabla_\beta A^\gamma
\right]\nonumber\\
&=&\int d^4 x e \lambda^2 \left[ 8 R-16 G^{\mu\nu}\nabla_\mu A_\nu-8 P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta
\right],
\end{eqnarray}
where $G_{\mu\nu}$ is the Einstein tensor. The first term is the Ricci scalar. Notice that the second term can be ignored after integration by parts since the Einstein tensor satisfies $\nabla_\mu G^{\mu\nu}=0$.
Expanding the $S_{A}$ part of the action we get
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:sa}
S_{A}&=&4\int d^4 x e \lambda^4 \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \left[\epsilon_{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}+4\epsilon_{\mu\nu\alpha\rho}\nabla_\beta A^\rho+6\epsilon_{\mu\nu\rho\lambda}\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+4\epsilon_{\mu\gamma\rho\lambda}\nabla_\nu A^\gamma\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda+ \epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda \right]\nonumber\\
&=&\int d^4 x e \lambda^4 \left[-96-96\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha-48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.-16\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^3-3\nabla_\rho A^\rho\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha+2\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\rho A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right) \right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+4 \epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda \right].
\end{eqnarray}
Adding up the contributions of $S_A$ and $S_{AR}$ the full action after integration by parts is
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:MMmodified}
S&=\int d^4 x \sqrt{-g} \lambda^2 &\left\{ 8 R- 8 P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta-\lambda^2\Big[96+48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+16\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^3-3\nabla_\rho A^\rho\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha+2\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\rho A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left. -4\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda\Big] \right\}.
\end{eqnarray}
The resulting theory is closely related to the vector Galileon theory proposed in \cite{Heisenberg:2014rta}. {In particular, in flat space-time we find that $S$ is given by the following combination of vector Galileons:}
\begin{equation}
S= \int d^4 x \sqrt{-g} \lambda^4 \left[ 96\mathcal L_2+96\mathcal L_3+48\mathcal L_4+16\mathcal L_5+4\mathcal L_6\right],
\end{equation}
where $\mathcal L_{2,3,4,5,6}$ are the vector Galileons given in \eqref{eq:lnproca} for the case with $f_2(X,F,Y)=f_3(X)=f_4(X)=f_5(X)=f_6(X)=1$ and $c_2=d_2=e_2=0$.
On the other hand, in curved space-time we notice that the derivative self-interactions appearing in \eqref{eq:MMmodified} belongs to a subclass of the beyond-generalized Proca theories \cite{Heisenberg:2016eld}. In fact, even though the term $P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta$ does not appear in such theories, it meets the conditions since it has a vanishing Hessian determinant.
Following \cite{Heisenberg:2014rta} we can also add counter terms to keep up to three propagated degrees of freedom and equations of motion of second order. The proper counter terms corresponding to $\mathcal{L}_4$ and $\mathcal{L}_5$ are, respectively, $G_4=-48 X$ and $G_5=96 X$, so the new action is
\begin{eqnarray}
\label{eq:sa2}
S_{A}&=&\int d^4 x e \lambda^4 \left[-96-96\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha-48X R-48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+96 X G_{\mu\nu}\nabla^\mu A^\nu -16\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^3-3\nabla_\rho A^\rho\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha+2\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\rho A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right) \right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda \right].
\end{eqnarray}
We see that setting $A_\mu=\nabla_\mu\pi$ the generalised covariant Galileon theory
is restored for the special case of $G_2=G_3=-\lambda^4 96$, $G_4=-\lambda^4 96$, $G_4=-48 \lambda^4 X$ and $G_5=96 \lambda^4 X$.
\section{Static
Solutions}\label{sec:static}
Let us now explore static, spherically symmetric solutions for subsets of the
action~\eqref{eq:MMmodified}. For this purpose we consider a metric of the form
\begin{equation}\label{eq:espmet}
ds^2=-f(r)dt^2+{h(r)}^{-1}dr^2+r^2d\theta^2+r^2 \sin{\theta}^2d\phi^2,
\end{equation}
and a vector field with a temporal and a radial component
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecansatz}
(A_\mu) = \left(A_0(r),\pi(r),0,0\right),
\end{equation}
where $A_0(r)$ and $\pi(r)$ are functions of the radial coordinate only.
For simplicity, we restrict ourselves to the terms that are invariant under $A_\mu\to-A_\mu$ in
~\eqref{eq:MMmodified}, i.e., we consider the following Lagrangian:
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:lag024}
\mathcal{L}&=& \sqrt{-g}\left[ 8 R- 8 P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta-\lambda^2\left(96+48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.\left. -4\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda\right) \right].
\end{eqnarray}
Variation w.r.t. the vector field gives the following field equations,
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:veqpairs}
0=&& A^{\alpha } R_{\alpha \beta } R_{\mu }{}^{\beta } -\frac{1}{2} A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \alpha } R + A^{\alpha } R^{\beta \gamma } R_{\mu \beta \alpha \gamma } -R_{\mu \alpha \beta \gamma } \nabla^{\gamma }\nabla^{\beta }A^{\alpha } + \lambda^2 (6 A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \alpha }\nonumber \\
&& +3 A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \alpha } \nabla_{\beta }A^{\beta } \nabla_{\gamma }A^{\gamma } -3 A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \alpha } \nabla_{\beta }A_{\gamma } \nabla^{\gamma }A^{\beta } + 6 A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \beta \alpha \delta } \nabla^{\gamma }A^{\beta } \nabla^{\delta }A_{\gamma } \nonumber\\
&& - 6 A^{\alpha } R_{\mu \gamma \alpha \delta } \nabla_{\beta }A^{\beta } \nabla^{\delta }A^{\gamma }+6 A^{\alpha } R_{\alpha \gamma } \nabla_{\beta }A^{\gamma } \nabla_{\mu }A^{\beta }-6 A^{\alpha } R_{\alpha \beta } \nabla_{\gamma }A^{\gamma } \nabla_{\mu }A^{\beta } \nonumber\\
&&+6 A^{\alpha } R_{\alpha \delta \beta \gamma } \nabla^{\delta }A^{\gamma } \nabla_{\mu }A^{\beta }),
\end{eqnarray}
while variation w.r.t. the metric yields
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:meqpairs}
0&=& 8 G_{\mu\nu} -2\left(H^1_{\mu \nu }(A,R) + H^2_{\mu \nu }(A,\nabla\nabla A) + H^3{}_{\mu \nu }(R,\nabla A)+H^4 _{\mu\nu}(\nabla \nabla A)\right)\nonumber\\
&&+\lambda^2\bigl[ 48 g_{\mu \nu }+24 (C^{1}{}_{\mu \nu }(A,R) + C^{2}{}_{\mu \nu }(A,\nabla\nabla A) + C^{3}{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A) )\nonumber\\
&&+4\left(E^1_{\mu \nu }(A,R,\nabla A)+ E^2{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A)+ E^3{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A,\nabla\nabla A)\right)\bigr],
\end{eqnarray}
where the terms $H^1_{\mu \nu }(A,R)$, $H^2_{\mu \nu }(A,\nabla\nabla A)$, $H^3{}_{\mu \nu }(R,\nabla A)$, $H^4 _{\mu\nu}(\nabla \nabla A)$, $C^{1}{}_{\mu \nu }(A,R)$,\\ $ C^{2}{}_{\mu \nu }(A,\nabla\nabla A)$, $C^{3}{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A)$, $E^1_{\mu \nu }(A,R,\nabla A)$, $E^2{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A)$ and $ E^3{}_{\mu \nu }(\nabla A,\nabla\nabla A)$ are given explicitly in Appendix~\ref{EoM}. In the next subsections we present solutions first for a flat space-time metric, then for the Schwarzschild metric, and finally for a general Schwarzschild-like spacetime.
\subsection{Flat space-time metric}
Starting with a Minkowski background, the field equations in \eqref{eq:veqpairs} are satisfied straightforwardly, and for the field equations in \eqref{eq:meqpairs} in terms of the vector field \eqref{eq:vecansatz}, we get
\begin{eqnarray}
&\xi_{11}=&\pi(r) \left[\left(4 r-2 A_0 A_0'\right) \pi'+r^2 \pi''\right]-\pi^2
\left(A_0'{}^2+A_0A_0''\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.-3\pi'^2-1\right)-r \left(r \left(A_0'{}^2-\pi'^2+1\right)+A_0\left(2 A_0'+r
A_0''\right)\right)\nonumber\\&&+\pi^3\pi''\\
&\xi_{22}=&r^2-\pi \left(2 r\pi'+\pi\right)\\
&\xi_{33}=&r \left(\pi'^2-1\right)+\pi \left(r \pi''+2\pi'\right).
\end{eqnarray}
The solution for $\pi(r)$ is obtained from $\xi_{22}=0$, and after substitution of this solution into $\xi_{11}=0$ we find a differential equation for $A_0 (r)$. The solutions for $A_0(r)$ and $\pi(r)$ are,
\begin{eqnarray}
\pi(r)&=&\pm\sqrt{\frac{r^2}{3}+\frac{\pi_0}{r}},\\
A_0&=&\pm\frac{1}{6} \left\{12
r^2+72 a_1+36\frac{\pi _0}{r}+6^{2/3}\frac{( a_0-\pi _0)}{{\pi _0}^{1/3} }\left[ 2 \sqrt{3} \tan ^{-1}\left(\frac{1}{\sqrt{3}}-\frac{ 2^{5/3} r}{3^{5/6} {\pi
_0}^{1/3}}\right)\right.\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.\left.+ \ln{
\left(6^{2/3} r+3 {\pi _0}^{1/3}\right)^2}- \ln{ \left( {6}^{1/3} 2 r^2-6^{2/3} {\pi _0}^{1/3} r+3 \pi _0^{2/3}\right)}\right
]\right\}^{1/2},\label{eq:Aflat}
\end{eqnarray}
where $\pi_0$, $a_0$ and $a_1$ are integration constants. In general these solutions are not well defined across the entire range of the radial coordinate. Performing an asymptotic expansion reveals that such solutions at infinity behave as,
\begin{eqnarray}
\pi(r)&=&\pm\frac{r}{\sqrt{3}}\pm\frac{\sqrt{3}\pi_0}{2r^2}\mp\frac{3\sqrt{3}\pi_0^2}{8r^5}+\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{r}\right)^6,\\
A_0(r)&=&\pm\left(-\frac{r}{\sqrt{3}}-\frac{c_1}{\sqrt{3} r}-\frac{\sqrt{3}( a_0+\pi _0)}{4 r^2}+\frac{c_1^2}{2 \sqrt{3} r^3}+\frac{\sqrt{3}
c_1(a_0+ \pi_0)}{4 r^4}\right)+\mathcal{O}\left(\frac{1}{r}\right)^5,
\end{eqnarray}
where
\begin{equation}
c_1= 3 a_1+\frac{ \left(a_0-\pi _0\right) \left(\sqrt{3} \ln (3)-3 \pi \right)}{4 {2}^{1/3} 3^{5/6}{\pi _0}^{1/3}},
\end{equation}
and $\mathcal O(r^n)$ represents terms of order equal or higher than $r^n$.
Note that $c_1$ diverges as $\pi_0$ approaches zero, but this is avoided if we take $a_0=\pi_0$, so the solution for the $A_0$ function, according to \eqref{eq:Aflat}, now takes the simpler form
\begin{equation}
A_0(r)=\pm \sqrt{\frac{r^2}{3}+2 a_1+\frac{\pi _0}{r}}.
\end{equation}
The divergence at $r=0$ in $\pi$ and $A_0$ is avoided if $\pi_0=0$. Even if $\pi\neq 0$, the scalar $A_\mu A^\mu$ is regular, and actually a constant.
\subsection{Schwarzschild metric}
In addition, we may ask if the Schwarzschild metric is solution for this lagrangian. To show this we impose $f(r)=h(r)=1-2M/r$ on the line element. In this case \eqref{eq:veqpairs} leads to two differential equations,
\begin{eqnarray}
0&=& A_0(r) \left(-2 \lambda ^2 \left(8 M^2-6 M r+r^2\right) \pi (r)^2+2 \lambda ^2 r (r-2 M)^2 \pi (r) \pi '(r)+M r\right),\\
0&=&\pi (r) \left(r \left(2 \lambda ^2 r^2 A_0(r) (r-2 M) A_0'(r)-2 \lambda ^2 M r A_0(r){}^2+M (r-2 M)\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.+2 \lambda ^2 (3 M-r) (r-2 M)^2 \pi
(r)^2\right).
\end{eqnarray}
Solving this system for $\pi(r)$ and $A_0(r)$ we find that
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:pisc1}
\pi(r)&=&\left(1-\frac{2M}{r}\right)^{-1}\sqrt{ \pi_0 r^2+\frac{M}{3\lambda^2 r}}, \\
A_0&=&\sqrt{-\frac{2 a_0 M}{r}+ a_0+\frac{8 \pi_0 M^3}{r}-4 \pi_0 M^2 + \pi _0 r^2+\frac{M}{3\lambda^2}}.\label{eq:a0sol1}
\end{eqnarray}
Substituting this solutions into the metric field equations we see that we require that $\pi_0=1/3$ so that \eqref{eq:pisc1} and \eqref{eq:a0sol1} to be solution. Then, the solutions are
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:pisc2}
\pi(r)&=&\left(1-\frac{2M}{r}\right)^{-1}\sqrt{ \frac{r^2}{3}+\frac{M}{3\lambda^2 r}}, \\
A_0(r)&=&\sqrt{-\frac{2 a_0 M}{r}+ a_0+\frac{8 M^3}{3r}-\frac{4M^2}{3} + \frac{ r^2}{3}+\frac{M}{3\lambda^2}}.\label{eq:a0sol2}
\end{eqnarray}
Now the divergences of $\pi(r)$ and $A_0(r)$ are protected by the horizon of the Schwarzschild metric, and the divergence of $\pi(r)$ at $r=2M$ can be removed by a coordinate transformation.
The scalar $A_\mu A^\mu$ continues to be
regular, but no longer a constant.
\subsection{Schwarzschild-like solution}
A more general solution is obtained by only assuming $h(r)=f(r)$ for the line element~\eqref{eq:espmet}. In this case, the vector field equations are
\begin{eqnarray}
0&=&\left(6 \lambda ^2 \pi^2 f^2+f+6 \lambda ^2 r^2-1\right) f''+12 \lambda ^2 f'\left(r+f^2\pi\pi'\right)\nonumber\\
&&+\left(12 \lambda ^2 \pi^2 f+1\right) f'^2\\
0&=&\left\{f' \left[f-6 \lambda ^2 \left(A_0{}^2-\pi^2 f^2\right)\right]+12 \lambda ^2 f\left(A_0 A_0'+r\right)\right\}\nonumber f'\\
&&+
\left(6 \lambda ^2 \pi ^2 f^2+f+6 \lambda ^2 r^2-1\right) ff''.
\end{eqnarray}
The solution for $\pi_0(r)$ and $A_0(r)$ is obtained in terms of $f(r)$ and its derivatives with respect to $r$,
\begin{eqnarray}
\pi(r)&=
f(r)^{-1}\sqrt{\frac{\pi _0}{f'(r)}+\frac{1-f(r)}{6 \lambda ^2}-r^2}\\
A_0(r)&=
\sqrt{ \pi_0{f'(r)}^{-1}-a_0f(r)- r^2+{(6\lambda^2)}^{-1}}
\end{eqnarray}
Then, the substitution of this solutions into the field equations for the metric leads to a second order non-lineal differential equation for $f(r)$,
\begin{equation}\label{eq:edpairt}
0= 3r\lambda^2 \pi_0 f''-f'\left[3\lambda^2 \pi_0-f'\left(r f'+f+12r^2\lambda^2-1\right)\right].
\end{equation}
When $\pi_0=8M/3$ the Schwarzschild solution, $f(r)=1-2M/r$, is obtained. The same is true when $\lambda=0$. On the other hand, if $\pi_0=0$ the solution is the Schwarzschild de-Sitter metric,
\begin{equation}
f(r)=1-\frac{2M}{r}-{4\lambda^2 r^2}.
\end{equation}
These two solutions, Schwarzschild and Schwarzschild-de Sitter, are actually special cases of two branches of solutions. To find
these branches we study asymptotic solutions assuming that,
for large $r$, $f(r)$ behaves as
$f(r)=m_{-2} r^2+m_{-1} r+\sum_i m_i/r^i$. Using this assumption in \eqref{eq:edpairt}, we get two branches of solutions. The first one is selected by choosing $\pi_0=8M/3$, which leads to
\begin{align}\label{eq:eflatbranch}
f_{SB}(r)=&1-\frac{2 M}{r}+\frac{m_4}{r^4}+\left(\frac{m_4 M}{14 \lambda ^2}-\frac{8 m_4^2}{7 M}\right)\frac{1}{r^7} \nonumber \\
& +\left(\frac{M^2}{280\lambda ^4}-\frac{9 m_4}{35\lambda ^2}+\frac{8 m_4^2}{5M^2}\right)\frac{m_4 }{ r^{10}}+O\left(\frac{1}{r^{13}}\right).
\end{align}
We label this branch $f_{SB}$ to indicate that its asymptotic form reduces to the Schwarzschild solution when $m_4 = 0$.
The second branch is found with $m_{-2}=-4\lambda^2$ and $\pi_0=-32 m_4\lambda^2/3M$, giving for the metric
\begin{align}\label{eq:esitterbranch}
f_{dSB}(r)=&1-\frac{2 M}{r} -4 \lambda ^2 r^2+\frac{m_4}{r^4}+\left(\frac{m_4 M}{4 \lambda ^2}-\frac{2 m_4^2}{M}\right)\frac{1}{r^7}\nonumber\\
&+\left(\frac{M^2}{16\lambda ^4}-\frac{15 m_4}{8\lambda ^2}+\frac{7 m_4^2}{M^2}\right)\frac{m_4}{ r^{10}}+O\left(\frac{1}{r^{13}}\right).
\end{align}
This is labelled $f_{dSB}$ to indicate that, asymptotically, it reduces to the Schwarzschild-de Sitter solution when $m_4 = 0$.
By numerically solving \eqref{eq:edpairt}, using the expansions shown above as boundary conditions, we confirm that both
$f_{SB}$ and $f_{dSB}$ lead to complete solutions when $m_4\geq 0$. For $f_{SB}$, an example of a solution is shown in Figure \ref{fig:asySch}.
\begin{figure}[tbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.46\textwidth]{sch.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:asySch} The plot above exhibit a particular solution for a static configuration of the theory outlined by \eqref{eq:lag024}. This branch of solutions is obtained after solving \eqref{eq:edpairt} for $\pi_0=8M/3$ and the use of \eqref{eq:eflatbranch} as boundary condition. For this solution we have used $M=1$, $\lambda=1/10$ and $m_4=0.3$. This solution resembles the Schwarszchild black hole solution (dashed line) at large distances. We notice that as we increase the value of the free parameter $m_4$, for a fixed $\lambda$, the position of the horizon moves closer to the origin. Meanwhile, an increasing value of $m_4$ seems to rise the value of $f(r)$ at the origin. On the other hand, for a fixed value of $m_4$, an increasing value of the free parameter $\lambda$ seems to gradually diminish the central value of $f(r)$ while the position of the horizon gets closer to the Schwarszchild black hole horizon.
}
\end{figure}
Although the metric is regular at $r=0$, the scalar curvature does have a singularity, thus, this is a usual black hole, Schwarzschild-like, solution. In addition, we find that the existence of the horizon depends on the values of $\lambda$ and $m_4$. Figure~\ref{fig:schband} shows solutions for $\lambda=0.06$ and different values of $m_4$, we see that not all solutions have a horizon. The same figure illustrates that the limit $m_4\to 0$ does not have a smooth transition to the Schwarzschild solution. For instance, for $\lambda=0.06$ we could not find numerical solutions with $0<m<0.0006$, corresponding to the dashed green line in~Figure~\ref{fig:schband}. This hints that there is a class of solutions to equation~\eqref{eq:edpairt} where $f(r)$ remains finite at $r=0$. The existence of these solutions is confirmed by Taylor expanding~\eqref{eq:edpairt} near $r=0$, and our numerical results above show that this class of solutions matches the asymptotic
Schwarzschild profile.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.5\textwidth]{schband.pdf}
\caption{Solutions in the branch with asymptotic profiles given by $f_{SB}$, with $\lambda=0.06$. The gray dotted line corresponds to the
exact Schwarzschild solution, which is obtained when $m_4=0$. The dashed green line corresponds to a solution with horizon ($m_4=0.0006$), while the solid blue line is a solution without horizon ($m_4=1$). In the shaded region there are other solutions with $0.0006<m_4<1$. Above the blue line there are solutions with $m_4>1$. Below the dashed green line we could not find other solutions, except for Schwarzschild with $m_4$ exactly equal to zero.}
\label{fig:schband}
\end{figure}
Let us now discuss the branch corresponding to $f_{dSB}$. Figure \ref{fig:asydS} shows two examples of solutions in this branch, one for de Sitter asymptotics (left) and another one for anti-de Sitter (right).
{For de Sitter asymptotics, a relevant difference with respect to the exact de Sitter solution appears when analysing the
horizons. While for de Sitter there is a critical value ($\lambda_c$) determining whether there are two ($\lambda<\lambda_c$), one ($\lambda=\lambda_c$) or no horizons
($\lambda>\lambda_c$), for the solutions with asymptotics $f_{dSB}$ we find either one or no horizon, depending on the values of $\lambda$ and $m_4$: if $\lambda>\lambda_c$ but $m_4$
is large enough the solution does have a horizon. This is actually the case in the left panel of Figure~\ref{fig:asydS}. }
\begin{figure}[tbp]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=.45\textwidth]{dSitter.pdf}
\hfill
\includegraphics[width=.45\textwidth]{adSitter.pdf}
\caption{\label{fig:asydS} Solutions for a static configuration of the theory given in \eqref{eq:lag024}. In this case the branch of solutions were obtained by solving \eqref{eq:edpairt} with $\pi_0=-32 m_4\lambda^2/3M$ and using \eqref{eq:eflatbranch} as asymptotic boundary condition. For the free parameters we used $M=1$, $\lambda=1/10$ and $m_4=30$ for the left plot and $M=1$, $\lambda=i/10$ and $m_4=30$ for the right one. At large distances the behavior of the solution is asymptotically de Sitter (left) or anti-de Sitter (right). For small distances the solutions deviate from (anti-)de Sitter. In the de Sitter case, this have an important effect on the horizons, as explained in the main text.
}
\end{figure}
Similarly to the case of $f_{SB}$, here we also identify
that the limit $m_4\to 0$ does not have a smooth transition to
the exact de Sitter solution. Examples of solutions for $\lambda=0.06$ and different values of $m_4$ are shown in Figure~\eqref{fig:sdsband}. The green dashed line again corresponds to the closer solution to de Sitter that we could find, in this case for $m_4=10^{-7}$.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.5\textwidth]{sdsband.pdf}
\caption{Solutions in the branch with asymptotic profiles given by $f_{dSB}$, with $\lambda=0.06$. The gray dotted line corresponds to the
exact Schwarzschild-de Sitter solution, which is obtained when $m_4=0$. The dashed green line corresponds to a solution with $m_4=0.000001$, while the solid blue line is a solution with $m_4=100$. In the shaded region, and above the blue line, there are solutions
for other values of $m_4$. Below the dashed green line we could not find other solutions, except for Schwarzschild-de Sitter with $m_4$ exactly equal to zero.
}
\label{fig:sdsband}
\end{figure}
The solution with anti de-Sitter asymptotic behaviour, e.g. the right panel of Figure~\ref{fig:asydS}, is obtained by allowing $\lambda$ to be imaginary, which amounts to a change in the signature of the internal 5d metric. In this case, the limit $m_4\to 0$ does
smoothly recover the exact anti-de Sitter solution.
\section{Cosmological Solutions}\label{sec:cosmo}
In this section we investigate the cosmological solutions for this theory. For this purpose we assume a spatially flat, homogeneous and isotropic universe, described by the line element
\begin{equation}\label{eq:metf}
ds^2=-dt^2+a(t)\left({dr^2}+r^2d\theta^2+r^2 \sin{\theta}^2d\phi^2\right),
\end{equation}
with $a(t)$ being the scale factor which measures the physical distances over time. Additionally, we consider a vector field whose only non-vanishing component is $A_0(t)$, so the $A_\mu$ field takes the form
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecf}
(A_\mu) = \left(A_0(t),0,0,0\right).
\end{equation}
For simplicity, we consider again the Lagrangian~ \eqref{eq:lag024}, invariant under $A_\mu \to -A_\mu$.
Starting with the variation with respect to the vector field \eqref{eq:veqpairs} and using the assumptions \eqref{eq:metf} and\eqref{eq:vecf} we get the following differential equation, in terms of the Hubble parameter:
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecH}
0=\big[2 H'+H^2\big] \big[H^2 \left(6 \lambda ^2 {A_0}^2-1\right)+24 \lambda ^2\big],
\end{equation}
whilst the 00 component of the corresponding Einstein equations \eqref{eq:meqpairs} and the use of the same assumptions gives,
\begin{align}\label{eq:metH}
H^2=&-H^2A_0\left(\frac{1}{2}A_0H'+\frac{1}{4}H^2 A_0-\frac{1}{2}H A_0'\right)+\lambda^2\left(8+\frac{3}{2}H^4 {A_0}^4-12HA_0A_0'\right.\nonumber\\
&-3H^3 {A_0}^3A_0'+12H'A_0^2+3{A_0}^4 H^2H'\bigg).
\end{align}
According to \eqref{eq:vecH}, there are two possible branches of solutions. Let us study first the branch with
\begin{equation}
2 H'(t)+H(t)^2=0,
\end{equation}
leading to
\begin{equation}\label{eq:solHa}
H(t)=2H_0\left(2+H_0 t\right)^{-1},
\end{equation}
where the integration constant has been chosen in such way that $H(0)=H_0$, the Hubble constant at present time. Substituting this solution into \eqref{eq:metH} gives
\begin{align}
A_0(t)=&\pm\sqrt{\frac{\pm{d(t)}^{1/2}}{6 H_0^3 \lambda ^2}-\frac{4 t}{H_0}-\frac{4}{H_0^2}+\frac{1}{6\lambda ^2}-t^2},
\end{align}
with
\begin{align}
d(t) =&H_0^6+H_0^2 \lambda ^4 \left(48 H_0^4 t^4+384 H_0^3 t^3+1152 H_0^2 t^2+1536 H_0 t+576\right) \nonumber\\
&+H_0^2 \lambda ^2 \left(24 a_0 H_0-24 H_0^4 t^2-96 H_0^3 t-48 H_0^2\right).
\end{align}
{The limit $\lambda\to 0$ is well defined only if the minus sign is taken for $\sqrt{d(t)}$.}
The solution for the scale factor, from \eqref{eq:solHa}, reads:
\begin{equation}
a(t) = \frac{1}{4} \left(H_0 t+2\right){}^2,
\end{equation}
here the integration constant has been set asking that at present time $a(0)=1$. We can write $a(t)$ in terms of a dimensionless quantity by performing the transformation $t\rightarrow(\tau-2)/H_0$, so now we have:
\begin{equation}
a(\tau) = \frac{1}{4} \tau{}^2,
\end{equation}
Now it is possible to relate this scale factor with the corresponding scale factor for a perfect fluid with equation of state $P=\omega \rho$.
As we know, the scale factor for a perfect fluid is, in general, of the form
\begin{equation}
a(t)\propto t^{\frac{2}{3(1+\omega)}}.
\end{equation}
Hence, in the cosmological setup we are studying, the vector field has the same effect on the scale factor as a perfect fluid with $\omega=-2/3$, which is associated to a universe in accelerated expansion.
The deceleration parameter, defined as $q = -(1 + H'(t)/H(t)^2)$, for \eqref{eq:solHa} is $q=-1/2$, implying a cosmic acceleration.
The second branch emerging from \eqref{eq:vecH} is
\begin{equation}
H^2 \left(6 \lambda ^2 {A_0}^2-1\right)+24 \lambda ^2=0.
\end{equation}
Solving for $A_0(t)$ gives
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecHH}
A_0(t)
\pm \sqrt{(6\lambda^{2})^{-1}-4H^{-2}}.
\end{equation}
Substituting into equation~\eqref{eq:metH} and solving for $H(t)$ gives
\begin{equation}\label{eq:solH}
H(t)=\pm4\lambda,
\end{equation}
which correspond to the scale factor
\begin{equation}
a(t)=a_0 e^{\pm 4 \lambda t}.
\end{equation}
Turning back to the expression in \eqref{eq:vecHH} and substituting the solution for $H(t)$ we find that
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecsolH}
A_0(t)=\pm\frac{\lambda^{-1}}{2\sqrt{3}}i.
\end{equation}
A complex solution for the vector field is unexpected given the initial assumptions for the present formulation, nevertheless, we can get an alternate version of this solution with a real solution for $A_0$ if we consider a complex spin connection. For instance, we can set $\omega_\mu^{4a}=e^a_\mu+i\Phi^a_\mu$. As consequence of this choice the action for the theory now reads
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:MMmodifiedc}
S&=\int d^4 x \sqrt{-g} \lambda^4 &\left[ 8 R+ 8 P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta-\lambda^2\Big(96-48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left.-16i\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^3-3\nabla_\rho A^\rho\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha+2\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\rho A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left. -4\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda\Big) \right].
\end{eqnarray}
Again, our interest is to study the action only with terms that are invariant under $A_\mu\to -A_\mu$, i.e.,
\begin{eqnarray}\label{eq:MMmodifiedcpair}
S&=\int d^4 x \sqrt{-g} \lambda^4 &\left[ 8 R+ 8 P^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta} \nabla_\mu A_\alpha\nabla_\nu A_\beta-\lambda^2\Big(96-48\left((\nabla_\alpha A^\alpha)^2-\nabla_\alpha A^\beta\nabla_\beta A^\alpha\right)\right.\nonumber\\
&&\left. -4\epsilon^{\mu\nu\alpha\beta}\epsilon_{\gamma\delta\rho\lambda}\nabla_\mu A^\gamma\nabla_\nu A^\delta\nabla_\alpha A^\rho\nabla_\beta A^\lambda\Big) \right].
\end{eqnarray}
For this action we can obtain the equations of motion performing the variation with respect to the metric and the vector field. Taking into account the same assumptions given above for the line element and the vector field components, we have, for the vector field equation of motion
in terms of the Hubble parameter,
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecHc}
0=\left(2 H'+H^2\right) \left[H^2 \left(6 \lambda ^2 {A_0}^2+1\right)-24 \lambda ^2\right],
\end{equation}
and for the $00$ component of the equation of motion for the metric,
\begin{align}\label{eq:metHc}
H^2=&H^2 A_0\left(\frac{1}{4} A_0 H^2-\frac{1}{2} H A_0'+\frac{1}{2} A_0H'\right)+\lambda ^2 \left(8+\frac{3}{2} A_0^4 H^4-3 A_0^3 H^3 A_0'\right.\nonumber\\
&-12 A_0^2
H'+3 A_0^4 H^2 H'+12 A_0 A_0'H\bigg).
\end{align}
Solving $H^2 (6 \lambda ^2 {A_0}^2+1)-24 \lambda ^2=0$ in \eqref{eq:vecHc} for $A_0=A_0(t)$, we obtain
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecHHc}
A_0(t)=
\sqrt{4H^{-2}-(6\lambda^{2})^{-1}}.
\end{equation}
Then, using this equation in \eqref{eq:metHc}, gives
\begin{equation}
H(t)=\pm 4\lambda.
\end{equation}
Hence, \eqref{eq:vecHHc} reduces to
\begin{equation}\label{eq:vecsolHc}
A_0(t)=\pm\frac{\lambda^{-1}}{2\sqrt{3}}.
\end{equation}
On the other hand, taking the solution for $ 0=2 H'(t)+H(t)^2$ in \eqref{eq:vecHc} (the same as in \eqref{eq:solHa}), and substituting in \eqref{eq:metHc}, we get, after solving for $A_0(t)$:
\begin{align}
A_0(t)=&\pm\sqrt{\pm\frac{{d(t)^{1/2}}}{6 H_0^2 \lambda ^2}+\frac{4 t}{H_0}+\frac{4}{H_0^2}-\frac{1}{6\lambda ^2}+t^2}
\end{align}
with
\begin{align}
d(t) =&H_0^4+\lambda ^2 \left(24 a_0 H_0-24 H_0^4 t^2-96 H_0^3 t-48 H_0^2\right) \nonumber\\
&+\lambda ^4 \left(48 H_0^4 t^4+384 H_0^3 t^3+1152 H_0^2 t^2+1536 H_0 t+576\right).
\end{align}
As we see, we have successfully removed the imaginary unit in \eqref{eq:vecsolHc} by choosing a complex connection, in this case with $\omega_\mu^{4a}=e^a_\mu+i\Phi^a_\mu$.
\section{Discussion}\label{sec:conc}
In this work we presented a novel approach for obtaining vector-tensor
theories of gravity. This approach is based on the original construction of MacDowell and Mansouri to obtain general relativity with a cosmological
constant from explicit symmetry breaking of a 5-dimensional gauge group. In the original construction, the fifth component of the internal metric is identified with the cosmological constant, and a set of components of the 5d gauge connection are identified with the 4d spacetime tetrad. In our modification, the internal metric remains the same, but the components of the gauge connection are now identified with the tetrad plus a contribution from an
additional field. {In the language of reductive Cartan geometry, where MM proposal can be given a geometric interpretation, our modification amounts to changing only the vertical projection of the 5d connection~\cite{sharpe2000differential,Wise:2006sm}. A detailed study of this geometric setting is outside the scope of this work.} Physically, the resulting 4d theory in flat spacetime turns out to be
a linear combination of the generalised Proca Lagrangian, while in curved spacetime we get a linear combination of \emph{beyond generalised Proca} Lagrangians. {Moreover, the theory gives place to second order equations of motion}.
{Considering a reduced model with symmetry under $A_\mu\to - A_\mu$, we find
static vacuum solutions whose asymptotic behaviour
agrees with Schwarzschild or Schwarzschild-de Sitter
spacetimes, depending on the value of a constant that appears in the solution for the vector field, but independent of the value of $\lambda$. We also found solutions that
where the metric components are regular at $r=0$.
However, a deeper analysis shows that the curvature invariants do diverge there. Nonetheless, it would be interesting to
analyse whether further modifications in the construction of the model could lead to regular black holes, like the ones
known to appear in nonlinear electrodynamics~\cite[e.g.][]{eloy}.
We also analysed cosmological solutions with the vector field
as the only source of matter, finding that it can contribute to the accelerated expansion of the universe. In particular, we find a solution that can be interpreted as GR with a barotropic perfect fluid with equation of state parameter $\omega=-2/3$, indicating that the presence of the vector field $\vec{A}$ gives an accelerating scale factor. A second branch of solutions in the cosmological scenario turns out to give an imaginary vector field. This points out the possibility of considering a complex 5d connection.}
A full cosmological analysis is left for future work.
It is noteworthy that the MacDowell-Mansouri construction that we used
as a starting point in this work is not the only possibility to obtain
gravity from gauge symmetry breaking. Several
alternatives have been studied in the literature, such as considering
(anti-)self-dual curvatures, exploring different symmetry breaking patterns,
rewriting the action as a $BF$-theory, etc. Also, some connections
between MM and (2+1)-dimensional gravity and topological M-theory are known.
A combination of these proposals with our approach to introduce additional degrees of freedom would probably lead to models with a richer phenomenology,
for instance, linear combinations of vector Galileons with non-fixed coefficients. Also, it is relevant to study the case where, instead of a vector field, a scalar field is considered in the construction of the theory. Preliminary results indicate that a combination of beyond Horndeski Lagrangians is obtained, together with some terms that do not seem to fall under that category. An analysis of the properties and degrees of freedom of such model, as well as of different constructions of gravity from gauge symmetry breaking, is left for future work.
\newpage
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 8,089 |
Apophua badia is een insect dat behoort tot de orde vliesvleugeligen (Hymenoptera) en de familie van de gewone sluipwespen (Ichneumonidae). De wetenschappelijke naam van de soort werd voor het eerst geldig gepubliceerd door Chiu in 1965.
badia | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 500 |
James Hunter Audrain (December 29, 1781 – November 10, 1831) was a Colonel of Militia who served during the War of 1812. Audrain County, Missouri, was named for him.
Biography
Audrain was born in 1781 in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. He married Mary Elizabeth Wells (1785–1834) on 12 December 1806 in Louisville, Kentucky. They had nine children.
He settled in the Six Mile District, near Fort Osage, Missouri, in 1810, going into business with his brother Francois.
In the report of the Northwestern Army, in an expedition against the Massassineway villages led by Lieut. Col. John B. Campbell, Audrain was listed as one of eight "spies and guides." This battle was the first major American victory of the War of 1812.
He then lived in O'Fallon where he farmed, ran a tavern, and operated a gristmill on Peruque Creek called "Bulls Hell Mill."
Later he settled in St. Charles County, Missouri, and was elected from there in 1830 to be a member of the State Legislature. He died on November 10, 1831 while visiting the home of William Clark of the Lewis and Clark Expedition.
References
External links
Audrain-Mayernik family genealogy
Audrain County Directory of Towns
Mostchar
Political Graveyard
People from O'Fallon, Missouri
People from Bucks County, Pennsylvania
Missouri state senators
1781 births
1831 deaths
People from Missouri in the War of 1812
19th-century American politicians | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 5,466 |
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\begin{document}
\begin{flushleft}
{\small\bf BU-HEPP-19-05}
\end{flushleft}
\vspace{18mm}
\title{IR-improved DGLAP parton shower effects for associated production of a W boson and jets in pp collisions at $\sqrt{s}=$8 and 13 TeV}
\author{B. Shakerin$^{a}$}
\email{bahram.shakerin@gmail.com}
\author{B.F.L. Ward$^{a}$}
\email{bfl_ward@baylor.edu}
\affiliation{$^{a}$Physics Department, Baylor
University, Waco, TX 76798-7316, USA}
\date{\today}
\begin{abstract}
In a previous paper, hereafter referred to as I, we have analyzed the 7 TeV LHC data on W + jets events from the standpoint of IR-improved DGLAP parton shower effects, using the IR-improved Herwiri1.031 parton shower MC in comparison with the Herwig6.5 parton shower MC in the context of the exact $O(\alpha_s)$ matrix element matched parton shower framework provided by MG5\_aMC@NLO. In the current paper, we extend this analysis to the LHC 8 and 13 TeV data to investigate the energy dependence of the results obtained in I. Specifically, W~+ jet events are generated in the MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO framework and showered by HERWIG6.521 and HERWIRI1.031 with $\mathtt{PTRMS}=2.2$ and 0~GeV, respectively. The differential cross sections are reported as functions of jet multiplicity, transverse linear momenta ($P_{T}$), the jet pesudo-rapidity ($\eta$) and the scalar sum of jet transverse momenta ($H_{T}$) for different jet multiplicities 1--3. The dijet cross sections as functions of transverse linear momenta, invariant mass of the dijet and the jet separation are shown as well. Distributions of angular correlations between the jets and the muon are examined as well and the corresponding cross sections are presented. The respective measured cross sections are compared with the exact next-to-leading-order (NLO) matrix element matched parton shower theoretical predictions provided by MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031~($\mathtt{PTRMS}=0)$ and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521~($\mathtt{PTRMS}=2.2~\mathrm{GeV})$ and the phenomenological consequences are discussed with an eye toward their energy dependence.
\end{abstract}
\maketitle
\thispagestyle{plain}
\pagestyle{plain}
\section{Introduction}
In this paper, we continue our analysis of the LHC W+ jets data which we started in Ref.~\cite{bsh1} (hereafter referred to as I) with the data at the center of momentum system energy of 7 TeV. In I, we found that, for a large number of observables in the
7 TeV data on $W+ n~ {\rm jets},~n=1,2,3$, the predictions from the exact NLO matrix element matched parton shower
with IR-improvement via Herwiri1.031~\cite{Joseph:2010cq} in the MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO~\cite{Alwall:2014hca} framework are as good or better in the soft regime than those in the same framework with the unimproved shower of Herwig6.5~\cite{Corcella:2000bw} where the latter shower has an intrinsic Gaussian transverse momentum distribution with a root-mean-squared value of 2.2GeV/c for the partons in the proton. In what follows, we consider the comparison between the LHC 8 and 13 TeV W+ jets data~\cite{Khachatryan:2016fue,Sirunyan:2017wgx} and the analogous sets of IR-improved and unimproved predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/Herwiri1.031~($\mathtt{PTRMS}=0)$ and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521~($\mathtt{PTRMS}=2.2~\mathrm{GeV})$, respectively, in an obvious notation.\par
In particular, we look into the energy dependence of our results by comparing the results from all three energies: 7, 8 and 13 TeV. For each of observable, we investigate the interplay of IR-improvement in the soft regime with the colliding beam energy. In this way, we elucidate the energy dependence of IR-improvement in the processes under study here.
The theoretical background for our discussion is given in I and Ref. \cite{Shakerin:2017hbd} so that we do not repeat that here. In Section II, we describe the event generation, analysis methods and cuts that we use in our discussion. In Section III we present the results of our comparisons with the LHC 8 and 13 TeV data for several observables. In Section IV, we study the energy dependence of results provided here and in I, and Section V contains our concluding remarks.\par
\section{Event generation, Analysis and Cuts}
The generators for W~+ jet events are MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO \cite{Alwall:2014hca} interfaced with HERWIG6.521 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO interfaced with HERWIRI1.031, which use exact QCD next-to-leading-order (NLO) matrix element calculations. The number of events generated for the W, W~+~1 jet, W~+~2 jets, and W~+~3 jets processes are $10^7$, $10^6$, $10^5$, and $10^5$, respectively.\,These events are showered by MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 (PTRMS = 0) and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521 (PTRMS = 2.2 GeV).\footnote{We will see later that HERWIRI gives either a better fit to the data or an acceptable fit without this extra Gaussian kick.} During the analysis, jets were reconstructed using the anti-$k_{t}$ algorithm with FastJet \cite{Cacciari:2011ma} and the cuts in Table~\ref{t1} and Table ~\ref{t2} were imposed.
\begin{table}[h!]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{ p{6cm}p{6cm} }
\hline
\multicolumn{2}{c}{Muon channel~~~($W\rightarrow \mu+\nu_{\mu}$)} $\sqrt{s}=8$ TeV\\
\hline
Lepton $P^{\mu}_{T}$ & $P^{\mu}_{T}>25~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Lepton rapidity $\eta_{\mu}$ & $|\eta_{\mu}|<2.1$ \\
Missing transverse energy &$E^{\mathrm{miss}}_{T}>25~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Transverse mass &$m_{T}>50~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Jet algorithm & Anti-$k_{t}$\\
Radius parameter~$R$& $R=0.5$\\
Jet $P^{jet}_{T}$ & $P^{\mathrm{jet}}_{T}>30~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Jet rapidity $\eta_{\mathrm{jet}}$ & $|\eta_{\mathrm{jet}}|<2.4$ \\
Jet isolation& $\Delta R(\mu,\mathrm{jet})>0.5$~(jet is removed)\\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Kinematic criteria defining the fiducial phase space for the $W\rightarrow \mu+\nu_{\mu}$~~channel }
\label{t1}
\end{table}
\begin{table}[h!]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{ p{6cm}p{6cm} }
\hline
\multicolumn{2}{c}{Muon channel~~~($W\rightarrow \mu+\nu_{\mu}$)} $\sqrt{s}=13$ TeV\\
\hline
Lepton $P^{\mu}_{T}$ & $P^{\mu}_{T}>25~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Lepton rapidity $\eta_{\mu}$ & $|\eta_{\mu}|<2.4$ \\
Missing transverse energy &$E^{\mathrm{miss}}_{T}>25~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Transverse mass &$m_{T}>50~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Jet algorithm & Anti-$k_{t}$\\
Radius parameter~$R$& $R=0.4$\\
Jet $P^{jet}_{T}$ & $P^{\mathrm{jet}}_{T}>30~\mathrm{GeV}$ \\
Jet rapidity $\eta_{\mathrm{jet}}$ & $|\eta_{\mathrm{jet}}|<2.4$ \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Kinematic criteria defining the fiducial phase space for the $W\rightarrow \mu+\nu_{\mu}$~~channel }
\label{t2}
\end{table}
The transverse mass, $m_{T}$, is defined as $m_{T}=\sqrt{2P^{\mu}_{T}P^{\nu_{\mu}}_{T}(1-\cos\Delta\phi})$ where $\Delta\phi$ is the difference in the azimuthal angle between the direction of the muon momentum and the associated muon neutrino, $\nu_{\mu}$, which can be written as
\begin{equation}
\Delta\phi=\phi^{\mu}-\phi^{\nu_{\mu}}.
\end{equation}
Rapidity is defined as $\displaystyle\frac{1}{2}\ln\left[\frac{E+p_{z}}{E-p_{z}}\right]$, where $E$ denotes the energy of the particle and $p_{z}$ is the longitudinal component of the momentum. Finally, the jet isolation, $\Delta R$, which is a Lorentz invariant quantity, is defined as
\begin{equation}
\Delta R(\mu,\mathrm{jet})=\sqrt{\Delta\phi^2(\mu,\mathrm{jet})+\Delta\eta^2(\mu,\mathrm{jet})},
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}
\left\{ \begin{array}{ll}
\Delta\phi(\mu,\mathrm{jet})=\phi_{\mu}-\phi_{\mathrm{jet}},\\
\Delta\eta(\mu,\mathrm{jet})=\eta_{\mu}-\eta_{\mathrm{jet}},\\
\eta=-\ln\tan(\frac{\theta}{2}),
\end{array} \right.
\label{etadef}
\end{equation}
where $\theta$ is the angle between the respective three-momentum vector and the positive beam direction.
\section{Results}
The measured W($\rightarrow\mu+\nu_{\mu}$)~+~jets cross sections \cite{Khachatryan:2016fue,Sirunyan:2017wgx} are shown and compared to the predictions of MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031
(PTRMS = 0) and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521 (PTRMS = 2.2 GeV). The 8 TeV MC data sample allows us to determine the cross sections for jet multiplicities up to 3 and to study the fiducial cross sections as functions of most kinematic observables for up to three jets. Each distribution is combined separately by minimizing a $\chi^2$ function. The factors applied to the theory predictions are summarized in Appendix A and Appendix B.
We have used the following notation throughout this paper:
\begin{itemize}
\item herwiri~$\equiv$~MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 (PTRMS~=~0);
\item herwig~ $\equiv$~ MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521 (PTRMS~=~2.2~GeV).
\end{itemize}
\subsection{Results for $\sqrt{s}=$8 TeV}
\subsubsection{Transverse Momentum Distributions $P_{T}$}
The differential cross sections in jet $P_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities from 1 to 3 are shown and compared with predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG.
\par
The differential cross sections as functions of the first three leading jets are shown in Figure~\ref{fig1}, Figure~\ref{fig2}, and Figure~\ref{fig3}. In all three cases HERWIRI results give a better fit to the data in the soft regime. In Figure~\ref{fig1}, a good fit is provided by HERWIRI for $P_{T}<187~\mathrm{GeV}$ while for $P_{T}>400~\mathrm{GeV}$ the predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG lie below the data. However, the HERWIRI predictions are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig2} both HERWIRI and HERWIG provide a fairly good fit to the data for $P_{T}<100~\mathrm{GeV}$. In $100<P_{T}<300~\mathrm{GeV}$, there are cases in which the theoretical predictions provided by either HERWIRI or HERWIG overlap with the data. For higher values of $P_{T}$, $P_{T}>350~\mathrm{GeV}$, both HERWIRI and HERWIG underestimate the data although the HERWIG results are closer to the data in some cases. In Figure~\ref{fig1}, for $P_{T}<187~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.59$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.13$. In Figure~\ref{fig2} for $P_{T}<140$~GeV, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.02$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.95$. In Figure~\ref{fig3}, a very good fit is provided by HERWIRI to the data for $P_{T}<142~\mathrm{GeV}$. For higher values of $P_{T}$, HERWIG predictions overlap with the data while HERWIRI predictions either underestimates or overestimates the data. In Figure~\ref{fig3} $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.47$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.04$ for $P_{T}<142~\mathrm{GeV}$.\par
\vspace{1ex}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{1.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig1}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{2.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the second leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig2}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{3.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the third leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig3}
\end{figure}
\noindent
\subsubsection{The Scalar Sum of Jet Transverse Momenta $H_{T}$ }
In this subsection, the differential cross sections are shown as function of $H_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3. The scalar sum $H_{T}$ is defined as
\begin{equation}
H_{T}=\sum_{i=1}^{N_{\mathrm{jet}}}P_{T}(j_{i}),
\end{equation}
for each event.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{4.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig4}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{5.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig5}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{6.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3$. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig6}
\end{figure}
The differential cross sections as functions of $H_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3 are shown in Figure~\ref{fig4}, Figure~\ref{fig5}, and Figure~\ref{fig6}. In Figure~\ref{fig4}, a good fit is provided by HERWIRI predictions for $H_{T}<190~\mathrm{GeV}$. For higher values of $H_{T}$, HERWIRI predictions are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig5}, in $H_{T}<190~\mathrm{GeV}$, HERWIRI gives a better fit to the data. For $190<H_{T}<600~\mathrm{GeV}$, HERWIG predictions overlap with the data while HERWIRI predictions overestimate the data. For higher values of $H_{T}$, in one case HERWIG overlaps and in one case HERWIRI overlaps with the data. In Figure~\ref{fig4}, for $H_{T}<190~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.56$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.58$. In Figure~\ref{fig5}, for $H_{T}<190~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f})_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.53$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.82$. In Figure~\ref{fig6}, for $H_{T}<200~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=13.20$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=10.43$. Neither prediction is a good fit to the data in the soft regime in Fig.~\ref{fig6}.\par
\subsubsection{The Pseudorapidity Distributions $|\eta(j)|$}
In this section, the differential cross sections are shown as functions of pseudorapidities of the three leading jets. We note that pseudorapidity, which was defined in Eq.~(\ref{etadef}), can also be written as
\begin{equation}
\eta=\frac{1}{2}\ln(\frac{|\vec{P}|+P_{L}}{|\vec{P}|-P_{L}})=\arctanh(\frac{P_{L}}{|\vec{P}|}),
\end{equation}
where $\vec{P}$ is the particle three-momentum and $P_{L}$ is the component of the momentum along the beam axis. \par
In Figure~\ref{fig7}, the cross sections are shown as a function of $|\eta(j_{1})|$, the leading jet pseudorapidity. The predictions provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG give a very good fit to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig8}, the cross sections are shown as a function of $|\eta(j_{2})|$, the second leading jet pseudorapidity. The distribution is well modeled by both HERWIRI and HERWIG in $|\eta(j_{2})|<2.2$. For larger values of $|\eta(j_{2})|$, HERWIG clearly gives a better fit to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig7}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.30$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.38$. In Figure~\ref{fig8}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.84$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.66$.\par
In Figure~\ref{fig9}, the cross sections are shown as a function of $|\eta(j_{3})|$, the third leading jet pseudorapidity. A very good fit is provided by HERWIRI for $|\eta(j_{3})|<2$. For higher values of $|\eta(j_{3})|$, both HERWIRI and HERWIG underestimate the data. However, the data are closer to HERWIG's predictions. In Figure~\ref{fig9}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.62$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.02$. \par
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{7.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|\eta(j_{1})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig7}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{8.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|\eta(j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig8}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{9.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|\eta(j_{3})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig9}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{Dijet $P_{T}$ Distributions}
In this section, the differential cross sections are shown as functions of the dijet $P_{T}$ (calculated from the two leading jets) for inclusive jet multiplicities 2--3. The dijet $P_{T}$ is defined as
\begin{equation}
\mathrm{dijet}~ P_{T}=\sqrt{(P_{x}(j_{1})+P_{x}(j_{2}))^2+((P_{y}(j_{1})+P_{y}(j_{2}))^2},
\end{equation}
with
\begin{equation}
\left\{ \begin{array}{ll}
j^{\mu}_{1}=(E_{j_{1}},P_{x}(j_{1}),P_{y}(j_{1}),P_{L}(j_{1})),\\
j^{\mu}_{2}=(E_{j_{2}},P_{x}(j_{2}),P_{y}(j_{2}),P_{L}(j_{2})),\\\end{array} \right.
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}
P_{T}=\sqrt{P^2_{x}+P^2_{y}}.
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{10.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of dijet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig10}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{11.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of dijet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig11}
\end{figure}
In Figure~\ref{fig10}, the cross section is shown as function of the dijet $P_{T}$ for $N_{jet}\geq3.$ A better fit is provided for the data by the HERWIRI predictions in $P_{T}<150~\mathrm{GeV}$. For higher values of $P_{T}$, the predictions provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG lie below the data points although HERWIRI is closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig10}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.17$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.43$.
In Figure~\ref{fig11}, the cross section is shown as function of the dijet $P_{T}$ for $N_{jet}\geq2.$ In this case again a better fit is provided by HERWIRI in $P_{T}<350~\mathrm{GeV}$. For $350<P_{T}<450~\mathrm{GeV}$, HERWIG gives a better fit to the data. For $P_{T}\geq450~\mathrm{GeV}$, the predictions provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG underestimate the data, although HERWIRI results are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig11}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.07$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.52$ for $P_{T}<187~\mathrm{GeV}$.
\subsubsection{The Rapidity Difference Distributions}
In this subsection, differential cross sections are presented as functions of the difference in rapidity. The difference in rapidity between the first and second leading jets is defined as
\begin{equation}
|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})=|Y(j_{1})-Y(j_{2})|,
\end{equation}
where
\begin{equation}
\left\{ \begin{array}{ll}
Y(j_{1})=\displaystyle\frac{1}{2}\ln\left[\frac{E_{j_{1}}+P_{L}(j_{1})}{E_{j_{1}}-P_{L}(j_{1})}\right],\\[2ex]
Y(j_{2})=\displaystyle\frac{1}{2}\ln\left[\frac{E_{j_{2}}+P_{L}(j_{2})}{E_{j_{2}}-P_{L}(j_{2})}\right],\end{array} \right.
\end{equation}
where $E_{j_{1}}$ and $E_{j_{1}}$ are energies for the first and the second leading jet, respectively. $P_{L}(j_{1})$ and $P_{L}(j_{2})$ represent the longitudinal momenta for the first and second leading jet.
\par
In Figure~\ref{fig12} and Figure~\ref{fig13}, cross sections are presented as functions of difference in rapidity for inclusive jet multiplicities 2--3.
Figure~\ref{fig12} shows that for cases $|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|\leq 0.5$ and $1<|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|\leq 3.5$, both HERWIRI and HERWIG give good fits to the data. In $0.5<|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|<1$, a better fit is given to the data by the predictions provided by HERWIG. In Figure~\ref{fig12}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.00$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.98$.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{12.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of difference is rapidity $|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig12}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{13.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of difference is rapidity $|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig13}
\end{figure}
In Figure~\ref{fig13}, the data is well modeled by the predictions provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG although the theoretical predictions provided by HERWIRI are closer to the data in many cases. In Figure~\ref{fig13}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.48$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.04$.
\par
In Figure~\ref{fig14} and Figure~\ref{fig15}, cross sections are presented as functions of difference in rapidity for inclusive jet multiplicity 3. In both cases, the data is well modeled by the predictions provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG. In many cases HERWIRI predictions are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig14}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.20$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.56$. In Figure~\ref{fig15}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.33$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.52$.
\vspace{10mm}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{14.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of difference is rapidity $|\Delta Y(j_{1},j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig14}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{15.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of difference is rapidity $|\Delta Y(j_{2},j_{3})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig15}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{Dijet Invariant Mass Distributions}
The cross sections are studied as functions of the dijet invariant mass calculated from the two leading jets for inclusive jet multiplicities 2--3. The dijet invariant mass is defined as
\begin{equation}
M({j_{1},j_{2}})=\sqrt{(E_{j_{1}}+E_{j_{2}})^2-(\vec{P}_{j_{1}}+\vec{P}_{j_{2}})^2}=\sqrt{m^2_{j_{1}}+m^2_{j_{2}}+2(E_{j_{1}}E_{j_{2}}-\vec{P}_{j_{1}}\cdot\vec{P}_{j_{2}})},
\end{equation}
where the leading jet is defined as $j^{\mu}_{1}=(E_{j_{1}}, \vec{P}_{j_{1}})$.
\par
In Figure~\ref{fig16} and Figure~\ref{fig17}, the cross sections are shown as functions of the dijet invariant mass for inclusive jet multiplicities 2--3. In Figure~\ref{fig16}, a good fit is provided by HERWIRI predictions to the data for $ M(j_{1},j_{2})<180~\mathrm{GeV}$ while for $200<M(j_{1},j_{2})<300~\mathrm{GeV}$, HERWIG gives a better fit to the data. For higher values of $ M$, the predictions provided by HERWIG are in better agreement with the data.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{16.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of dijet invariant mass $|M(j_{1},j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig16}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{17.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of dijet invariant mass $|M(j_{1},j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig17}
\end{figure}
In Figure~\ref{fig17}, a better fit is provided by HERWIRI to the data for $50<M(j_{1},j_{2})<400~\mathrm{GeV}$. For higher values of $M(j_{1},j_{2})$, HERWIG predictions either overlap with the data or are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig16}, for $M(j_{1},j_{2})<180~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.92$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.01$. In Figure~\ref{fig17}, for $M(j_{1},j_{2})<200~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.10$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.42$.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{18.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the angular separation between the two leading jets $\Delta R(j_{1},j_{2})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig18}
\end{figure}
Figure~\ref{fig18} shows the cross section as a function of angular separation between the first two leading jets for inclusive jet multiplicity 2. For $\Delta R({j_{1},j_{2}})<4.2$, HERWIRI predictions are in better agreement with the data.
In Figure~\ref{fig18}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.03$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.76$ For $\Delta R({j_{1},j_{2}})<4.2$.
\subsubsection{Dijet Angular Separation Distribution}
The differential cross section is given as a function of the difference in azimuthal angle $\Delta\Phi(j_{1},j_{2})$ for an inclusive jet multiplicity 2. In Figure~\ref{fig19}, the data are well modeled by the predictions provided by HERWIRI. In Figure~\ref{fig19}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.81$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.97$.\\
\par
The azimuthal angular distribution between the first and second leading jet is defined as
\begin{equation}
\cos(\Delta\Phi(j_{1},j_{2}))=\frac{P_{x}(j_{1})P_{x}(j_{2})+P_{y}(j_{1})P_{y}(j_{2})}{\sqrt{P^2_{x}(j_{1})+P^2_{y}(j_{1})}\sqrt{P^2_{x}(j_{2})+P^2_{y}(j_{2})}}
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{19.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the difference in azimuthal angle between the two leading jets $\Delta\Phi(j_{1},j_{2})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig19}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{The Azimuthal Angular Distribution Between the Muon and The Leading Jet}
The differential cross sections are shown as functions of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the first three leading jets for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3. The azimuthal angle between the muon and the leading jet is defined as
\begin{equation}
\cos(\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{1}))=\frac{P_{x}(\mu)P_{x}(j_{1})+P_{y}(\mu)P_{y}(j_{1})}{\sqrt{P^2_{x}(\mu)+P^2_{y}(\mu)}\sqrt{P^2_{x}(j_{1})+P^2_{y}(j_{1})}},
\end{equation}
with
\begin{equation}
\left\{ \begin{array}{ll}
\mu^{\mu}=(E_{\mu},P_{x}(\mu),P_{y}(\mu),P_{L}(\mu)),\\
j^{\mu}_{1}=(E_{j_{1}},P_{x}(j_{1}),P_{y}(j_{1}),P_{L}(j_{1})),\\\end{array} \right.
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{20.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{1})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig20}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{21.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the second leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{2})$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig21}
\end{figure}
In Figure~\ref{fig20}, Figure~\ref{fig21}, and Figure~\ref{fig22} the data are better modeled by the predictions provided by HERWIRI as expected. In Figure~\ref{fig20}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.42$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.98$. In Figure~\ref{fig21}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.80$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.30$. In Figure~\ref{fig22}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.92$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.95$.\par
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{22.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the second leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{3})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig22}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{Cross Sections}
The measured $W(\rightarrow \mu\nu_{\mu})$~+~jets fiducial cross sections for inclusive and exclusive jet multiplicity distributions are shown in Figure~\ref{fig23} and Figure~\ref{fig24}, respectively. For inclusive jet multiplicity a good fit is given to the data by the theoretical predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG. On the other hand, in Figure~\ref{fig24}, HERWIG gives a better fit to the measured cross sections for exclusive jet multiplicity 0--3. In Figure~\ref{fig23}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.53$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.49$. In Figure~\ref{fig24}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=3.12$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.09$.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{23.png}
\caption{Measured cross section versus inclusive jet multiplicity. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig23}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{24.png}
\caption{Measured cross section versus exclusive jet multiplicity. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig24}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Results for $\sqrt{s}=$13 TeV}
\subsubsection{Transverse Momentum Distributions $P_{T}$ }
The differential cross sections in jet $P_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities from 1 to 3 are shown and compared with predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG.
\par
The differential cross sections as functions of the first three leading jets are shown in Figure~\ref{fig1a}, Figure~\ref{fig2a}, and Figure~\ref{fig3a}. In Figure~\ref{fig1a}, a good fit is provided by both HERWIRI and HERWIG for $P_{T}<181~\mathrm{GeV}$. In Figure~\ref{fig2a}, both HERWIRI and HERWIG provide a good fit to the data for $P_{T}<142~\mathrm{GeV}$. In Figure~\ref{fig1a}, for $P_{T}<181~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.77$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.65$. In Figure~\ref{fig2a} for $P_{T}<142$~GeV, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.98$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.12$.\par
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{1a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig1a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{2a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the second leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig2a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{3a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the third leading-jet $P_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig3a}
\end{figure}
In Figure~\ref{fig3a}, a better fit is provided by HERWIRI to the data for $P_{T}<110~\mathrm{GeV}$ with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.21$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.95$. In general, HERWIRI gives a better fit to the data.
\subsubsection{The Absolute Rapidity Distribution $|Y(j)|$}
The differential cross sections as functions of the absolute rapidities of the three leading jets are shown in Figure~\ref{fig4a}, Figure~\ref{fig5a}, and Figure~\ref{fig6a}. In Figure~\ref{fig4a}, a very good fit to the data is provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.38$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.14$. In Figure~\ref{fig5a}, predictions provided by HERWIRI give a better fit to the data as expected. We found: $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.47$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=3.10$. In Figure~\ref{fig6a}, HERWIG predictions are in better agreement with the data with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.72$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.83$.\par
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{4a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|Y(j_{1})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig4a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{5a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|Y(j_{2})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig5a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{6a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $|Y(j_{3})|$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig6a}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{The Scalar Sum of Jet Transverse Momenta $H_{T}$ }
In this subsection, the differential cross sections are shown as function of $H_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{7a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig7a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{8a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig8a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{9a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of $H_{T}$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3$. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig9a}
\end{figure}
The differential cross sections as functions of $H_{T}$ for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3 are shown in Figure~\ref{fig7a}, Figure~\ref{fig8a}, and Figure~\ref{fig9a}. In Figure~\ref{fig7a}, a very good fit is provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG predictions for $H_{T}<190~\mathrm{GeV}$. For higher values of $H_{T}$, HERWIG predictions are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig8a}, in $H_{T}<190~\mathrm{GeV}$, HERWIG gives a better fit to the data. For $300<H_{T}~\mathrm{GeV}$, in some cases, HERWIRI predictions either overlap with the data or are closer to the data. In Figure~\ref{fig9a}, both HERWIRI and HERWIG predictions are in agreement with the data for $H_{T}<400~\mathrm{GeV}$.\\
In Figure~\ref{fig7a}, for $H_{T}<190~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.26$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.36$. In Figure~\ref{fig8a}, for $H_{T}<190~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.21$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.60$. In Figure~\ref{fig9a}, for $H_{T}<220~~\mathrm{GeV}$, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.61$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.58$.\par
\subsubsection{The Azimuthal Angular Distribution Between the Muon and The Leading Jet}
The differential cross sections are shown as functions of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the first three leading jets for inclusive jet multiplicities 1--3. The azimuthal angle between the muon and the leading jet is defined as
\begin{equation}
\cos(\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{1}))=\frac{P_{x}(\mu)P_{x}(j_{1})+P_{y}(\mu)P_{y}(j_{1})}{\sqrt{P^2_{x}(\mu)+P^2_{y}(\mu)}\sqrt{P^2_{x}(j_{1})+P^2_{y}(j_{1})}},
\end{equation}
with
\begin{equation}
\left\{ \begin{array}{ll}
\mu^{\mu}=(E_{\mu},P_{x}(\mu),P_{y}(\mu),P_{L}(\mu)),\\
j^{\mu}_{1}=(E_{j_{1}},P_{x}(j_{1}),P_{y}(j_{1}),P_{L}(j_{1})),\\\end{array} \right.
\end{equation}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{10a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{1})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 1.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig10a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[h!]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{11a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the second leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{2})$ in $N_{jet}\geq2.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig11a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{12a.png}
\caption{Cross section for the production of W~+ jets as a function of the azimuthal angle between the muon and the second leading jet $\Delta\Phi(\mu,j_{3})$ in $N_{jet}\geq 3.$ The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig12a}
\end{figure}
\par
In Figure~\ref{fig10a} and Figure~\ref{fig11a}, the data are better modeled by the predictions provided by HERWIRI as expected. In Figure~\ref{fig10a}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.14$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=3.08$. In Figure~\ref{fig11a}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.54$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.73$.\\
\par
In Figure~\ref{fig12a}, predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG are in fair agreement withe data. In three cases, HERWIG predictions overlap with the data while HERWIRI predictions either underestimate or overestimate the data. In two cases, HERWIRI predictions overlap with the data while HERWIG predictions in one case underestimates the data and in the other case overestimate the data. In general, in Figure~\ref{fig12a}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.26$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.12$.\par
\subsubsection{Cross Sections}
The measured $W(\rightarrow \mu\nu_{\mu})$~+~jets fiducial cross sections for exclusive and inclusive jet multiplicity distributions are shown in Figure~\ref{fig13a} and Figure~\ref{fig14a}, respectively. For exclusive jet multiplicity, in Figure~\ref{fig13a}, $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.37$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.36$. For $N_{jet}=1$ and $N_{jet}=3$, HERWIRI gives a better fit to the data while for $N_{jet}=2$, HERWIG gives a better fit to the data and the prediction provided by HERWIRI underestimates the data. In Figure~\ref{fig14a}, HERWIRI gives a better fit to the measured cross sections for inclusive jet multiplicity 1--3 in general with: $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.80$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.89$. For $N_{jet}\geq1$ and $N_{jet}\geq3$, HERWIRI gives a better fit to the data while for $N_{jet}\geq2$, predictions provided by HERWIRI and HERWIG are in agreement with the data.
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{13a.png}
\caption{Measured cross section versus exclusive jet multiplicity. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig13a}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}[H]
\centering
\includegraphics[scale=0.4]{14a.png}
\caption{Measured cross section versus inclusive jet multiplicity. The data are compared to predictions from MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 and MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIG6.521.}
\label{fig14a}
\end{figure}
\section{Study of the Energy Dependence of the results}
In this section we study the energy dependence of the results presented here and in I for similar distributions, e.g., $P_{T}$, $H_{T}$, $\eta$, etc. In each subsection, a comparison is performed between 7 TeV and 8 TeV, 7 TeV and 13 TeV, and 8 TeV and 13 TeV respectively. Needles to mention that for $P_{T}$ and $H_{T}$ distributions, the numerical value of $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f.}$ are calculated in the soft regime defined throughout this paper and I.
\subsection{$P_{T}$ Distributions}
The 8 TeV $P_{T}$ results should be compared with the corresponding ones at 7 TeV in I, i.e., Figures 1, 4 and 6 for the ATLAS data, and Figures 27, 28, and 29 for the CMS data. As our calculations reveal, at 8 TeV the predictions provided by HERWIRI, compared to those provided by HERWIG, in all cases are in better agreement with the data within the associated soft regime. At 7 TeV, HERWIRI gives a better fit than does HERWIG in all three ATLAS results for the soft regimes of Figs. 1, 4, and 6 of I. In the other (CMS) cases, while HERWIRI gives a comparable fit to that of HERWIG without the need of the intrinsic 2.2 GeV Gaussian $p_{T}$ distribution, the actual values of the respective $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f.}$ are lower for HERWIG. Unlike 7 TeV, in all cases at 8 TeV theoretical predictions provided by HERWIRI are in better agreement with the data.\par
Let us compare the 13 TeV results with our previous results in I at 7 TeV. In ATLAS data (Figures 1,4, and 6), for $W+\geq 1j$, $W+\geq 2j$, and $W+\geq 3j$ cases, HERWIRI, compared to HERWIG, provides a better fit to the data. However, at 13 TeV, for $W+\geq nj$, $n=2,3$, HERWIRI's predictions are in better agreement with the data than those at 7 TeV with ATLAS data. In CMS at 7 TeV, i.e, figures 27, 28, and 29 in I, only for $W+\geq 1j$ HERWIRI gives a better fit to the data than it does for the corresponding ATLAS data but HERWIG gives an even better fit, with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=0.64$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=0.35$. For both $W+\geq 2j$, and $W+\geq 3j$ cases, HERWIG predictions are also in better agreement with the data.\par
Comparison between 8 TeV and 13 TeV reveals that for cases $W+\geq 1j$ and $W+\geq 2j$ at 13 TeV, HERWIRI gives a comparable or better fit to the data with lower numerical value of $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f.}$. For $W+\geq 3j$ HERWIRI still is in better agreement with data but with higher $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f.}$ numerical value.
\subsection{$H_{T}$ Distributions}
We compare the 7, 8 and 13 TeV comparisons of theoretical and experimental results on $H_T$ as follows.
If we look at the $W+\geq 1j$ results, soft region $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ for the HERWIRI (HERWIG) fits are 0.28(1.94) for the ATLAS 7 TeV data (Fig. 20 in I), 0.57(0.40) for the CMS 7 TeV data (Fig. 30 in I), 0.56 (1.58) in the 8 TeV data in Fig. 4 here, and 0.26 (0.36) in the 13 TeV data in Fig. 31 here. We see that in this case, the HERWIRI fit is better for all three energies and that there is no evidence that it significantly degrades with increasing energy.
When we turn to the $W+\geq 2j$ case, we see that we have the correspnding soft region $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ for HERWIRI
(HERWIG) as 2.96 (1.65) for the 7 TeV ATLAS data in Fig. 21 in I, 1.70 (1.36) for the 7 TeV CMS data in Fig. 31 in I, 0.53 (0.82) for the 8 TeV data in Fig. 5 here, and 1.21 (0.60) for the 13 TeV data in Fig. 32 here.
We see that while HERWIRI still gives a comparable fit to HERWIG without the intrinsic 2.2 GeV Gaussion $p_T$ distribution, both fits are not as quite as good at 7 TeV as they are at 8 and 13 TeV. This is consistent with an increasing of the role of the soft radiation as we pass from $W+\geq 1j$ to $W+\geq 2j$.
The $W+\geq 3j$ case is consistent with our comment on the role of soft radiation, since in this case the corresponding results for the soft region $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ fits for HERWIRI (HERWIG) are 3.80 (1.05) for the 7 TeV ATLAS data in Fig. 23 in I, 4.02 (4.32) for the 7 TeV CMS data in Fig. 32 in I, 13.2 (10.43) for the 8 TeV data in Fig. 6 here, and 0.61 (0.58) for the 13 TeV data in Fig. 33 here, respectively. These results show that the fits are generally better at the highest energy\footnote{At 8 TeV, the lowest soft regime bin given for the data does not really match either of the calculations. This is under study.}.
\subsection{$\eta(j)$ Distribution }
We then compare the $\eta(j)$ results presented for 8 TeV with the CMS data in I, i.e., Figures 33, 34, and 35. We see that at 7 TeV the $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f.}$ for the HERWIRI (HERWIG) fit to the $W+\geq 1j$ data in Fig. 33 in I is 0.39 (0.79), to the $W+\geq 2j$ data in Fig. 34 in I is 1.94 (1.71), and to the $W+\geq 3j$ data in Fig. 35 in I is 0.82 (0.61) whereas at 8 TeV the corresponding results are 0.30 (0.38) for the data in Fig. 7 here, 0.84 (0.66) for the data in Fig. 8 here, and 0.62 (1.02) for the data in Fig. 9 here. The increase in energy results in better fits in both cases in general. It also enhances a bit the relative quality of the the IR-improved fits compared to the unimproved ones.
\subsection{The Azimuthal Angular Distribution Between the Muon and The Leading Jet}
Comparison between the 8 TeV results and corresponding ones in I, i.e., Figures 36, 37, and 38, reveals that, unlike 8 TeV, only for $W+\geq 1j$ and $W+\geq 3j$ cases HERWIRI gives a good fit to the data. For $W+\geq 2j$, HERWIG results are in better agreement with the data, with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=2.73$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=1.48$.\par
We then compare the 13 TeV results with CMS results at 7 TeV in I (see Figures 36, 37, and 38). At 7 TeV, only for $W+\geq 1j$, HERWIRI predictions give a better fit to the data with $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIRI}}=1.26$ and $\big(\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}\big)_{\texttt{HERWIG}}=2.67$. For $W+\geq 2j$, unlike 8 TeV, 7 TeV predictions provided by HERWIG give a better fit to the data, while at 13 TeV HERWIRI's predictions give a better fit to the data. For $W+\geq 3j$, unlike 8 TeV, both HERWIRI and HERWIG predictions give a good fit to the data at both 7 and 13 TeV.
Finally, we compare the 13 TeV results with the ones at 8 TeV. In general, the results provided by HERWIRI are in better agreement with the data; however, the numerical values of $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ are lower at 8 TeV.
\subsection{Absolute Value of Y(j) distribution }
We thus compare the 13 TeV results with the corresponding ones in ATLAS (see Figures 7, 8, and 9 in I). At 7 TeV, only for $W+\geq 1j$, HERWIRI results give a better fit to the data than do those of HERWIG. At 7 TeV, both HERWIRI and HERWIG give good fits to the data. At 13 TeV, HERWIRI gives good fits to the data except for the $W+\geq 3j$ case where the $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ is 2.72, while HERWIG gives a good fit to the data except for the $W+\geq 2j$ case where the $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ is 3.10.
We conclude that there is a general consistency of the $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ for the $W+\geq 1j$ case but that, for the other two cases, the $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$ are generally larger at 13 TeV.
\section{Summary}
In this paper the differential cross sections for different observables are presented at $\sqrt{s}=$ 8 and 13 TeV, and compared with the data. We also compared the results presented here with the results presented in I in terms of their energy dependence. As discussed in Section 4, at higher energy scale, results provided with HERWIRI in many cases are in better agreement with the data or they provide a lower value of $\frac{\chi^2}{d.o.f}$. At $\sqrt{s}=$8 TeV, in 19 cases out of 22, HERWIRI results either give a better fit to the data or are comparable with results provided with HERWIG. The same argument can be made at $\sqrt{s}=$13 TeV in which for 10 cases out of 12, HERWIRI results give a better fit to the data. \par
As we saw at 7 TeV, at 8 and 13 TeV the realization of the IR-improved DGLAP-CS theory, when used in the MADGRAPH5\_aMC@NLO/HERWIRI1.031 $\mathcal{O}(\alpha_{s})$ ME-matched parton shower framework, provides us with the opportunity to obtain a comparable or better fit to the data relative to the fit with the unimproved shower, in the soft regime, for the differential cross sections for a W boson produced in association with jets in pp collisions in the recent LHC results from CMS, without the need of an ad hoc hard intrinsic Gaussian distribution with an rms value of PTRMS = 2.2 GeV in the parton's wave function. The results presented in this paper, taken together with those in I, clearly demonstrate a conceptual basis for the phenomenological correctness of such a Gaussian kick while using the usual IR-unimproved DGLAP-CS showers, i.e. HERWIG6.5.\
Specifically, we see that the results at 8 and 13 TeV show agreement with the findings in I at 7 TeV. We conclude that the effects of IR-improvement in jet observables in the production of W+ jets at the LHC are robust to changes in the cms energy. This raises similar expectations for the data at the FCC-hh, should it ever come to fruition. Such expectations will be discussed further elsewhere~\cite{elswh}.
\clearpage
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 316 |
\section{Introduction}
Active systems are non-equilibrium systems whose constituent units consume energy to generate motion or mechanical forces. Originally inspired by biology, \textit{e.g.}\xspace bacterial colonies~\cite{Dombrowski2004,Peruani2012}, healing tissues~\cite{Poujade2007,Trepat2009}, or flocking animals~\cite{Ballerini2008}, the field now encompasses a variety of artificial systems that share this ability to inject energy at the microscopic level and emulate the unique properties of their biological counterparts, from flocking to spontaneous aggregation~\cite{Palacci2010a,Paxton2004, Hong2007,Jiang2010,Volpe2011,Thutupalli2011,Bricard2013,Narayan2007,Kudrolli2008,Deseigne2010}.
Beyond biomimetism, the study of active matter has led to new applications not found in nature, such as bacteria-powered micro-gears~\cite{Angelani2009,DiLeonardo2010,Sokolov2010}.
One distinctive yet relatively unexplored property of active systems is their sensitivity to boundary effects.
Striking macroscopic effects may be obtained by patterning confining walls on the micro-scale, as exemplified by the rectification phenomenon~\cite{Galajda2007,Wan2008,Tailleur2009,Angelani2011,Ghosh2013,Ai2013}.
More generally, any real-world system must have boundaries, and understanding their role is paramount to designing active matter based devices.
Whether the boundaries are only present by necessity or designed as an integral component of an active system, it is important to note that boundary effects are not merely size effects: the exact shape of the boundary is crucial.
However, most existing studies are only concerned with one among a handful of specific geometries~\cite{Tailleur2009,Nash2010,Elgeti2013,Lee2013, Mallory2014,Kaiser2012,Kaiser2013,Wioland2013,Kantsler2013, Guidobaldi2014,Yang2014,Camley2014,Ray2014,Lushi2014,Kaiser2014}, and little is known about how the shape of a boundary affects the behavior of the active system it confines.
In this paper, we focus on non-aligning self-propelled particles, a model that has recently attracted attention as a minimal model for self-propelled matter~\cite{Fily2012,Redner2013,Bialke2013,Cates2013,Stenhammar2013,Fily2014, Stenhammar2014,Wittkowski2014,Mallory2014}.
In particular, we neglect alignment interactions such as those that would arise from hydrodynamic couplings in a fluid environment.
Our results thus apply to systems in which such coupling torques are weak.
Furthermore, we restrict ourselves to the ``ideal active gas'' limit in which particles interact with the wall, but not with each other~\cite{Mallory2014}.
We recently showed, for such a system, an analytic relationship between the density and pressure of the active gas and the shape of the box for a general class of box shapes~\cite{Fily2014a}.
In the strong confinement regime, where the persistence length of the active particles is much larger than the size of the box, and when the box is convex, we showed that particles never leave the boundary and always align their self-propulsion direction with the local boundary normal.
Furthermore, the density and the pressure on the boundary are proportional to the local boundary curvature.
It is then possible to predict the density and pressure
on the boundary of any convex box, regardless of the details of its shape.
However, existing applications suggest that active devices are most effective when their boundaries have both convex and concave regions.
In this paper, we extend the theoretical framework introduced in Ref.~\cite{Fily2014a} to the case of non-convex boxes.
The presence of concave regions is a significant complication, as it implies that the same normal is found at multiple locations on the boundary, leading to multi-stability and hysteresis. Furthermore, particles within concave regions undergo complex, accelerated dynamics that sometimes launches them off the wall.
Nonetheless, we demonstrate that in the strong confinement regime: (i) this complex dynamics can be understood in terms of non-local ``jumps'',
(ii) the density of particles within concave regions vanishes and (iii) it is possible to predict the density everywhere on the boundary. We present a general algorithm to obtain this relationship and we test our predictions against the results of molecular dynamics simulations in a family of boxes with both concave and convex regions.
Finally, we discuss the role of interactions and the limits of the ideal gas approximation.
The paper is arranged as follows.
Section~\ref{model} introduces the model.
Section~\ref{wall_dynamics} explores the particle dynamics on the boundary and shows how the accelerated dynamics over concave regions can be recast as instantaneous jumps between disparate convex regions (see also appendices~\ref{ap:jump_typology} and~\ref{ap:jump_duration}).
Section~\ref{quasi_density} presents a theory for the density on the boundary in the strong confinement regime, and shows how to obtain the steady-state density.
Section~\ref{simulations} presents the results of molecular dynamics simulations and compares them against the predictions of sections~\ref{wall_dynamics} and~\ref{quasi_density}.
Section~\ref{discussion} discusses the scope of our model and the role of convexity in confined active gases.
\section{Model}
\label{model}
We consider a collection of confined, overdamped, self-propelled particles in two dimensions. Each particle is characterized by its position $\vec{r}$ and orientation $\vecug{\nu}=\cos\theta\,\vecu{x} + \sin\theta\,\vecu{y}$. The dynamics obeys the following equations of motion:
\begin{align}
\dot{\vec{r}} = \mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0 \vecug{\nu} + \mu \vec{F}_\text{w}
\, , \quad
\dot{\theta} = \xi(t)
\label{eq:eom1}
\end{align}
where $\mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0$ is the self-propulsion speed, $\mu$ is the mobility, $\xi$ is a white Gaussian noise with zero mean and correlations $\langle\xi(t)\xi(t')\rangle=2D_\text{r}\delta(t-t')$, and over-dots indicate time derivatives.
The medium on which the self-propulsion force is exerted is treated as a momentum sink; in particular, we neglect hydrodynamic interactions.
The confining walls are hard and frictionless; whenever the velocity of a particle is such that it would drive the particle into the wall, its component normal to the wall is cancelled by the wall force. More precisely, the wall force $\vec{F}_\text{w}$ is zero if the particle is not at the wall, or if it is at the wall but pointing away from it; otherwise it is equal to
$-\left(\frac{\mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0}{\mu}\vecug{\nu}_i\cdot\vecu{n}\right)\vecu{n}$, where
$\vecu{n}=\cos\psi\,\vecu{x} + \sin\psi\,\vecu{y}$ is the local normal to the wall pointing outwards~\footnote{With this choice of potential, the dynamics does not depend on the value of the mobility $\mu$ which is only kept for dimensional consistency.}.
This is the simplest choice of wall potential consistent with overdamped dynamics.
It neglects alignment terms that can arise when particles are anisotropic or experience hydrodynamic effects, and thusis appropriate when the re-orientation rate induced by such torques is slow in comparison to particle translation (this point is discussed further in section~\ref{discussion}).
Finally, since particles are non-interacting, we may restrict the discussion to a single particle.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.45\linewidth]{sketch_angles}
\caption{ (Color online)
Notations for a particle at the wall.
The particle is characterized by its arclength $s$ along the wall and its orientation $\vecug{\nu}=\cos\theta\,\vecu{x} + \sin\theta\,\vecu{y}$.
The local normal to the wall is $\vecu{n}=\cos\psi\,\vecu{x} + \sin\psi\,\vecu{y}$.
}
\label{fig:sketches}
\end{figure}
When a particle is at the wall, its configuration is characterized by its arclength $s\in [0,L)$ along the boundary, where $L$ is the box perimeter, and its orientation
relative to the local boundary normal $\phi=\theta-\psi$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:sketches}).
There are two important lengths scales in the system: the active persistence length $\mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0/D_\text{r}$, \textit{i.e.}\xspace the typical distance a free (unconfined) particle travels before its orientation decorrelates, and the global size of the confining box.
However, for a boundary with nonuniform curvature, the variations in the local radius of curvature lead to additional length scales. Which one is most relevant depends strongly on the geometry of the box, as discussed in Ref.~\cite{Fily2014a} and in the rest of the paper.
The regime we study in this paper is the \emph{strong confinement regime}, obtained when the persistence length $v_0/D_\text{r}$ is much larger than the size of the box.
It is obtained at large self-propulsion, small angular noise or small box size, and
we will often refer to it as the \emph{small angular noise regime}, or simply the \emph{small noise regime} (the angular noise is the only noise in our model).
\section{Dynamics at the wall}
\label{wall_dynamics}
We first look at the dynamics of a single particle moving along the wall. In particular, we explore the fundamental difference between convex and concave regions and show how the latter cause fast jumps and bi-stability in the low noise regime.
To this end, we project the equations of motion~\eqref{eq:eom1} onto the tangent to the wall:
\begin{align}
\dot{s} = \mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0 \sin\phi
\, , \quad
\dot{\phi} = \xi(t) - \frac{\mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0}{R(s)}\sin\phi
\label{eq:eom2}
\end{align}
where $s$ is the arclength along the wall, $\phi=\theta-\psi$ is the angle between the particle's orientation $\vecug{\nu}$ and the boundary normal $\vecu{n}$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:sketches}), and $R(s)=ds/d\psi$ is the local radius of curvature.
Eqs.~\eqref{eq:eom2} remain valid as long as $|\phi|\le\pi/2$; as soon as $|\phi|>\pi/2$, the particle leaves the boundary.
\subsection{Dynamics at zero angular noise}
\label{zero_dynamics}
In the absence of noise ($D_\text{r}=0$), the orientation $\vecug{\nu}=\cos\theta\vecu{x}+\sin\theta\vecu{y}$ of the particle is constant and its gliding velocity only depends on its location
(see Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}):
\begin{align}
\dot{s} = v_0 \sin(\theta-\psi(s))
\label{eq:eom4}
\end{align}
When $|\theta-\psi|>\pi/2$ (lower uncolored half of the box in the bottom left panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}), there is no gliding. Instead, the particle travels in a straight line through the interior of the box until it hits the boundary again.
Locations along the boundary where $\psi(s)=\theta$ (\textit{i.e.}\xspace the particle is aligned with the normal) act as fixed points.
They are stable in convex regions ($R(s)>0$) and unstable in concave regions ($R(s)<0$), as can be seen by linearizing Eq.~\eqref{eq:eom4} near the arclength $s_0$ of the fixed point:
\begin{align}
\frac{d}{dt}(s-s_0) = -\frac{v_0}{R(s_0)} (s-s_0)
+ {\cal O}\left((s-s_0)^2\right)
\label{eq:eom5}
\end{align}
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.85\linewidth]{concave_dynamics}
\caption{ (Color online)
Dynamics in a confining box in the absence of angular noise.
Top left:
Real space representation. The concave region (between $B$ and $C$) is shown in orange (grey). The arclength $s$ is counted counter-clockwise.
The points $A$ and $D$ have the same normal (shown as a straight arrow) as $C$ and $B$, respectively.
Top right:
Normal angle $\psi$ as a function of arclength $s$.
The dynamics of a particle with constant orientation $\theta$ is controlled by the distance $\phi=\theta-\psi$ between the curve and the horizontal dashed line.
The fixed points as shown as filled (stable) and empty (unstable) squares.
Bottom left:
Gliding velocity $\dot{s}=v_0\sin\phi$
for a particle with orientation $\vecug{\nu}$ (shown inside the box).
The orientation and fixed points are the same as those shown in the top right panel.
Arrow heads indicate the gliding direction.
The colorbar is shown on the right.
}
\label{fig:gliding_speed}
\end{figure}
Graphically, the fixed points are located at the intersection(s) of the curve $y=\psi(s)$ with the horizontal dashed line $y=\theta$ in the top right panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}.
In convex boxes, $\psi(s)$ is monotonic and the fixed point corresponding to the orientation $\theta$ is always stable and unique.
Conversely, in the presence of concavity there are multiple locations with the same normal, and multiple fixed points for some values of $\theta$.
\subsection{Quasi-static dynamics}
\label{quasi_dynamics}
We now let the orientation $\theta$ vary slowly. When the rate of change of $\theta$ is small enough, the particle spends most of its time at a fixed point, and only a small fraction of its time
travelling between fixed points.
This \emph{quasi-static} regime is obtained when the angular noise $D_\text{r}$ is small, \textit{i.e.}\xspace in the strong confinement regime.
The particle is then confined to the boundary: the fixed point condition $\theta=\psi$ implies that the particle always points toward the boundary, whereas leaving the boundary would require pointing away from it ($|\theta-\psi|>\pi/2$).
In general, a small change $d\theta$ in the orientation $\theta$ causes a small displacement $ds=R(s)d\theta$ of the corresponding fixed point.
In a convex region, the particle relaxes exponentially toward the new fixed point.
The quasi-static regime is then obtained when the corresponding relaxation time $R(s)/v_0$ is much shorter than the reorientation time $D_\text{r}^{-1}$.
In a concave region, on the other hand, an infinitesimal change in the orientation $\theta$ can trigger a large displacement, which we refer to as a \emph{jump}.
Consider the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}, and a particle at point $B$ with orientation $\theta=\psi_B+d\theta$ where $d\theta>0$ is a small perturbation.
Since there is no fixed point with normal angle $\psi_B+d\theta$ in the vicinity of $B$, the particle has to travel to the next convex location with normal angle $\psi_B$, \textit{i.e.}\xspace point $D$.
Concretely, the perturbation $d\theta$ sends the particle into the concave region where its gliding speed continuously increases. It only starts to decelerate once it reaches the end $C$ of the concave region, and eventually comes to a stop at point $D$.
The quasi-static regime is obtained when the jump from $B$ to $D$ is much faster than the reorientation time $D_\text{r}^{-1}$.
In appendix~\ref{ap:jump_duration} we show that this is the case for small angular noise. We also discuss the possibility and implications of particles leaving the boundary during a jump.
Within the quasi-static approximation, however, the details of a jump are irrelevant: it is considered instantaneous, and only its landing point matters.
In summary, the presence of concavity causes non-trivial dynamics in the quasi-static regime.
A particle reaching the end of a convex region experiences an instantaneous jump to a new convex location with the same normal angle.
As a result, the vicinity of a concave region exhibits bi-stability and hysteresis (in Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}, jumps from $B$ to $D$ and from $C$ to $A$ create an hysteresis loop around $ABCD$).
Finally, these results have important consequences for the steady-state density (see section~\ref{quasi_density}).
First, the instantaneousness of the jumps over concave regions implies that those regions are empty.
Second, the fact that jumps do not stop at the end of the concave region but continue into the next convex region causes non-local density fluxes within the system.
As we show next, the requirement that these fluxes cancel at steady-state enables predicting the density profile everywhere on the boundary.
\section{Quasi-static steady-state density}
\label{quasi_density}
We now use the results of section~\ref{wall_dynamics} to predict the steady-state density of a particle in a box of arbitrary shape in the quasi-static regime.
Our starting point is the assumption that the particle is always at a stable fixed point, \textit{i.e.}\xspace at a convex point where the particle's orientation is aligned with the boundary normal ($\theta=\psi$).
This has three important consequences.
First, the particle always points toward the boundary and never leaves it. As a result, the density is zero in the bulk and the problem is effectively limited to the (one-dimensional) boundary.
Second, the particle never visits concave regions, where fixed points are always unstable. The density on the boundary therefore vanishes in those regions.
Third, the normal angle at the location of the particle follows a simple random walk:
$\dot{\psi}=\dot{\theta}=\xi(t)$
where $\xi$ is the same noise as in Eqs.~\eqref{eq:eom1} and~\eqref{eq:eom2}.
Thus, the density on the boundary in $\psi$ space (unit circle) obeys the usual diffusion equation:
\begin{align}
\partial_t \rho^\psi = D_\text{r} \partial_\psi^2 \rho^\psi
\label{eq:diffusion_total}.
\end{align}
whose steady-state solution is given by $\rho^\psi(\psi)=\dfrac{1}{2\pi}$.
\subsection{Role of convexity}
In a convex box, $R(s)$ is positive everywhere and $\psi(s)$ is monotonic.
The density of particles per unit length of boundary is then obtained by making the change of variable $\psi\rightarrow s$. At steady-state, this yields \cite{Fily2014a}
\begin{align}
\rho(s) = \rho^\psi(\psi)\, \frac{d\psi}{ds}=\frac{1}{2\pi R(s)}
\end{align}
The density on the boundary is thus proportional to the local boundary curvature.
In a non-convex box, on the other hand, there are multiple locations on the boundary with the same normal angle $\psi$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:gliding_speed}).
Unlike the density $\rho(s)$, the normal angle density $\rho^\psi(\psi)$ does not discriminate between those locations. Thus, $\rho(s)$ cannot be inferred from $\rho^\psi(\psi)$ alone for a box with concave boundary regions.
\subsection{Formulating the problem}
To retain all the information contained in $\rho(s)$ while working in normal angle space, where the dynamics is simply diffusive, we number the convex regions $1$ to $n$ and introduce the normal angle density $\rho^\psi_i$ in region $i$.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.95\linewidth]{representations}
\caption{ (Color online)
Three representations of a non-convex box showing the concave regions in orange (grey) and the jumps over the concave regions (curved arrows). Convex regions are indexed by a number $1$ to $3$.
Region $i$ is delimited by the two inflexion points $A_{2i-1}$ and $A_{2i}$.
Each $A_i$ is the starting point of a jump over the neighboring concave region that lands at $B_i$, which has the same normal angle $\psi_i$ as $A_i$.
Top: Shape of the box. The `x' on the right is the arclength origin, $s=0$.
Bottom left: Normal angle vs. arclength.
Bottom right: Normal angle representation.
The vertical axis labels the convex region corresponding to each interval.
Region \region{1} appears split into two parts due to periodic boundary conditions.
}
\label{fig:topology}
\end{figure}
Region $i$ is delimited by the two inflexion points $A_{2i-1}$ and $A_{2i}$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}).
Inflexion point $A_i$ has normal angle $\psi_i$ and arclength $s_i$.
Each $\rho^\psi_i$ is defined over the entire $[0,2\pi)$ interval but only takes non zero values between $\psi_{2i-1}$ and $\psi_{2i}$, so that we can write $\rho^\psi=\sum_i \rho^\psi_i$.
The concave regions, where the density is assumed to be zero, are not explicitly described, but manifest themselves through the boundary conditions $\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i-1})=\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i})=0$.
Inflexion points act as one-way teleportation devices that send the particle to a new convex location with the same normal angle $\psi$.
These instantaneous jumps often, but not always, connect consecutive regions (see appendix~\ref{ap:jump_typology}).
From the point of view of each $\rho^\psi_i$, the start of a jump is a particle sink and its end a particle source. Apart from jumps, the dynamics in a convex region is indistinguishable from that in a convex box and $\rho^\psi_i(\psi)$ obeys the same diffusion equation as $\rho^\psi(\psi)$.
The result is a set of coupled diffusion equations:
\begin{align}
\partial_t \rho^\psi_i = D_\text{r} \partial_\psi^2 \rho^\psi_i
+ \sum_k \epsilon_{ik} J} %{\cal J}_k \delta(\psi-\psi_k)
\label{eq:diffusion}
\end{align}
where $\delta$ is the Dirac delta function and the sum is over jumps.
Jump $k$ occurs at normal angle $\psi_k$ and carries a current $J} %{\cal J}_k>0$ from its starting point $A_k$ to its landing point $B_k$.
$\epsilon_{ik}$ encodes the relationship between jump $k$ and region $i$.
If jump $k$ starts in region $i$, $\epsilon_{ik}=-1$ and the corresponding term in Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion} is a sink.
Conversely, if jump $k$ lands in region $i$, $\epsilon_{ik}=1$ and the corresponding term in Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion} is a source.
Finally, if jump $k$ does not involve region $i$ then $\epsilon_{ik}=0$; in other words the sum in Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion} is restricted to jumps that involve region $i$%
~\footnote{With these notations, it is manifest that summing over $i$ recovers Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion_total}, with $\rho^\psi(\psi)=\sum_i \rho^\psi_i(\psi)$.}.
In order for $\partial_t\rho^\psi_i$ to remain finite, each jump must create a discontinuity in $\partial_\psi \rho^\psi_i$ proportional to $J} %{\cal J}_k$:
$\partial_\psi \rho^\psi_i(\psi_k^+)-\partial_\psi \rho^\psi_i(\psi_k^-)=-J} %{\cal J}_k/D_\text{r}$
where the superscripts $\pm$ symbolize one-sided limits.
The currents $J} %{\cal J}_k$ may then be eliminated from Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion} in favor of the densities $\rho^\psi_i$.
Once the density in normal angle space is known in every convex region, the linear density on the boundary $\rho(s)$ is obtained using the change of variable $\psi\rightarrow s$, which is monotonic within each convex region:
\begin{align}
\rho(s) =
\begin{cases}
\dfrac{\rho^\psi_i(\psi(s))}{R(s)} & $ if $s$ is in convex region $i \\
0 & $ if $s$ is in a concave region$
\end{cases}
\label{eq:unfold}
\end{align}
where $R(s)$ is the radius of curvature.
\subsection{Steady-state}
\label{steady-state}
From the form of Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion}, it is clear that the steady-state density in each convex interval
is piecewise linear, with a change of slope at the location $\psi_k$ of every jump that starts or lands in the interval.
We also require $\rho^\psi_i$ to be continuous, and to vanish at the ends of the interval (beyond which the boundary is concave and thus empty):
$\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i-1})=\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i})=0$.
As a result, the entire set of density functions $\{\rho^\psi_i(\psi)\}_{1\le i\le n}$
is fully determined by its $2n$ values at the location of every jump landing $B_k$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}).
Let $x_k = \rho^\psi_{i(k)}(\psi_k), k\in[1,2n]$ be those unknowns, with $i(k)$ the index of the convex region in which jump $k$ lands.
On the other hand, Eq.~\eqref{eq:diffusion_total} implies that the steady-state total density $\rho^\psi=\sum_i \rho^\psi_i$ is equal to $1/(2\pi)$.
Using the piecewise linearity of $\rho^\psi_i$, $\rho^\psi_i(\psi)$ can always be expressed as a linear combination of $x_k$'s.
Writing $\rho^\psi(\psi)=(2\pi)^{-1}$ at $2n$ distinct values of $\psi$ then leads to a $2n\times2n$ linear system that can be solved to obtain the $x_k$'s.
In order for the system not to be degenerate, the $2n$ values of $\psi$ need to be spread across all subregions of all convex regions so that no $x_k$ is left out.
A convenient choice is to use the locations $\psi_k$ of the jumps.
Once the $\rho^\psi_i$'s are known, the density per unit length of the boundary is given by Eq.~\eqref{eq:unfold}.
The entire process can be automated, \textit{i.e.}\xspace it is possible to write a program that, starting with a parametrization of the boundary, identifies the convex regions and the jumps, writes the linear system, solves for the $x_k$'s, and generates the functions $\rho^\psi_i$ and $\rho$.
We used such a program to create most of our figures and analyze our simulation results (section~\ref{simulations}).
Below we go through the method step-by-step in several situations of interest.
In sections~\ref{multiplicity2} and~\ref{multiplicity3}, we consider boxes in which the number of convex locations with the same normal is limited to $2$ (section~\ref{multiplicity2}) and $3$ (section~\ref{multiplicity3}). In both cases, we show that the density can be expressed in a simple form.
In section~\ref{general_case} we give a detailed description of the algorithm that leads to the steady-state density in the general case.
\subsubsection{Multiplicity no greater than $2$}
\label{multiplicity2}
We start with the box pictured in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}.
In order to write $\rho^\psi(\psi_k)=(2\pi)^{-1}$ in terms of the unknowns $\{x_j\}$, we look at the normal angle representation (bottom right panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}) and take a vertical slice at $\psi_k$.
Looking at, \textit{e.g.}\xspace, the slice through $B_5$, we see that $A_5$ and $B_5$ are the only two locations on the boundary where the normal angle is equal to $\psi_5$. At $B_5$, the density is by definition $x_5$, while at $A_5$ it is zero because it is the entrance of a concave region.
Therefore, the total density at $\psi_5$ is simply $x_5$, and the equation for that slice is $x_5=(2\pi)^{-1}$.
The situation is the same at every jump location, and the corresponding linear system is trivial:
\begin{align}
\forall k\in[1,2n], \quad x_k= \frac{1}{2\pi}
\label{eq:linear_system1}
\end{align}
Recalling the piecewise linearity and boundary conditions $\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i-1})=\rho^\psi_i(\psi_{2i})=0$, the resulting partial densities $\rho^\psi_i$ in $\psi$ space then take the form shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:density_psi1}.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.8\linewidth]{density_psi}
\caption{ (Color online)
Density of particles in normal angle space as a function of the normal angle $\psi$ in each of the three convex lobes of the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}.
$\psi_i$ is the normal angle of the inflexion point $A_i$ as well as that of its corresponding landing point $B_i$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}).
}
\label{fig:density_psi1}
\end{figure}
Finally, Fig.~\ref{fig:density1} shows the density in real space and $s$ space, where the overlaps between convex regions disappear and the empty concave regions reappear.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{density_and_cmap}
\caption{ (Color online)
Density of particles per unit length of boundary as a function of arclength $s$ for the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}.
$s_i$ and $s'_i$ are the arclengths of the inflexion points $A_i$ and corresponding landing points $B_i$ (see Fig.~\ref{fig:topology})).
Right panel: Heat map for the density along the boundary, shown in real space.
}
\label{fig:density1}
\end{figure}
More generally, let $m(\psi)$ be the multiplicity, \textit{i.e.}\xspace the number of convex locations that have normal angle $\psi$.
Graphically, in the normal angle representation (bottom right panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:topology}), $m(\psi)$ is the number of convex intervals that intersect the vertical line at $\psi$.
Since a jump connects two regions, $m(\psi_k) \ge 2$. If $m(\psi)$ never exceeds 2 over the entire boundary,
then $A_k$ and $B_k$ are the only convex locations with normal angle $\psi_k$, and the equation $\rho^\psi(\psi_k)=(2\pi)^{-1}$ always takes the trivial form given by Eq.~\eqref{eq:linear_system1}, regardless of the number $n$ of convex regions or their sizes.
\subsubsection{An example with multiplicity $3$}
\label{multiplicity3}
We now consider the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology2}, defined in polar coordinates by
$r(\theta) = 1 + 0.6 \sin\left( 4\theta \right)$.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.95\linewidth]{representations2}
\caption{ (Color online)
Three representations of a non-convex box showing the concave regions in orange (grey) and the jumps over the concave regions (curved arrows). Convex regions are indexed by a number $1$ to $4$.
Top: Shape of the box.
The origin of arclengths is the rightmost point on the boundary, halfway between $B_3$ and $B_8$.
Bottom left: Normal angle vs. arclength.
Bottom right: Normal angle representation.
The vertical axis labels the convex region corresponding to each interval.
Region \region{1} appears split into two parts due to periodic boundary conditions.
}
\label{fig:topology2}
\end{figure}
There are $n=4$ convex regions, delimited by the $8$ inflexion points $A_1$ to $A_8$.
The jump starting at $A_i$ ends at $B_i$, which is located in a neighboring lobe. Although the jumps involve leaving the boundary and flying straight through the bulk for a short period of time (see section~\ref{ap:jump_typology}), these flights do not alter the location of the landing points $B_i$ and thus are irrelevant to the steady-state.
In real space, the most important difference between this box and the box of Fig.~\ref{fig:topology} is the order of the landing points. For example, $B_5$ comes before $B_2$ when moving counter-clockwise.
This ``inversion'' is a signature of multiplicities higher than $2$, as can be seen by comparing the bottom panels of Figs.~\ref{fig:topology} and~\ref{fig:topology2}.
Following the method outlined in previous sections, we set out to write
$\rho^\psi(\psi_k)=\sum_i\rho^\psi_i(\psi_k)=(2\pi)^{-1}$ at each jump location $\psi_k$ in terms of the variables $x_k$.
We start with jump $7$ and draw a virtual vertical line through $A_7$ and $B_7$ in the normal angle representation (bottom right panel of Fig.~\ref{fig:topology2}).
This line intersects region $4$ at $A_7$, region $3$ at $B_7$, and region $2$ at a point $C$ located between $B_2$ and $A_4$.
We can therefore write
\begin{align}
(2\pi)^{-1}
& = \rho^\psi_4(\psi_7)+\rho^\psi_3(\psi_7)+\rho^\psi_2(\psi_7)
\nonumber \\
& = x_7 + \frac{\psi_4-\psi_7}{\psi_4-\psi_2} \rho^\psi_2(\psi_2)
+ \frac{\psi_7-\psi_2}{\psi_4-\psi_2} \rho^\psi_2(\psi_4)
\nonumber \\
& = x_7 + \frac{\psi_4-\psi_7}{\psi_4-\psi_2} x_2
\end{align}
The second line is obtained by using the boundary condition $\rho^\psi_4(\psi_7)=0$, the definition $\rho^\psi_3(\psi_7)=x_7$, and the linearity of $\rho^\psi_2$ between $B_2$ and $A_4$.
The third line is obtained by using the boundary condition $\rho^\psi_2(\psi_4)=0$ and the definition $\rho^\psi_2(\psi_2)=x_2$.
Applying the method to each jump yields the system
\begin{align}
2\pi
\left(
\begin{array}{cccccccc}
1 & 0 & 0 & \alpha_1 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & 1 & 0 & 0 & \alpha_2 & 0 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 1 & 0 & 0 & \alpha_3 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 1 & 0 & 0 & \alpha_4 & 0 \\
0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 1 & 0 & 0 & \alpha_5 \\
\alpha_6 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 1 & 0 & 0 \\
0 & \alpha_7 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 1 & 0 \\
0 & 0 & \alpha_8 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 0 & 1
\end{array}
\right)
\cdot
\left(
\begin{array}{c}
x_1 \\ x_2 \\ x_3 \\ x_4 \\ x_5 \\ x_6 \\ x_7 \\ x_8
\end{array}
\right)
=
\left(
\begin{array}{c}
1 \\ 1 \\ 1 \\ 1 \\ 1 \\ 1 \\ 1 \\ 1
\end{array}
\right)
\end{align}
where
$\alpha_k = \dfrac{\psi_{k-3}-\psi_k}{\psi_{k-3}-\psi_{k-5}}$
(indices are defined modulo $2n$).
The solution to this system is not in general compact; however, here the four-fold symmetry implies that $\alpha_k\equiv\alpha$ is independent of $k$,and the solution simply reads:
\begin{align}
\forall k , \ x_k = \frac{1}{2\pi (1+\alpha)}
\label{eq:multiplicity3_result}
\end{align}
The corresponding densities in normal angle space, in arclength space and in real space are shown in Figs.~\ref{fig:density_psi2} and~\ref{fig:density2}.
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=0.8\linewidth]{density_psi2}
\caption{ (Color online)
Density of particles in normal angle space as a function of the normal angle $\psi$ in each of the four convex lobes of the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology2}.
}
\label{fig:density_psi2}
\end{figure}
\begin{figure}
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{density_and_cmap2}
\caption{ (Color online)
Density of particles per unit length of boundary as a function of arclength $s$ for the box shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology2}.
Right panel:
Heat map for the density along the boundary, shown in real space.
}
\label{fig:density2}
\end{figure}
\subsubsection{General case}
\label{general_case}
The method used above to compute the steady-state density in simple boxes can be readily extended to arbitrary shapes. We now write down the steps leading to the solution in the general case.
As a preliminary step, in each region $i$
we identify the set $K_i = \{ k \in [1,2n]\ |\ s'_k \in [s_{2i-1},s_{2i}] \}$ of jumps that land in the region, with $s'_k$ the arclength of landing point $B_k$.
We also define the set ${\cal E}_i=\{A_{2i-1},A_{2i}\}\cup\{B_k\ |\ k \in K_i\}$ of jump ends in region $i$, \textit{i.e.}\xspace the two ends of the region plus any jump landings.
Then, for each jump landing $B_k$, we perform the following sequence of operations: \\
\begin{enumerate}
\setlength{\itemsep}{0pt}
\setlength{\parsep}{0pt}
\item Identify the region $i$ that contains $B_k$. By definition $\rho^\psi_i(\psi_k)=x_k$. \\
\item Pick a region $j$ other than $i$. In the set ${\cal E}_j$, identify the two points $C$ and $D$ whose normal angles are closest to $\psi_k$ on each side:
\begin{align*}
\psi_C = \max_{M\in{\cal E}_j} \{ \psi_M\ |\ \psi_M\le\psi_k \} \\
\psi_D = \min_{M\in{\cal E}_j} \{ \psi_M\ |\ \psi_M\ge\psi_k \}
\end{align*}
By construction, $\rho^\psi_j$ is linear between $C$ and $D$; therefore
\begin{align}
\rho^\psi_j(\psi_k) = \frac{\psi_D-\psi_k}{\psi_D-\psi_C} \rho^\psi_j(\psi_C)
+ \frac{\psi_k-\psi_C}{\psi_D-\psi_C} \rho^\psi_j(\psi_D)
\label{eq:build_solution1}.
\end{align}
Furthermore, $\rho^\psi_j(\psi_{C/D})$ is either $0$ if $C/D$ is $A_{2j-1}$ or $A_{2j}$, or $x_l$ if $C/D$ is $B_l$; therefore the right-hand side of Eq.~\eqref{eq:build_solution1} is a linear combination of $0$, $1$ or $2$ of the $x_l$'s (if the region has no jump landing, or if $\psi_k$ is outside of the region, the right-hand side is simply zero). \\
\item Repeat the previous step until every region has been considered, then sum Eq.~\eqref{eq:build_solution1} over $j$. The left-hand side is (by definition) $\rho^\psi(\psi_k)=(2\pi)^{-1}$, while the right-hand side is a linear combination of $x_l$'s.
\end{enumerate}
At the end of step 3, a linear system of the form $\sum_j a_{ij} x_j = (2\pi)^{-1}$ is obtained, whose coefficients $a_{ij}$ depend on the $\psi_k$'s.
After inverting the system to get the $x_j$'s and thus the normal angle space densities $\{\rho^\psi_i(\psi)\}$, ``unfolding'' normal angle space onto arclength space and dividing by the radius of curvature yields the density $\rho(s)$ per unit length of boundary (see Eq.~\eqref{eq:unfold}).
As pointed out at the beginning of section~\ref{quasi_density}, the process can be automated. This is particularly useful when the number of non-zero elements in $a_{ij}$ is large, which happens when the multiplicity $m$ is large.
On the other hand, a small multiplicity leads to a sparse matrix. In particular, $m=2$ yields a diagonal matrix (see section~\ref{multiplicity2}).
\section{Simulations}
\label{simulations}
We test the results of sections~\ref{wall_dynamics} and~\ref{quasi_density} by performing molecular dynamics simulations of Eqs.~\eqref{eq:eom1} in the family of boxes defined in polar coordinates by
\begin{align}
r(\theta) = 1 + r_1 \sin\left( k \theta \right)
\label{eq:polar_eq}
\end{align}
The boxes shown in Figs.~\ref{fig:topology} and~\ref{fig:topology2} belong to this family, with $(k,r_1)=(2,0.5)$ and $(4,0.6)$ respectively.
\subsection{Angular distribution}
We first test our core assumption, that the deviation of the particle orientation from the boundary normal vanishes: $\phi\approx0$, and the reasoning that led to it (see section~\ref{wall_dynamics}), by characterizing the statistics of $\phi$ at various locations along the boundary.
In convex regions, the theory predicts that the distribution of $\phi$ will exhibit a narrow peak centered around $\phi=0$.
On the other hand, particles jumping over a concave region should generate secondary peaks, much smaller than the primary peak, and centered around a position-dependent non-zero value $\phi=\psi_0-\psi$ where $\psi_0$ and $\psi$ are the normal angles at the inflexion point where the particle entered the jump and at the current location, respectively.
In concave regions, there should be no central peak, only ``secondary'' ones.
\begin{figure}[h]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{orientation_peaks}
\caption{ (Color online)
Positions of peaks in the distribution of the orientations $P(\phi)$ relative to the normal as a function of the arclength $s$ over one lobe of the box defined by Eq.~\eqref{eq:polar_eq} with $k=4$ and $r_1=0.5$. The lobe geometry is shown in the right panel.
The angular diffusion constant is $D_\text{r}=10^{-4}$, deep in the strong confinement regime.
The simulation data is shown as circles.
The theoretical prediction is shown as lines. Colors denote the origin of the particles: blue for particles jumping from $A_8$ (upper gray curve), orange for particles jumping from $A_3$ (lower gray curve), and black for particles from the lobe under consideration.
Dotted lines represent the paths of particles that fly through the bulk.
}
\label{fig:orientation_peaks}
\end{figure}
To compare these predictions with the simulation results, we measure the distribution $P(\phi)$ at regularly spaced locations along the boundary. At each point, we determine the heights of the distribution's peaks $\{P_\text{max}\}$ and their corresponding orientations $\{\phi_\text{max}\}$. In Fig.~\ref{fig:orientation_peaks} we show the peak orientations as a function of arclength in a single convex region, as well as the prediction associated with each jump involving the region.
Every detected peak falls on one of the predicted branches: $\phi=0$ or $\phi=\psi_i-\psi$ with $i\in{1,2,3,8}$ depending on whether the corresponding jump started at $A_1$, $A_2$, $A_3$, or $A_8$.
Fig.~\ref{fig:orientation_peaks} also illustrates particles leaving the boundary to fly straight through the bulk (see middle row of Fig.~\ref{fig:concave_jumps}):
since $\phi$ is only defined at the boundary, the peak corresponding to these particles is absent between their leaving the boundary and their hitting it again (dotted lines in Fig.~\ref{fig:orientation_peaks}).
\subsection{Steady-state density}
\newcommand{\rho_\text{pr}}{\rho_\text{pr}}
We now assess the accuracy of the predictions made in section~\ref{quasi_density} by plotting in Fig.~\ref{fig:density_vs_prediction} the observed boundary density $\rho$ as a function of the predicted density $\rho_\text{pr}$ for various box shapes and angular diffusion constants $D_\text{r}$.
The plot can be interpreted in terms of two linear asymptotes.
In boundary locations with moderate and high density, we observe good agreement between theory and simulation, \textit{i.e.}\xspace $\rho\approx\rho_\text{pr}$, up to $D_\text{r}\sim10^{-2}$.
Deep in the strong confinement regime ($D_\text{r}=10^{-4}$), the agreement is excellent and persists over two decades.
In locations with low density, on the other hand, the prediction underestimates the density:
the predicted density vanishes altogether over regions of zero or negative curvature while the observed density is finite everywhere,
resulting in a horizontal asymptote whose position depends on the box's shape and the angular noise's strength.
Note that because of the logarithmic scale, regions where the predicted density is zero do not appear in Fig.~\ref{fig:density_vs_prediction}; instead the data visible on the left of the plot comes from weakly convex areas near the inflexion points.
\begin{figure}[h]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{density_vs_prediction}
\caption{ (Color online)
The density observed in simulations at various positions along the boundary is plotted against the predicted density for six boxes from the family defined by Eq.~\eqref{eq:polar_eq} and for four values of the angular diffusion constant $D_\text{r}$.
The dashed line corresponds to a density equal to the predicted density.
The symbol associated with each box geometry is shown at the center of that box on the right side.
}
\label{fig:density_vs_prediction}
\end{figure}
As discussed in section~\ref{quasi_dynamics} and appendix~\ref{ap:jump_duration}, the density in flat and concave regions is controlled by the ratio of the time spent crossing them to the reorientation time $D_\text{r}^{-1}$.
This ratio only vanishes in the $D_\text{r}\rightarrow0$ limit,
therefore a finite density is to be expected in those regions at finite $D_\text{r}$.
Since the crossing time is largest in flat regions, this is where the deviations from the quasi-static theory are most prominent.
Additionally, the time it takes to cross the vicinity of an inflexion point grows with its ``flatness'', as inferred from the second derivative of the normal angle with respect to the arclength (\textit{i.e.}\xspace the derivative of the curvature).
This explains the potentially counter-intuitive observation that the accuracy of our predicted density is better in ``strongly concave'' boxes [\textit{e.g.}\xspace the box denoted by left-pointing triangles ($\triangleleft$) in Fig.~\ref{fig:density_vs_prediction}] than in ``weakly concave'' boxes [\textit{e.g.}\xspace the box denoted by squares ($\square$)]. Despite their weaker concavity, the latter exhibit larger ``flat'' regions.
\begin{figure}[h]
\centering
\includegraphics[width=\linewidth]{density_psi_simulation}
\caption{ (Color online)
Density in normal angle space in the convex region shown in Fig.~\ref{fig:orientation_peaks} for several values of the angular diffusion constant $D_\text{r}$ from deep in the strong confinement regime ($D_\text{r}=10^{-4}$) to outside of it ($D_\text{r}=10^{-1}$).
The dashed line is the theoretical prediction from section~\ref{multiplicity3} (see Eq.~\eqref{eq:multiplicity3_result}), corresponding to $D_\text{r}\rightarrow0$.
}
\label{fig:density_psi_sim}
\end{figure}
Finally, we plot in Fig.~\ref{fig:density_psi_sim} the density $\rho^\psi=R\rho$ in normal angle ($\psi$) space.
There, each convex region must be treated separately; we consider the region labelled \framebox{1} in Fig.~\ref{fig:topology2}.
The predicted density is piecewise linear with a trapezoidal shape.
At very small noise ($D_\text{r}=10^{-4}$), the density observed in simulations closely matches the prediction.
As the noise is increased, the trapezoidal shape gets smoothed out and some of the density is transferred from the tip to the base (as well as the neighboring concave region, not shown in this representation),
suggesting that finite noise effects may be treated as a perturbation to our zero-noise theory.
On the other hand, at $D_\text{r}=10^{-1}$ the predicted form of the density is not recognizable anymore and a different approach is required.
Note that this description over-emphasizes the finiteness of the observed density at the ends of the convex interval where the radius of curvature, and thus $\rho^\psi$, diverges.
\section{Discussion}
\label{discussion}
In summary, we have presented a systematic approach to predict the density of a non-aligning ideal active gas in a small box of arbitrary shape, thus establishing a connection between the geometry of a confining box and the properties of the active gas it confines.
Our results hold as long as the persistence length (the distance a free particle travels before it loses its orientation) is much larger than the size of the box.
In the special case of convex boxes, there is a strikingly simple relationship between the density and the boundary geometry: the density is zero in the bulk and on the boundary it is proportional to the local boundary curvature~\cite{Fily2014a}.
Here, we have shown that boundaries with concave regions lead to a much richer particle dynamics, including multi-stability, hysteretic dynamics, and particles flying through the bulk of the box between disparate boundary locations. However, we showed that the particle density still vanishes in the bulk and we described an algorithm to calculate the steady-state density profile on the boundary of a 2D box with any shape. The predicted particle density vanishes in concave regions, while in convex regions it can be written as the product of the local curvature and a ``splitting factor'' which obeys the following property:
given a unit vector $\vecu{n}$, the sum of the splitting factor over all the locations on the boundary where the normal is $\vecu{n}$ is equal to one.
In other words, boundary points that share the same normal also share the same ``pool'' of particles with the corresponding orientation.
Despite the complexity intrinsic to concave regions, understanding non-convex shapes is essential to rationally design active micro-devices with specific functionalities.
This is nicely illustrated by the micro-gears used in Refs.~\cite{Angelani2009,DiLeonardo2010,Sokolov2010},
which trap particles in sharp corners where they exert torques that make the gear rotate~%
\footnote{%
Note that the theory developed in this paper only describes particles trapped inside a box, whereas Refs.~\cite{Angelani2009,DiLeonardo2010} are concerned with active particles swimming outside the gear.
However, Ref.~\cite{Sokolov2010} demonstrates that both configurations lead to a torque on the gear using very similar shapes, therefore the question of how to design the gear may be discussed from either point of view.
}.
Effectively trapping active particles requires sharp corners~\cite{Kaiser2012,Kaiser2013,Guidobaldi2014,Fily2014a}, and the total torque on the gear is maximized by having several such trapping sites.
This cannot, however, be achieved with convex shapes in which the number of sharp corners is limited to two.
It is then clear that understanding and using non-convex confinements is a necessary step toward designing a broad class of active devices.
{\bf Scope of the model.} Finally, we consider limitations and avenues for extension of the model. Firstly, since we neglect interparticle interactions our results are limited to dilute systems. For example, above a threshold packing fraction, steric effects will prevent all particles from residing on the boundary. The effect of steric interactions will be discussed in a future publication, but preliminary simulations confirm that our results apply at least qualitatively at finite particle densities.
Secondly, our results apply to the strong confinement limit, in which particles circumnavigate the box faster than they reorient and thus tend to align with the boundary normal. Within this limit, we expect the results to remain valid regardless of the reorientation mechanism, including angular diffusion or aligning interactions with the wall such as may arise due to hydrodynamics. However, if particle-wall interactions drive particles to align with the wall, or divert away from it, on timescales comparable to the circumnavigation time ($\sim \mathrm{v}} % same as \text{v} or {\rm v_0/R$ with $R$ the boxsize), then a different approach is required.
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Q: variavel php que guarda codigo html Faz 2-3 anos que não uso php, ate aprendi sobre, mas recentemente fui olhar alguns códigos para realizar algumas modificações em um site e estou tendo uma grande dificuldade, a primeira é essa, tem uma pagina em php que faz a criação de um menu em html e logo dps desse menu tem um código php com uma variável, e ela simplesmente faz implementa todo o resto do conteúdo do site, se eu apaga-la fica só o menu no site. Queria saber o qual o nome disso, como se faz isso, e se possível algum site/vídeo para eu estudar sobre. Obgd!
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\section{Introduction}
Multivariate probit models, originally introduced by \citet{art:AshfordS70} for the bivariate
case, are particularly useful tools to capture some of the correlation
structure of binary, and more generally multinomial, response variables
\citep{art:McCulloch94, art:McCullochR94, art:BockG96, art:ChibG98,
art:NatarajanMcCK2000, art:ImaiD2005}. Inference for such models is typically
computationally involved and often still impracticable in high dimensions.
To mitigate these difficulties, \citet{art:VarinC2010} recently proposed a
pseudo-likelihood approach as a surrogate for a full likelihood analysis.
Similar pairwise likelihood approaches were also previously proposed
by \citet{art:KukN2000} and \citet{art:RenardMG2004}.
Due to the data augmentation nature of the problem, the estimation maximization
(EM) algorithm \citep{art:DempsterLR77} is typically employed for maximizing the
likelihood as its iterative procedure is usually more attractive than classical
numerical optimization schemes. Each iteration consists of an estimation (E) step and a
maximization (M) step and both should ideally be easy to implement. For cases in which the E
step is analytically intractable, \cite{art:WeiT90} introduced a Monte Carlo version
of the EM algorithm. Sampling from the truncated normal distributions involved
is often based on Markov chain Monte Carlo (MCMC) methods and the Gibbs sampler
in particular \citep[see e.g.][]{art:Geweke91}. As a different option we employ
a sequential Monte Carlo (SMC) sampler \citep{art:DelMoralDJ2006} instead.
Though originally introduced in dynamical scenarios
\citep{art:GordonSS93, art:Kitagawa96, art:LiuC98,SMCpractice}
as a more general alternative to the well known Kalman filter \citep{art:Kalman60},
SMC algorithms can also be used in static inference \citep[see e.g.][]{art:Chopin2002}
where artificial dynamics are introduced. When the target is a truncated
multivariate normal, as in our case, an obvious sequence of distributions
is obtained by gradually shifting the truncation region to the desired position.
Since normal distributions decay very quickly in the tails, we propose to use
flatter Student $t$ distributions to drive the SMC particles more efficiently towards
the end region, and only then take the appropriate limit to recover the required
truncated multivariate normal.
The main difficulty in the M step rests with the computational complexity
of standard numerical optimization over large parameter spaces,
for which \cite{art:MengR93} suggested a conditional maximization approach.
A simple extension of their method allows us to define an iterative procedure
to further maximize the likelihood at each M step. Though the likelihood converges,
there is no guarantee that the parameters converge to a point \citep{art:Wu83}.
Restrictions to the parameter space have then been introduced to treat the identifiability
issue where the data does not determine the parameters uniquely \citep{art:McCullochR94,art:BockG96},
raising the problem of constrained maximization, normally significantly more difficult than unconstrained.
However, the constraints are necessarily artificial and we show that the two
maximizations can be made identical, and how they can be easily computed. Finally we
validate our methods by comparison with previous approaches \citep{art:ChibG98,art:Craig2008}.
\section{Multivariate probit model}
\subsection{Notation}
Following the formulation in \cite{art:ChibG98}, denote by $\bs y^{j}$ a binary
vector corresponding to the $j$th observation of a response variable $\bs Y^j$
with $p$ components. Let $\bs x_i^j$ be a size $k_i$ column vector containing
the covariates associated to its $i$th component and define
$\bs{X}^j \triangleq \mbox{diag}((\bs{x}_1^j)^{\mathrm{T}}, \ldots, (\bs{x}_p^j)^{\mathrm{T}} )$
as a $p \times k$ block diagonal matrix, with $k = \sum_{i=1}^p {k_i}$.
A multivariate probit model with parameters $\bs{\beta} \in \mathbb{R}^k$ and
$\bs{\Sigma}$, a $p \times p$ covariance matrix, can be specified
\begin{equation}
\mathrm{pr} \{ \bs{Y}^j=\bs{y}^j \mid \bs{X}^j, \bs \beta, \bs \Sigma \} = \int_{A_1^j}
\cdots \int_{A_p^j} \phi_p(\bs{z}^j;\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta,\Sigma}) \; \mathrm{d} \bs{z}^j,
\quad A_i^j = \left \{
\begin{array}{lcr}
(0, \infty ) & \mbox{if} & y_i^j = 1 , \\
( -\infty, 0 ]& \mbox{if} & y_i^j = 0 ,
\end{array} \right.
\label{eq:probz}
\end{equation}
where $\phi_p$ is the density function of a multivariate normal random variable
with mean $\bs{\mu} = \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}$ and covariance matrix $\bs{\Sigma}$.
The vector of regression coefficient is $\bs{\beta = (\beta_1^{\mathrm{T}}, \ldots, \beta_p^{\mathrm{T}})^{\mathrm{T}} }$,
with each subvector $\bs{\beta}_i \in \mathbb{R}^{k_i}$ corresponding to
the $i$th component of the response variable. Naturally the situation where
the $\bs \beta_i$ are all identical is a special case.
The probit model can also be understood in terms of a latent variable construction,
where the observations are actually obtained from a sample of multivariate
Gaussian vectors $\{ \bs{z}^1, \ldots, \bs{z}^N \}$ from random
variables \mbox{$\bs{Z} \thicksim \mathcal{N}(\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}, \bs \Sigma)$}
as $y_i^j = I_{z<0}( z_i^j )$, with $I$ the indicator function.
The covariance matrix $\bs \Sigma$ is a crucial parameter for the multivariate
probit model and indirectly accounts for any dependence among the components of
the response variable. The identity matrix corresponds to the assumption of
independence and the model reduces to a collection of one dimensional cases,
for which $\bs \beta$ can be easily estimated and used as starting point for
more elaborate inference strategies. An alternative starting covariance matrix
can be obtained \citep{art:EmrichP91} by pairwise approximations, which are likely
however to lead to non positive definite matrices. `Bending' techniques as suggested
by \cite{art:HayesH81} are then necessary to ensure the positivity of the eigenvalues.
\subsection{Monte Carlo EM}
An EM algorithm \citep{art:DempsterLR77} allows us to build a sequence
$\{\psi^m\}$ of estimated parameters such that the likelihood is non decreasing.
In terms of the complete $(\bs{Y,Z})$ and conditional $(\bs{Z} \mid \bs{Y}, \psi^m)$
missing data distributions for a given estimate $\psi^m$ at iteration $m$ and observed
data $\bs Y$, the log-likelihood is
\begin{equation} \nonumber
l(\psi \mid \bs{Y}) = \log(\mathrm{pr} \{\bs{Y} \mid \psi\}) = Q(\psi, \psi^m) - H(\psi, \psi^m) ,
\end{equation}
\begin{equation} \nonumber
Q(\psi, \psi^m) = E_{\bs{Z} \mid \bs{Y}, \psi^m} \left[ \log(\mathrm{pr} \{\bs{Y,Z} \mid \psi\})
\right], \quad H(\psi, \psi^m) = E_{\bs{Z} \mid \bs{Y}, \psi^m} \left[
\log(\mathrm{pr} \{\bs{Z} \mid \bs{Y}, \psi\})) \right] .
\end{equation}
Having the difference of two logs means that the argument of each
is only defined up to the same multiplicative factor.
Jensen's inequality implies that $H(\psi, \psi^m) \leq H(\psi^m, \psi^m)$,
so that the likelihood is certainly increased at each step if
$Q(\psi^{m+1}, \psi^m) \geq Q(\psi^m, \psi^m)$, leading to a generalized EM.
Ideally we wish to set $\psi^{m+1}$ to the value of $\psi$ which maximizes
$Q(\psi, \psi^m)$, as required by the actual EM.
For the multivariate probit model, in terms of the latent variables $\bs{Z}^j
\thicksim \mathcal{N}(\bs{X}^j \bs \beta, \bs \Sigma)$ and letting $\psi = (\bs
\beta, \bs \Sigma)$ be the parameter vector, the complete data log-likelihood
function is
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\log(\mathrm{pr} \{\bs{Y,Z} \mid \psi\}) = \sum_{j=1}^N {\log \left [ I_{A^j}(\bs{z}^j)
\phi(\bs{z}^j; \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta, \Sigma}) \right ]} .
\end{equation}
Using the cyclicity of the trace and ignoring some normalizing constants,
the corresponding $Q(\psi, \psi^m)$ function \citep{art:ChibG98} can be written as
\begin{equation}
Q(\psi, \psi^m) = -\frac{N}{2} \bigg [ \log \vert \bs \Sigma \vert + \mathrm{tr}
\bigg \{
\bs \Sigma^{-1} \frac{1}{N}
\sum_{j=1}^N {
E_{\bs{Z}^j \mid \bs{Y}^j, \psi^m}
\left \{
(\bs{Z}^j - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}
)(\bs{Z}^j - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )^{\mathrm{T}}
\right \}
}
\bigg \}
\bigg ] .
\label{eq:qem}
\end{equation}
The second term of \eqref{eq:qem} is analytically intractable
since it involves expectations with respect to high dimensional truncated
multivariate Gaussian densities. In a Monte Carlo EM approach \citep{art:WeiT90}
the expectations can be approximated as
\begin{equation}
E_{\bs{Z}^j \mid \bs{Y}^j, \psi^m} \left \{ (\bs{Z}^j - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}
)(\bs{Z}^j - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )^{\mathrm{T}} \right \} \simeq \sum_{k=1}^M { W^{j (k)}
(\bs{Z}^{j (k)} - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )(\bs{Z}^{j (k)} - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )^{\mathrm{T}}}
,
\label{eq:expest}
\end{equation}
over a weighted sample $\{ W^{j (k)}, \bs{Z}^{j (k)} \}_{k=1}^M$, possibly approximated,
from $\pi(\bs{z}^j \mid \bs{y}^j,\psi^m) = \textsc{TMN}(A^j, \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta, \Sigma})$,
a multivariate normal distribution truncated to the domain $A^j$.
\section{SMC and the E step}
\subsection{Sequential Monte Carlo for truncated multivariate normals} \label{smctuncmvn}
Sequential Monte Carlo samplers \citep{art:DelMoralDJ2006} are a class of
iterative algorithms to produce weighted sample approximations from a sequence
$\{ \pi_n \}$ of distributions of interest where the normalizing constant $C_n$ need not
be known, $\pi_n= \gamma_n/C_n$. For a given probability distribution $\pi$,
one obtains a collection of weighted samples $\{ W^{(k)}, Z^{(k)} \}$ such that
$E_{\pi} \left ( h(Z) \right) \simeq \sum_{k=1}^M W^{(k)} h (Z^{(k)})$,
where $M$ is the number of particles and $h$ a function of interest.
In a static scenario the main purpose is to obtain such an approximation
from the last element of the targeted sequence.
In order to control for the degeneracy of the sample, resampling
\citep[see][for a review of resampling schemes]{art:DoucCM2005}
is typically performed when the effective sample size (\textsc{ESS}),
as defined by \cite{art:LiuC98}: $\textsc{ESS}^{-1} = \sum_{k=1}^M (W_n^{(k)})^2$,
falls below a given threshold \textsc{ESS}$^*=rM$ (with $0<r<1$).
The move from the target $\pi_{n-1}$ to the target $\pi_n$
is achieved by means of a transition kernel $K_n$, so that
$Z_n^{(k)} \thicksim K_n(Z_{n-1}^{(k)}, \cdot)$, and updating
the normalized weights
\begin{equation}\nonumber
W_n^{(k)} \propto W_{n-1}^{(k)} \tilde{w}_n ^{(k)}, \quad \tilde{w}_n(Z_{n-1}^{(k)},Z_n^{(k)})
= \frac{\gamma_n(Z_n^{(k)}) L_{n-1}(Z_n^{(k)}, Z_{n-1}^{(k)})}
{\gamma_{n-1}(Z_{n-1}^{(k)}) K_n(Z_{n-1}^{(k)}, Z_n^{(k)})},
\quad k = 1, \ldots, M.
\end{equation}
The quantity $L_{n-1}$ in the expression for the incremental weights $\tilde{w}_n ^{(k)}$
is a backward kernel introduced by \citet{art:DelMoralDJ2006} to address computational
issues. A typical choice for $K_n$ is given by
MCMC kernels with $\pi_n$ as an invariant distribution and in particular we adopt a
random walk Metropolis Hastings kernel. The samples at a given iteration $n$
are obtained by moving each particle $k$ to a new location
$Z_n^{(k)} = Y^k \thicksim \mathcal{N}( Z_{n-1}^{(k)}, \bs \Sigma_n)$
with probability $\alpha^k = 1 \wedge \rho^k$ and leaving it unchanged otherwise,
with $\rho^k = \pi_n(Y^k) / \pi_n(Z_{n-1}^{(k)} )$. The covariance matrix
$\Sigma_n = \kappa \widehat{\Sigma}_{\pi}$ in the random walk proposal is a scaled
version of an approximation $\widehat{\Sigma}_{\pi}$ (typically obtained from the
previously simulated sample) of the target covariance matrix. As extensively investigated
in the MCMC literature (for example the original paper of
\citealp{art:GilksRS98, art:HaarioST2001, art:AtchadeR2005},
or the more recent review of \citealp{art:AndrieuT2008}) the scaling factor $\kappa$ can be
adaptively tuned by monitoring the average empirical acceptance probability $\hat{\alpha}_n$
at iteration $n$. For the Metropolis Hastings transition kernel, this can be evaluated as
$\hat{\alpha}_n = \sum_{k=1}^M W_n^{(k)} ( 1 \wedge \pi_n(Y_n^{(k)}) / \pi_n(Z_{n-1}^{(k)}) )$.
Adaptation of the transition kernel specifically within SMC has recently been
considered by \citet{art:JasraSDT2011}.
\subsection{Multivariate normals via Students}
Since the probability of the random walk Metropolis to move towards the tails of a
Gaussian distribution decreases exponentially,
a SMC method involving normals may be highly inefficient in moving samples
towards regions of low probability. To achieve higher rates of acceptance
in the tails we suggest starting with a flatter distribution: the multivariate
(of dimension $p$) Student $t$ distribution $\mathcal{T}(\nu, \bs \mu, \bs \Sigma)$
with degree of freedom $\nu$, mean vector $\bs \mu$ and covariance matrix $\bs \Sigma$,
which can be defined \citep{art:NadarajahK2005} as
\begin{equation}
f(\bs z) = \frac{\Gamma(\frac{\nu + p}{2})}{\Gamma(\frac{\nu}{2}) (\pi
\nu)^{p/2} \vert \bs \Sigma \vert^{1/2}} \left[ 1 + \frac{1}{\nu}(\bs z-\bs
\mu)^{\mathrm{T}} \bs \Sigma^{-1}(\bs z-\bs \mu) \right]^{-\frac{\nu + p}{2}} .
\label{eq:student}
\end{equation}
Replacing the $\nu$ in the denominator inside the square brackets by $(\nu-2)$,
and correspondingly changing the normalization factor, would provide the
Student distribution with a covariance of $\Sigma$. As it stands, the
distribution in \eqref{eq:student} actually has a covariance of
$\nu\Sigma/(\nu-2)$ which further increases the acceptance in the tails.
Once in the region of low probability we allow the degree of
freedom to grow to infinity $(\nu \to \infty)$ so the distribution approaches a
$p$-variate Gaussian with the same mean and covariance matrix $\Sigma$.
To sample in the region of interest $A$, we define a sequence of target distributions
$\{ \pi_n \}_0^T$ such that the first target is an unconstrained multivariate Student
and the last one is the same distribution truncated to $A$. Quite naturally
the intermediate distributions are defined in terms of intermediate target domains
$\{ A_n \} _0^T$, included in each other $A_{k+1}\subsetA_{k}$, with $A_T \equiv A$
and $ A_0 \equiv \mathbb{R}^p$. The local target $\pi_n$ at iteration
$n$ of the SMC algorithm is then
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\pi_n(\bs z) = \frac{\gamma_n( \bs z)}{C_n}, \qquad \gamma_{n}(\bs z) = \left[
1 + \frac{1}{\nu}(\bs z-\bs \mu)^{\mathrm{T}}\bs \Sigma^{-1}(\bs z-\bs \mu )
\right]^{-\frac{\nu + p}{2}}I_{A_n }(\bs z),
\end{equation}
where $C_n$ is a normalizing constant which can be estimated \citep{art:DelMoralDJ2006} from
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\widehat{C}_n = C_0 \prod_{i=1}^n \widehat{\frac{C_i}{C_{i-1}}} , \qquad
\widehat{\frac{C_i}{C_{i-1}}} = \sum_{k=1}^M W_{i-1}^{(k)}
\tilde{w}_i(Z_{i-1}^{(k)}, Z_i^{(k)}) ,
\end{equation}
and $C_0$ follows from \eqref{eq:student}. This ultimately allows us to obtain the
probabilities of the regions in \eqref{eq:probz} and hence the likelihood for the probit model.
After reaching the required region, we define another sequence
of target distributions starting from the truncated Student and increasing the degree
of freedom $\nu$ until it is large enough that we can replace the Student with
the desired truncated multivariate normal.
One could also vary both the truncation region and the degree of freedom
concurrently in the sequence of target distributions, but since the main reason
for introducing the flatter Student distribution is to aid moving to regions
of low probability we chose this two-step approach.
\subsection{Adaptive approach to artificial dynamics}
Other than for tuning the transition kernel $K_n$, adaptive strategies can also
be used to define the artificial dynamics leading to the distribution of interest $\pi_T$.
We do not address the problem of finding the optimal path linking an initial measure
$\pi_0$ to the target $\pi_T$ on the space of distributions in the sense of \cite{art:GelmanM98},
who actually deal with this issue in relation to Monte Carlo sampling methods for the evaluation
of ratios of normalizing constants. Here we assume instead that the functional form of the
intermediate distribution is given and can be described in terms of a parameter $\theta$.
An adaptive strategy to move from $\pi_0$ to $\pi_T$ is one that does not require the sampling points
$\{ \theta_n \}$ defining the intermediate targets $\{ \pi_n \}$ to be fixed a priori, but
allows us to determine them dynamically on the basis of the local difficulty of the problem.
Adaptation can be achieved by controlling some statistics related to the performance
of the algorithm and evolving with the parameter $\theta$, and the \textsc{ESS} introduced
in subsection~\ref{smctuncmvn} is an ideal quantity to monitor. Theoretically we wish to solve
\begin{equation} \label{eq:ESS}
\textsc{ESS}_n(\theta_n) - \textsc{ESS}^*_A = 0,
\end{equation}
where $\textsc{ESS}^*_A$ is a value chosen
to compromise between efficiency and accuracy. Inspired by the Robbins-Monro recursion
\citep[see for example][page 3]{bk:KushnerY2003} for stochastic approximation, and aiming at
the dynamical design of a sequence which keeps the \textsc{ESS} on average close to the threshold
\textsc{ESS}$^*_A$, we define the updating scheme
\begin{equation}
\theta_n = \left[
\theta_{n-1} +
\left(
\zeta_n
\frac{\widetilde{\mbox{ESS}}_n -
\mbox{ESS}^*_A} {M}
\vee \Delta \theta_{\min}
\right) \right]
\wedge \theta_T ,
\label{eq:saESS}
\end{equation}
where $\widetilde{\textsc{ESS}}_n$ is the value observed for \textsc{ESS}
at iteration $n$ and the division by the number of particles $M$ is only introduced for scaling
purposes. Taking the maximum between the correction term and $\Delta \theta_{\min}$ ensures
that the resulting sequence approaches the final target monotonically, while taking the
minimum with $\theta_T$ ensures that the sequence ends at the desired target $\pi_{\theta_T}$.
Theoretically the \textsc{ESS} should ideally be equal to the total number of particles $M$
of the SMC sampler, but to promote motion as a compromise between accuracy and efficiency, the
threshold \textsc{ESS}$^*_A$ can be fixed as a fraction $r \in (0,1)$ of $M$, namely
\textsc{ESS}$^*_A = rM$. The number of iterations needed to reach the target $\pi_T$
is reduced for smaller $r$. Similar adaptive ideas have also recently been
applied to inference for stochastic volatility models by \cite{art:JasraSDT2011}.
\subsection{Scaling behaviour}
The advantage of the SMC method, over alternatives which may be more efficient
in sampling from truncated multivariate normals in low dimensions, is the scaling
behaviour with the dimension $p$. Solving the adaptive equation \eqref{eq:ESS}
exactly means that we lose a fixed proportion of the probability mass at each iteration.
The number of steps required to reach a target region of low probability $r$, then
behaves like $\log(r)$, independently of $p$. This may not be true when using
\eqref{eq:saESS} as a numerical adaptive approximation to \eqref{eq:ESS}, especially
as the number of steps for the adaption to settle grows linearly with $p$,
so a weak dependence on the dimension could be expected.
A simulation study with targets of dimensions $2^n$ for $n=1,\ldots,4$
was performed. To limit the sources of variability, only
one covariance structure was considered for the unconstrained distribution, with
unit diagonals and a single non-zero off-diagonal element of 0$\cdot$9. The SMC
algorithm was initialized so that after an initial move the Student $t$
target would be truncated to a region containing one quarter of the probability mass
of an independent Gaussian, and we denote by $r_0$ the actual estimated probability.
The cutoff for the final target, the same in all directions, was drawn so as to ensure
that the log probability of a multivariate standard normal would be uniform on a given
interval. The number of steps needed to reach the target are plotted against $\log(r_0/r)$
in Fig.~\ref{fig:scaling}, for 400 runs of a SMC sampler with 4000 particles for the
different dimensions. A behaviour close to linear can be observed, though the offset
increases by a factor of about 1$\cdot$4 over the range of dimensions and the slope
increases roughly linearly with $p$, which is likely due to any inexactness in the
adaptation. The theoretical stability of these types of algorithms has recently
been investigated in depth by \cite{art:BeskosCJ2011}.
\begin{figure}
\figurebox{14pc}{24pc}{}[scalingbehaviour.eps]
\caption{The number of steps required for the SMC algorithm to reach a region of
probability $r$ for dimensions 2 (diamonds), 4 (crosses), 8 (dots) and 16 (pluses).}
\label{fig:scaling}
\end{figure}
\subsection{Sequential Monte Carlo EM}\label{smcem}
After the initial sampling, which provides a particle approximation from the
truncated target distribution corresponding to the initial parameter values,
a sequential Monte Carlo approach can also be adopted to move between subsequent
estimates $\psi^m=(\bs{\beta^m}, \bs{\Sigma}^m)$ without the need to perform the
complete truncation again. Multiple sub-steps might be needed to update $\psi^{m-1}$
to $\psi^{m}$, depending on how different the two corresponding targets are.
For each observation $j$ the local (to the EM iteration) initial and final
distributions of the artificial sequence $\{ \pi_n \}$ are defined as
$\pi_0 = \textsc{TMN}(A^j, \bs{X}^j \bs\beta^{m-1}, \bs \Sigma^{m-1})$ and
$\pi_T=\textsc{TMN}(A^j, \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta^m}, \bs{\Sigma}^m)$ respectively,
while the parameter $\theta_n$ defining the intermediate targets moves from
$\psi^{m-1}$ to $\psi^m$, possibly in a single step. To avoid the situation
where we would effectively need to move to a bigger region, which would prevent
us from using a simplified version of the backward kernel $L_n$
\citep[see section 3.3.2.3 of][]{art:DelMoralDJ2006}, we first rescale the
previous sample to lie in the new truncation region, which can be done as
long as the scaling factors are all positive, and then we apply the algorithm
to update to the new covariance matrix.
\section{Cycling conditional maximizations}\label{Mstep}
\subsection{Two step maximization}
To overcome the difficulties associated with numerical maximization,
\cite{art:MengR93} suggested replacing the maximization over the full parameter
space by a multi-step conditional maximization over several subspaces in turn.
They treat the example of multivariate normal regression with incomplete data,
where the parameters $\psi^m$ at step $m$ can again be split into $\bs{\Sigma}^m$
and $\bs{\beta}^m$. This leads to a two-step conditional maximization which
can be performed analytically. Keeping $\bs{\Sigma}$ fixed and maximizing equations
\eqref{eq:qem} and \eqref{eq:expest} over $\bs{\beta}$ we obtain
\begin{equation}
\hat{\bs{\beta}}=
\bigg ( \sum_{j=1}^N { (\bs{X}^j)^{\mathrm{T}} \bs{\Sigma}^{-1} \bs{X}^j } \bigg )^{-1}
\sum_{j=1}^N { (\bs{X}^j)^{\mathrm{T}} \bs{\Sigma}^{-1}
\sum \limits _{k=1}^M { \left ( W^{j (k)} \bs{Z}^{j (k)} \right ) } } ,
\label{eq:betaopt}
\end{equation}
so that by setting $\bs{\Sigma}=\bs{\Sigma}^m$ we can update the mean vector
parameters for the next step as
$\bs{\beta}_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}=\hat{\bs{\beta}}$. Fixing $\bs{\beta}$, the
$\bs{\Sigma}$ which maximizes equation \eqref{eq:qem} is instead
\begin{equation}
\hat{\bs{\Sigma}} = \frac{1}{N} \sum_{j=1}^N { \sum_{k=1}^M { W^{j (k)}
(\bs{Z}^{j (k)} - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )
(\bs{Z}^{j (k)} - \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )^{\mathrm{T}} } } ,
\label{eq:sigmaopt}
\end{equation}
so that by setting $\bs{\beta}=\bs{\beta}_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}$ we can the update
the covariance matrix to $\bs{\Sigma}_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}=\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}$ to
give the new parameters $\psi_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}$. Though this two-step
approach does not maximize $\psi$ at each step, it removes the need for
computationally intensive maximization and increases the likelihood at each step
to ensure convergence of the (generalized) EM.
\subsection{Further maximization}
Since equation \eqref{eq:sigmaopt} maximizes $Q(\psi,\psi^m)$ over
$\bs{\Sigma}$ for any value of $\bs{\beta}$, we can substitute
$\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}$ into $Q(\psi,\psi^m)$ in (\ref{eq:qem}) and obtain a
function which only depends on $\bs{\beta}$
\begin{equation}
\hat{Q}(\bs{\beta}, \psi^m) = -\frac{N}{2} \log \vert \hat{\bs{\Sigma}} \vert
-\frac{Np}{2} ,
\label{eq:qhatem}
\end{equation}
Finding the value
$\tilde{\bs{\beta}}$ which maximizes \eqref{eq:qhatem} over $\bs{\beta}$ and setting
$\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}=\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}(\tilde{\bs{\beta}})$ in \eqref{eq:sigmaopt}
provides the new parameter $\tilde{\psi}$ which maximizes the
likelihood. Performing the differential of \eqref{eq:qhatem} leads to the condition
$\mathrm{tr} \{\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}^{-1} \mathrm{d} \hat{\bs{\Sigma}} \} =0$.
Though $\mathrm{d} \hat{\bs{\Sigma}}$ is linear in the components of $\bs{\beta}$, the
inverse matrix $\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}^{-1}$ leads to a system
of coupled higher order polynomial equations. Solving these is impracticable,
but one can proceed iteratively. As a starting point we can choose
$\bs{\beta}^{m+1}$ from the conditional maximization of \eqref{eq:betaopt} so
that $\hat{Q}$ has the value found from the two-step conditional maximization
above (i.e. we set $\tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n}=\bs{\beta}_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}$
for $n=0$). One option would be to perform Newton-Raphson iterations, but if
the starting point is not too far from the maximum we can
employ a simpler approximate maximization.
Setting $\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n}=\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}(\tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n})$, we
separate $\hat{\bs{\Sigma}} = \tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n} + \Delta
\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}$ and make the approximation $\log(1+x)\approx x$ to rewrite
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\hat{Q}(\bs{\beta}, \psi^m) \approx -\frac{N}{2} \mathrm{tr} \left\{ \log
\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n} \right\} -\frac{N}{2} \mathrm{tr} \left\{
(\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n})^{-1} \Delta \tilde{\bs{\Sigma}} \right\} .
\end{equation}
Maximizing this is solving
\begin{equation} \nonumber
-\frac{N}{2}\mathrm{tr} \left\{ (\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n})^{-1} \mathrm{d}
\hat{\bs{\Sigma}} \right\} = \mathrm{d} \bs{\beta}^{\mathrm{T}} \sum_{j=1}^N { \sum_{k=1}^M { W^{j
(k)} ( \bs{X}^j )^{\mathrm{T}} (\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n})^{-1} (\bs{Z}^{j (k)} -
\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}) } } = 0 ,
\end{equation}
where we used the cyclicity of the trace to simplify. These are now linear
equations in the components of $\bs{\beta}$, which can easily be solved to find
$\tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n+1}$. In fact the solutions are given precisely by
\eqref{eq:betaopt} but now evaluated at the point $\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n}$,
so that
$\tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n+1}=\hat{\bs{\beta}}(\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n})$ and
$\tilde{\bs{\Sigma}}^{m+1,n+1}=\hat{\bs{\Sigma}}(\tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n+1})$
to give $\tilde{\psi}^{m+1,n+1}$.
\subsection{From generalized EM to EM}
Neatly, the logarithmic approximation and the two step
conditional maximization of \cite{art:MengR93} are equivalent when started at
the same point, ($\psi^{m}$ or $\psi_{\mathrm{MR}}^{m+1}$ for example).
Because of the approximation, the values of $\bs{\beta}$ found in this way
do not maximize $\hat{Q}$ but can be used as starting points for the next iteration to
get closer to the maximum. In general with approximations the surety of convergence or
even of not decreasing $\hat{Q}$ is lost, but, due to the equivalence above, each iteration
does not decrease the likelihood and convergence follows from \cite{art:MengR93}.
To complete the EM algorithm one can set $\psi^{m+1}= \lim_{n\to\infty}
\tilde{\psi}^{m+1,n}$, and numerically stop the iterations when the Euclidean
norm $\vert\vert \tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n+1} - \tilde{\bs{\beta}}^{m+1,n}
\vert\vert$ is small.
Though we have focused on multivariate normals, cycling through the conditional
maximizations of \cite{art:MengR93} until convergence can be applied more generally,
turning the generalized EM of their single round procedure into an EM again. However,
as they mention, it may be computationally advantageous to perform an E step between
conditional maximizations when these are more demanding, and then the algorithm remains
a generalized one.
\section{Identifiability issue}
\subsection{Identifiability}
When the data is `incomplete' maximization of the likelihood will not
lead to uniquely identified parameters. Imposing constraints is a standard measure to
ensure identifiability, but often with the effect of making the M step more involved
\citep{art:BockG96,art:ChanK97,art:KukC2001}.
The issue is directly linked to symmetries of the likelihood, where
it is invariant under some change of coordinates of the parameters. Focusing
on \emph{global} symmetries where the invariance of the likelihood $\mathcal{L}(\psi)$
does not depend on the particular value of $\psi \in \Psi$ we can decompose
$\Psi=\Delta\times\Xi$ into an invariant space $\Delta$ and a reduced parameter space
$\Xi$ so that $\psi=(\delta,\xi)$ with $\delta\in\Delta$ and $\xi\in\Xi$.
Due to the invariance of the likelihood over $\Delta$
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\mathcal{L}(\psi)=\mathcal{L}(\delta,\xi)=\hat{\mathcal{L}}(\xi) \quad \Rightarrow
\quad \max_{\psi}\mathcal{L}(\psi)=\max_{\xi}\hat{\mathcal{L}}(\xi) ,
\end{equation}
unconstrained maximization over the whole space $\Psi$ is identical to performing it
`constrained' over the reduced space $\Xi$, with the difference that the parameters
maximizing the likelihood in the larger space are $\psi^*=\Delta\times\xi^*$.
Conversely, if the likelihood depended on some subspace of $\Delta$ then it would be
identified during the maximization process. Therefore the dimension of $\Delta$ is the
number of constraints needed to ensure identifiability.
In addition to any global symmetries, the likelihood function could also show a
\emph{local} symmetry so that $\hat{\mathcal{L}}(\xi)$ is maximized by a higher
dimensional manifold rather than a single point \citep[as discussed in][]{art:Wu83}.
In principle a local change of variables is possible (for example making the non-zero
eigenvalues of the Hessian equal to $-1$ around the maximum) to decompose the space
further, but in practice this presumes knowledge of the likelihood function. As above
though, maximization over the subspace or the whole space are exactly equivalent
because we still have (local) dimensions which do not affect the value of the
likelihood.
Within the EM algorithm the identifiability issue becomes more subtle since the
likelihood is not maximized directly, but by proxy through the function $Q(\psi,\psi^m)$.
If this were to share the symmetries of the likelihood, then the simpler unconstrained
maximization would be equivalent to the constrained version, as for the likelihood.
If this is not the case, for example due to conditioning on the previous parameter
value $\psi^m$, then any changes in $Q$ arising from shifting $\psi$ in the invariant
space $\Delta$ of the likelihood must be exactly mimicked by changes in $H$. This
spurious dependence can create differences between constrained and unconstrained maximization.
The non decreasing behaviour of the likelihood remains preserved, since neither maximization
decreases $Q$ nor, because of Jensens's inequality, increases $H$. Hence either choice leads
to the EM algorithm finding a maximum of the likelihood (though not necessarily the same one)
and explains the conjecture of \cite{art:BockG96,art:ChanK97} and the agreement between constrained and
unconstrained maximization found in \cite{art:KukC2001}.
\subsection{Identifiability for the multivariate probit model}
In the multivariate probit model, the symmetries are related to the invariance of the
likelihood under a rescaling of the coordinates of the normal
variables. The full parameter space $\Psi$ comprises $p(p+1)/2$ entries
from the covariance matrix $\bs{\Sigma}$
and $k$ regression coefficients from $\bs{\beta}$. Scaling the coordinates
$\bs{Z}^j = \bs{D}\bs{U}^j$ by means of a diagonal matrix $\bs{D}$ with positive entries $(d_1, \ldots, d_p)$,
transforms the covariance matrix to $\bs{\Omega} = \bs{D}^{-1} \bs{\Sigma} \bs{D}^{-1}$
and the vector $\bs{\beta}$ to $\bs{\lambda}= ( \bs{d_1^{-1}\beta_1^{\mathrm{T}},\ldots,d_p^{-1}\beta_p^{\mathrm{T}}} )^{\mathrm{T}}$
but can easily be checked to leave the likelihood unchanged. Choosing the entries of
$\bs{D}$ to be the square root of the diagonal elements of $\bs{\Sigma}$
reduces $\bs{\Omega}$ to correlation form. The invariant space $\Delta$
can then be spanned by the $p$ diagonal elements of $\bs{\Sigma}$
(i.e.\ $\delta_1=1/\surd{\sigma_{11}}$ etc.) while the reduced space $\Xi$ includes
the $p(p-1)/2$ rescaled upper triangular elements of $\bs{\Omega}$
(i.e.\ $\omega_{ij}=\delta_{i}\delta_{j}\sigma_{ij}$) and the $k$ elements
of $\bs{\lambda}=(\bs{\delta_1\beta_1^{\mathrm{T}},\ldots,\delta_p\beta_p^{\mathrm{T}}})^{\mathrm{T}}$.
The likelihood is not maximized directly, but through
the function
\begin{eqnarray}
\nonumber Q(\psi, \psi^m) &=&
\sum_{j=1}^N \int_{A^{j}} \log \left [ \frac{1}{\vert \bs{\Sigma}\vert^{1/2}}
\exp \left(-\frac{1}{2} (\bs{z}^{(j)}-\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta})^{\mathrm{T}}
\bs{\Sigma}^{-1} (\bs{z}^j-\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta}) \right) \right ] \\
&& \qquad \times
\textsc{TMN}(A^j, \bs{X}^j \bs{\beta^m}, \bs{\Sigma}^m) \mathrm{d} \bs{z}^j ,
\label{eq:qoriginal}
\end{eqnarray}
which is only invariant under a change of integration variables
$\bs{Z}^j = \bs{D} \bs{U}^j$, for a diagonal matrix $D$, if we include a factor $\vert D\vert$
inside the log. Moreover, both $\psi$ and $\psi^m$ need to be scaled by
same matrix so that essentially $\delta=\delta^m$. Although both $\psi$ and
$\psi^m$ have independent invariant spaces for the likelihood, the $Q$ function
ties them together in this apparent constraint. \citet{art:ChibG98} therefore maximized
inside the constrained space $\Xi$, while keeping $\delta_i=1$.
Denote by $\psi_{\mathrm{c}}$ the parameter value found under such constraints,
and by $\psi_{\mathrm{u}}$ the one obtained through unconstrained maximization of $Q$.
Clearly $Q(\psi_{\mathrm{u}}, \psi^m)\geq Q(\psi_{\mathrm{c}}, \psi^m)$, but if
we project $\psi_{\mathrm{u}}$ to a point $\psi_{\mathrm{p}}$ in the constrained
space $\Xi$ so that $\delta_i=1$ then
$Q(\psi_{\mathrm{p}}, \psi^m)\leq Q(\psi_{\mathrm{c}}, \psi^m)$.
Since the likelihood is invariant under this projection
\begin{equation} \nonumber
Q(\psi_{\mathrm{u}}, \psi^m) - Q(\psi_{\mathrm{p}}, \psi^m)
= H(\psi_{\mathrm{u}}, \psi^m) - H(\psi_{\mathrm{p}}, \psi^m) ,
\end{equation}
and without any information on $H(\psi_{\mathrm{u}}, \psi^m) - H(\psi_{\mathrm{c}}, \psi^m)$
it is impossible to say which maximization increases the likelihood most and is to be
preferred in that respect.
\subsection{Reintroducing invariance}\label{reinvariant}
To remove the above ambiguity, $Q$ can be redefined to respect the invariance of the likelihood,
for example by replacing $(\Sigma,\beta)$ in \eqref{eq:qoriginal} by their projection
$(\Omega,\lambda)$. Such a replacement effectively enforces invariance of the resulting function
$\tilde{Q}$ with respect to a rescaling of $(\Sigma,\beta)$, making constrained and unconstrained
maximization identical. However, this is no longer true if we perform a (cyclical) two-step
conditional maximization. With the replacement $\tilde{Q}$ becomes
\begin{equation}
\tilde{Q}(\psi, \psi^m) = -\frac{N}{2}
\bigg [ \log \frac{\vert \bs \Sigma \vert}{\vert \bs D \vert^{2}} + \mathrm{tr}
\bigg \{ \bs D\Sigma^{-1}D \hat{\bs{S}} \bigg \} \bigg ],
\label{eq:tildeqem}
\end{equation}
\begin{equation}
\hat{\bs{S}} \simeq \frac{1}{N}\sum_{j=1}^N \sum_{k=1}^M W^{j (k)} (\bs{Z}^{j(k)} - D^{-1}\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta})
(\bs{Z}^{j(k)} - D^{-1}\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta} )^{\mathrm{T}} ,
\label{eq:Shat}
\end{equation}
with $D$ a diagonal matrix whose elements are the square roots of the diagonal
elements of $\Sigma$ (so that $\Omega=D^{-1}\Sigma D^{-1}$). Though $\tilde{Q}$
may appear to be limited to the constrained space, it depends on the full parameter
space when one of $\bs{\Sigma}$ or $\bs{\beta}$ are given. Assume that for given
$\psi^m$ and $\beta^{m+1}=\lambda^{m+1}$ we wish to find $\Sigma^{m+1}$. Constrained
maximization enforces $\delta_i=1$ to find $\Omega_{\mathrm{c}}^{m+1}$ and hence
$\psi_{\mathrm{c}}^{m+1}$. An unconstrained maximization allows $\delta_i$ to vary,
leading to $\bs{\Sigma}_{\mathrm{u}}^{m+1}$ and correspondingly to $\psi_{\mathrm{u}}^{m+1}$,
such that $\tilde{Q}(\psi_{\mathrm{u}}^{m+1}, \psi^m)\geq \tilde{Q}(\psi_{\mathrm{c}}^{m+1}, \psi^m)$.
Because of the invariance, the projection of $\psi_{\mathrm{u}}^{m+1}$ does not now change $\tilde{Q}$
resulting in a point in the constrained space with a higher value. In fact $\bs{\beta}$ is
only defined up to a scale, which need not be preserved during each conditional maximization, nor
given the stochastic nature of the estimation step.
Fixing $\bs{\Sigma}$, the value of $\bs{\beta}$ maximizing equations \eqref{eq:tildeqem}
and \eqref{eq:Shat} is as in \eqref{eq:betaopt}, but with an extra factor $D$ before
the sum over $k$. Maximization with fixed $\bs{\beta}$ over $\bs{\Sigma}$ can in
turn be done in two steps. The differential $\mathrm{d} \bs{\Sigma}$ is split into a
diagonal and an off-diagonal part. The condition for the latter to vanish is
that $(\bs{\Omega}^{-1}-\bs{\Omega}^{-1}\hat{\bs{S}}\bs{\Omega}^{-1})$ be itself
a diagonal matrix. As long as the diagonal elements of $\hat{\bs{S}}$ are not too
far from 1, a solution can be found by a simple iterative approach starting from an
arbitrary $\Omega_0$ and then solving for the diagonal matrix $A$ the linear equations
\begin{equation}
\Omega_{k+1} = \hat{\bs{S}} + \Omega_k A \Omega_k ,
\label{eq:OmegaA}
\end{equation}
so that $\Omega_{k+1}$ is in correlation form. For fixed $D$ the steps above
allow us to perform constrained maximization for both \eqref{eq:tildeqem} and
\eqref{eq:qem}. If $D$ can vary, for the diagonal elements of $\mathrm{d} \Sigma$
to vanish
\begin{equation}
A-I+\Omega^{-1}\frac{1}{N}\sum_{j=1}^N \sum_{k=1}^M W^{j (k)} (\bs{Z}^j - D^{-1}\bs{X}^j \bs{\beta})
(\bs{Z}^j)^{\mathrm{T}} ,
\label{eq:Dmax}
\end{equation}
must have zero along the diagonal; a linear equation in the inverse elements
of $D$. The solution depends on $\bs{\Omega}$, which in turn depends
(through $\hat{\bs{S}}$) on $D$ so to perform the unconstrained maximization of
\eqref{eq:tildeqem} over $\bs{\Sigma}$ for a given $\bs{\beta}$ we would need to
cycle through solving \eqref{eq:Dmax} and \eqref{eq:OmegaA}. As such, the difference
between constrained and unconstrained maximization is made transparent.
\subsection{Model constraints}
In practice some constraints might already be imposed at the modelling stage.
Typical for the multivariate probit model is to require that all the regression
vectors are identical: $\beta_i=\beta_1$, replacing $\bs{X}^{j}\bs{\beta}$
by $\bs{X}_{\mathrm{c}}^{j}\bs{\beta}_{1}$, with $\bs{X}_{\mathrm{c}}^{j}$ a
matrix whose $i$th row is $(\bs{x}_i^j)^{\mathrm{T}}$. The conditional maximization
steps in Section~\ref{Mstep} then allow one to maximize over the constrained
space of $(\bs{\Sigma},\bs{\beta}_{1})$.
However, the invariance of the likelihood needs to be reconsidered
in light of the new constraints, which are broken when scaling the coordinate directions,
and hence the $\bs{\beta}_i$, by different positive factors. The likelihood is now
left unchanged, independently of $\bs{X}^{j}$, only when rescaling all the directions
by the same amount, corresponding to a one dimensional invariant space. A reduced space
can be defined by fixing the first diagonal element of the covariance matrix to 1,
call $(\bs{\Omega}',\bs{\lambda}_{1}')$ the corresponding parameters. An invariant $\tilde{Q}$
is obtained by replacing $\bs{X}^{j}$,$\bs{\Sigma}$ and $\bs{\beta}$ in \eqref{eq:qoriginal}
by $\bs{X}_{\mathrm{c}}^{j}$, $\bs{\Omega}'$ and $\bs{\lambda}_{1}'$ respectively and
by setting all the elements of $D$ in \eqref{eq:tildeqem} to be the square root of the
first element of $\bs{\Sigma}$. Constrained and unconstrained maximization follow
from subsection~\ref{reinvariant} but with the slight changes that only the first element
of the matrix $A$ in \eqref{eq:OmegaA} is non-zero and just the trace of \eqref{eq:Dmax}
needs to be 0.
The effect on the invariance of assuming equal regression coefficients across components
seems to have been overlooked by \cite{art:ChibG98} as they required $\bs{\Omega}'$ to be
in correlation form. Maximizing over an overly constrained space leads in general to a
lower likelihood than when only imposing the conditions needed to ensure identifiability.
Nevertheless, were the correlation form desired for modelling reasons, one can perform the
maximization by setting D to be the identity matrix and using $\bs{X}_{\mathrm{c}}^{j}$ in
the formulae in subsection~\ref{reinvariant}.
\section{Comparison to existing approaches}
\subsection{The data and model used}
To assess the performance of our method, we treat the widely analysed data set
from the Six Cities longitudinal study on the health effects of air pollution, for
which a multivariate probit model was considered by \cite{art:ChibG98}, who
conducted both Bayesian and non-Bayesian analysis. Later \cite{art:SongL2005}
proposed a confirmatory factor analysis for the same model. More recently \cite{art:Craig2008}
used the example as a test case for his new method of evaluating multivariate
orthant probabilities.
The study was meant to model a probabilistic relation over time
between the wheezing status of children, the smoking habit of their mother
during the first year of observation and their age. In particular the subset of
data considered for analysis refers to the observation of $537$ children from
Stueberville, Ohio. The wheezing condition $y_i^j$ of each child $j$ at age
$i \in \{7,8,9,10 \}$ and the smoking habit $h^j$ of their mother are recorded
as binary variables, with value 1 indicating the condition (wheezing/smoking) present.
Three covariates are assumed for each component $i$, namely the age $x_{i1}^j = i-9$
of child $j$ centred at $9$, the smoking habit $x_{i2}^j = h^j$ and an interaction
term $x_{i3}^j = (i-9) h^j$ between the two. A probit model can then be constructed
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\mathrm{pr} \{ y_i^j = 1 \} = \mathrm{pr} (z_i^j > 0) = \Phi(\beta_0 + \beta_1
\cdot x_{i1}^j + \beta_2 \cdot x_{i2}^j + \beta_3 \cdot x_{i3}^j) ,
\end{equation}
where $z_i^j$ is the $i$-th component of a multivariate random variable
$\bs{Z}^j \thicksim \mathcal{N}(\bs{X}_{\mathrm{c}}^j \bs{\beta, \Sigma})$ and $\Phi$ is the
cumulative distribution function of a standard normal random variable.
\subsection{Testing our algorithm}
To fit the model, a SMC sampler was implemented with the number of particles
increasing from a starting value of 100 by 100 at each iteration up to 40, followed
by 10 further steps of variance reduction (described below) with 4000 particles.
Results for the constrained maximization are presented in
Table~\ref{tab:sixcitiesMLE} along with those of \cite{art:ChibG98} and \cite{art:Craig2008}.
Good agreement both for the estimates and the standard errors can be observed. Also given
are average values of the corresponding log-likelihoods, easily obtained as a by-product of the SMC samplers, together with the standard deviation estimates over 40 runs. No real differences can be seen, with likelihoods comparable to, but slightly below, the estimate of -794$\cdot$74 in \cite{art:Craig2008}.
Results from recycling the samples in a SMC EM algorithm as in subsection~\ref{smcem}, with 4000 particles and 40 iterations are in the last column of Table~\ref{tab:sixcitiesMLE}. Since oscillations before the variance reduction step were around 0$\cdot$001 between interations (with 4000 particles), parameter estimates when recycling the sample are essentially equivalent, at a much reduced computational cost.
\begin{table}
\tbl{Maximum likelihood estimates for the six cities dataset as obtained by
using the constrained SMC algorithm with variance reduction and for a single
run where the samples are recycled. Included for
comparison are the results of \cite{art:ChibG98} and \cite{art:Craig2008}.}{%
\begin{tabular}{lrlrlrlrl}
\\
& \multicolumn{2}{c}{\cite{art:ChibG98}} &
\multicolumn{2}{c}{\cite{art:Craig2008}} & \multicolumn{2}{c}{variance reduction} &
\multicolumn{2}{c}{recycled samples} \\
$\beta_0$ & -1118 & (65) & -1122 & (62) & -1123 & (62) & -1124 & (62) \\
$\beta_1$ & -79 & (33) & -78 & (31) & -78 & (31) & -79 & (32) \\
$\beta_2$ & 152 & (102) & 159 & (101) & 159 & (101) & 159 & (101) \\
$\beta_3$ & 39 & (52) & 37 & (51) & 37 & (51) & 37 & (51) \\
$\sigma_{12}$ & 584 & (68) & 585 & (66) & 582 & (67) & 582 & (66) \\
$\sigma_{13}$ & 521 & (76) & 524 & (72) & 522 & (72) & 523 & (71) \\
$\sigma_{14}$ & 586 & (95) & 579 & (74) & 575 & (75) & 572 & (74) \\
$\sigma_{23}$ & 688 & (51) & 687 & (56) & 684 & (57) & 683 & (56) \\
$\sigma_{24}$ & 562 & (77) & 559 & (74) & 557 & (75) & 554 & (74) \\
$\sigma_{34}$ & 631 & (77) & 631 & (67) & 629 & (68) & 629 & (68) \\
$l(\psi)$ & -795$\cdot$26 & (0$\cdot$75) & -795$\cdot$21 & (0$\cdot$97) & -795$\cdot$22 & (0$\cdot$82) &
-795$\cdot$30 & (0$\cdot$91)
\end{tabular}}
\label{tab:sixcitiesMLE}
\begin{tabnote}
The value in brackets next to each estimate is the estimated standard error.
The values of the parameters (and their errors) have all been multiplied by
1000.
\end{tabnote}
\end{table}
An additional 20 iterations with 4000 particles are included before the variance reduction step for the unconstrained maximization, since it may take longer for the EM algorithm to explore a larger space. A fairly robust point is found with the non-invariant $Q$, while the invariant $\tilde{Q}$ seems to lead to a flatter likelihood neighbourhood, with the solution appearing more sensitive to the number of particles during earlier iterations or on imposing the constraint of fixing $\sigma_{11}$ to 1. Results are given in Table~\ref{tab:sixcitiesMLEunconstrained}, and again can be quite closely reproduced by recycling the samples in a sequential manner between parameter updates. Unfortunately, noise in the estimation of the observed information matrix overly influenced its numerical inversion, so that robust standard errors could not be obtained.
\begin{table}
\tbl{Example maximum likelihood estimates for the six cities dataset obtained
using the unconstrained SMC algorithm for non-invariant $Q$, invariant
$\tilde{Q}$ and by fixing $\sigma_{11}=1$}{%
\begin{tabular}{crrrrrrrrrrrrrr}
\\
& $\beta_0$ & $\beta_1$ & $\beta_2$ & $\beta_3$ & $\sigma_{12}$ & $\sigma_{13}$
& $\sigma_{14}$ & $\sigma_{22}$ & $\sigma_{23}$ & $\sigma_{24}$ & $\sigma_{33}$
& $\sigma_{34}$ & $\sigma_{44}$ & $l(\psi)$ \\
$Q$ & -1176 & 84 & 159 & 41 & 647 & 592 & 572 & 1208 & 855 & 619 & 1255 & 715 & 1001 & -793$\cdot$37\\
$\tilde{Q}$ & -1235 & -113 & 168 & 47 & 664 & 622 & 612 & 1275 & 921 & 683 & 1383 & 802 & 1146 & -793$\cdot$15 \\
fixed $\sigma_{11}$ & -1241 & -116 & 169 & 48 & 666 & 626 & 615 & 1279 & 927 & 686 & 1395 & 809 & 1158 & -793$\cdot$07
\end{tabular}}
\label{tab:sixcitiesMLEunconstrained}
\begin{tabnote}
The standard deviations of the log-likelihood estimates are 0$\cdot$90, 0$\cdot$75 and 0$\cdot$70 respectively. The values of the parameters have all been multiplied by 1000.
\end{tabnote}
\end{table}
\subsection{Variance reduction}
To reduce the variance associated with the stochastic nature of the Monte Carlo E step, the parameter can be updated according to a stochastic approximation type rule
\begin{equation} \nonumber
\psi^m = \psi^{m-1} + \zeta_m (\hat{\psi}^m - \psi^{m-1}) \equiv
(1-\zeta_m)\psi^{m-1} + \zeta_m \hat{\psi}^m ,
\end{equation}
where $\hat{\psi}_m$ is the actual estimate obtained from the M-step and $\zeta_m \in (0,1)$ a stepsize with the purpose of gradually shifting the relative importance from the innovation $(\hat{\psi}^m - \psi^{m-1})$ to the
value of the parameter $\psi_{m-1}$ learned through the previous iterations. The scheme is like
taking a weighted average of the previous estimates, so we have referred to it as a `variation reduction' step. This way the monotonicity property of the EM algorithm is not guarateed, but as long as the parameter remain within a neighbourhood of the maximum likelihood where it can be approximated quadratically, monotonicity follows so that in many practical cases this matter may not cause any issues.
\bibliographystyle{biometrika}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 3,647 |
galpy.util.bovy_plot.bovy_print
==================================
.. autofunction:: galpy.util.bovy_plot.bovy_print
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 8,664 |
A decade ago, an obscure 16-year-old Chinese pianist made a last-minute substitution for Andre Watts in an overstuffed gala program at Ravinia. The evening turned out to be one of those rare real-life Busby Berkeley moments when the kid really did go out on stage an unknown and come back a star.
Following that Tchaikovsky performance, Lang Lang has gone on to international fame and musical superstardom, yet the pianist from Shen Yang has returned every summer except one to the Highland Park festival, as he did again on Sunday night.
Public adulation apart, Lang Lang has received more mixed reviews from the musical press. Critics acknowledge his astounding technical arsenal while noting the musician's tendency to show off, especially with an orchestra behind him, in performances that often leave the music behind in a blaze of speed and souped-up prestidigitation.
Yet Sunday night, in Prokofiev's Piano Concerto No. 3, Lang Lang showed greater interpretive maturity and a more tempered virtuosity—still displaying amazing bravura, but with his playing centered on the music and not mere exhibitionistic display.
Not that there is that much depth in Prokofiev's calculatedly brilliant showpiece written as a vehicle for the composer and given its world premiere by Prokofiev with the Chicago Symphony Orchestra in 1921.
If anything, the Chinese phenom seemed almost low-key in the opening movement. Underplaying at times, as if to hold his virtuosity in reserve, Lang Lang threw off Prokofiev's glitzy passagework with a light quicksilver touch suited to the music's airy caprice.
The soloist was inspired in the concerto's fleeting rumination, as with the opening movement's meditative second subject and, especially, the theme and variations of the middle movement. Witness the delicacy of his glissandos in the first variation and the otherworldly expression he brought to the falling thirds of the fourth, rendered with a chiseled pointillist cool, well suited to the music.
Lang Lang showed once again when it comes to fast playing with faultless articulation, he has no peers . The spiky virtuosity of the finale was as thrilling as it gets, the pianist flying through the cluster-note arpeggios and assorted landmines, conductor and soloist ratcheting up the volume and intensity to a frenzied fury and resounding coda. Eschenbach and the CSO were completely simpatico partners, forcefully bringing out the music' rhythmic oddities and underlining the mordant sarcasm.
After his gracious speech, Lang Lang offered an encore of the lovely Chinese song The Moon is Chasing the Clouds, played with limpid cascading expression like a gently flowing stream.
During his tenure as Ravinia's music director from 1994-2003, Eschenbach proved a consistently inspired musician and extremely skilled at eliciting outstanding performances on short summer rehearsal schedules (having the CSO as house ensemble doesn't hurt).
Such was the case with the fiery, finely detailed performance of the Symphonie fantastique after intermission. Eschenbach is an interpreter in the Solti style—-firmly pointed accents and rhythmically incisive—yet his take on Berlioz's phantasmagorical symphony was as elegant as it was exhilarating.
The March to the Scaffold lacked nothing in brassy swagger and the Witches Sabbath finale came off with the necessary frenzied exhilaration.
Berlioz's epic is so often played for orchestral flash and sheer volume that the more subtle scoring details tend to get lost. Eschenbach and the CSO made the more restrained passages register as well, with a notably graceful and ballet Un bal. The Scene aux champs can seem overextended even in good performances, but Eschenbach's direction made the movement a highlight, judging the ebb and flow sensitively and eliciting stellar wind playing with particularly evocative oboe and English horn contributions.
I have seen Lang Lang in performance at Ravinia for many years and never cease to be disappointed, since his rushing through the Grieg piano concerto several summers ago, to the Prokofiev you reviewed above.
The only time I felt satisfied by his performance was in Gershwin's "Rhapsody in Blue"(last season?) in which he finally played it with feeling, although jazzing it up a bit, which actually added something to the performance.
We saw Mariangela Vacatello play the Prokofiev 3rd at the Cliburn in June, a performance which was so beautifully played that I was left in tears. I wish Lang Lang could have played it half as well as that.
I agree that Lang Lang is an exceptional pianist with unparalleled technique, but needs some control to be really great. During the rehearsal of the Pk 3, it was reported that Eshcenbach had to ask Lang Lang to slow down because the orchestra would not be able to keep up in later segments. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 4,375 |
package org.interledger.cryptoconditions;
import net.i2p.crypto.eddsa.EdDSAPublicKey;
import org.interledger.cryptoconditions.der.DerOutputStream;
import org.interledger.cryptoconditions.der.DerTag;
import java.io.ByteArrayOutputStream;
import java.io.IOException;
import java.io.UncheckedIOException;
import java.util.Objects;
/**
* Implementation of a crypto-condition using the ED-25519 and SHA-256 functions.
*/
public final class Ed25519Sha256Condition extends Sha256Condition implements SimpleCondition {
/**
* The public key and signature are a fixed size therefore the cost for an ED25519
* crypto-condition is fixed at 131072.
*/
private static final long COST = 131072L;
/**
* Constructs an instance of the condition.
*
* @param key A {@link EdDSAPublicKey} used to create the fingerprint.
*/
public Ed25519Sha256Condition(final EdDSAPublicKey key) {
super(
CryptoConditionType.ED25519_SHA256,
COST,
hashFingerprintContents(constructFingerprintContents(key))
);
}
/**
* <p>Constructs an instance of the condition with the given fingerprint and cost.</p>
*
* <p>This constructor _should_ be primarily used by CODECs, whereas developers should, in
* general, use the {@link #Ed25519Sha256Condition(EdDSAPublicKey)} constructor, or else create an
* actual fulfillment via {@link Ed25519Sha256Fulfillment#Ed25519Sha256Fulfillment(EdDSAPublicKey,
* byte[])} and then generate a condition from that object.</p>
*
* @param fingerprint The binary representation of the fingerprint for this condition.
*/
public Ed25519Sha256Condition(final byte[] fingerprint) {
super(CryptoConditionType.ED25519_SHA256, COST, fingerprint);
}
/**
* Constructs the fingerprint for this condition.
* <p/>
* Note: This method is package-private as (opposed to private) for testing purposes.
*/
static final byte[] constructFingerprintContents(final EdDSAPublicKey publicKey) {
Objects.requireNonNull(publicKey);
try {
// Write public publicKey
ByteArrayOutputStream baos = new ByteArrayOutputStream();
DerOutputStream out = new DerOutputStream(baos);
out.writeTaggedObject(0, publicKey.getA().toByteArray());
out.close();
byte[] buffer = baos.toByteArray();
// Wrap SEQUENCE
baos = new ByteArrayOutputStream();
out = new DerOutputStream(baos);
out.writeEncoded(DerTag.CONSTRUCTED.getTag() + DerTag.SEQUENCE.getTag(), buffer);
out.close();
return baos.toByteArray();
} catch (IOException ioe) {
throw new UncheckedIOException("DER Encoding Error", ioe);
}
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 4,613 |
{"url":"https:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/if-a-and-b-are-integers-and-atleast-one-of-the-two-is-positive-is-a-b-215198.html","text":"GMAT Question of the Day - Daily to your Mailbox; hard ones only\n\n It is currently 21 Aug 2018, 06:54\n\nGMAT Club Daily Prep\n\nThank you for using the timer - this advanced tool can estimate your performance and suggest more practice questions. We have subscribed you to Daily Prep Questions via email.\n\nCustomized\nfor You\n\nwe will pick new questions that match your level based on your Timer History\n\nTrack\n\nevery week, we\u2019ll send you an estimated GMAT score based on your performance\n\nPractice\nPays\n\nwe will pick new questions that match your level based on your Timer History\n\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\n\nAuthor Message\nTAGS:\n\nHide Tags\n\nMath Expert\nJoined: 02 Aug 2009\nPosts: 6559\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\nUpdated on: 20 Feb 2018, 00:27\n2\n3\n00:00\n\nDifficulty:\n\n45% (medium)\n\nQuestion Stats:\n\n61% (00:52) correct 39% (00:46) wrong based on 98 sessions\n\nHideShow timer Statistics\n\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive,\"Is A<B?\"?\n1. A<1\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\n\n_________________\n\n1) Absolute modulus : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/absolute-modulus-a-better-understanding-210849.html#p1622372\n2)Combination of similar and dissimilar things : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/topic215915.html\n3) effects of arithmetic operations : https:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/effects-of-arithmetic-operations-on-fractions-269413.html\n\nGMAT online Tutor\n\nOriginally posted by chetan2u on 16 Mar 2016, 20:10.\nLast edited by abhimahna on 20 Feb 2018, 00:27, edited 1 time in total.\nEdited the question\nSC Moderator\nJoined: 13 Apr 2015\nPosts: 1710\nLocation: India\nConcentration: Strategy, General Management\nGMAT 1: 200 Q1 V1\nGPA: 4\nWE: Analyst (Retail)\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n16 Mar 2016, 20:19\nGiven: Either A or B is positive or both A and B are positive.\n\nis A < B ?\n\nSt1: A < 1 --> A = 0 or negative integer. I believe 0 is not positive, it is just non negative. So B has to be > 0. Hence A < B. Sufficient.\n\nSt2: Clearly Insufficient.\n\nDirector\nJoined: 05 Mar 2015\nPosts: 984\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n30 Mar 2016, 12:11\nchetan2u wrote:\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive,\"Is A<B?\".\n1. A<1\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\n\nOA in two days\n\n(1)Since A is integer ..it could be 0 or any neg. value.\nas stem says either from two is positive then B must be a +ve integer.\nso A<B....suff...\n\n(2) no info about B...A could be +ve or -ve.\ninsuff...\n\nAns A\nMath Expert\nJoined: 02 Aug 2009\nPosts: 6559\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n31 Mar 2016, 20:51\n1\nchetan2u wrote:\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive,\"Is A<B?\".\n1. A<1\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\n\nOA in two days\n\nExplanations:-\n\nlets see the statements--\n1. A<1\nThe least possible positive integer is 1, so if A<1, B will be positive and >0..\nso A<B\nSuff\n\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\nA can be anything positive or negative..\nInsuff\n\nA\n_________________\n\n1) Absolute modulus : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/absolute-modulus-a-better-understanding-210849.html#p1622372\n2)Combination of similar and dissimilar things : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/topic215915.html\n3) effects of arithmetic operations : https:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/effects-of-arithmetic-operations-on-fractions-269413.html\n\nGMAT online Tutor\n\nMath Expert\nJoined: 02 Sep 2009\nPosts: 48096\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n01 Apr 2016, 00:08\nchetan2u wrote:\nchetan2u wrote:\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive,\"Is A<B?\".\n1. A<1\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\n\nOA in two days\n\nExplanations:-\n\nlets see the statements--\n1. A<1\nThe least possible positive integer is 1, so if A<1, B will be positive and >0..\nso A<B\nSuff\n\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\nA can be anything positive or negative..\nInsuff\n\nA\n\nExcellent question.\n_________________\nMath Expert\nJoined: 02 Aug 2009\nPosts: 6559\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n01 Apr 2016, 03:39\n1\nBunuel wrote:\nchetan2u wrote:\nIf A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive,\"Is A<B?\".\n1. A<1\n2. $$A\\neq{0}$$\n\nOA in two days\n\nExcellent question.\n\nThanks Bunuel,\nAppreciation from you means a lot\n_________________\n\n1) Absolute modulus : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/absolute-modulus-a-better-understanding-210849.html#p1622372\n2)Combination of similar and dissimilar things : http:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/topic215915.html\n3) effects of arithmetic operations : https:\/\/gmatclub.com\/forum\/effects-of-arithmetic-operations-on-fractions-269413.html\n\nGMAT online Tutor\n\nNon-Human User\nJoined: 09 Sep 2013\nPosts: 7775\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive\u00a0 [#permalink]\n\nShow Tags\n\n09 May 2017, 05:36\nHello from the GMAT Club BumpBot!\n\nThanks to another GMAT Club member, I have just discovered this valuable topic, yet it had no discussion for over a year. I am now bumping it up - doing my job. I think you may find it valuable (esp those replies with Kudos).\n\nWant to see all other topics I dig out? Follow me (click follow button on profile). You will receive a summary of all topics I bump in your profile area as well as via email.\n_________________\nRe: If A and B are integers and atleast one of the two is positive &nbs [#permalink] 09 May 2017, 05:36\nDisplay posts from previous: Sort by\n\nEvents & Promotions\n\n Powered by phpBB \u00a9 phpBB Group | Emoji artwork provided by EmojiOne Kindly note that the GMAT\u00ae test is a registered trademark of the Graduate Management Admission Council\u00ae, and this site has neither been reviewed nor endorsed by GMAC\u00ae.","date":"2018-08-21 13:54:51","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.5903127193450928, \"perplexity\": 4747.359101300604}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": false, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2018-34\/segments\/1534221218189.86\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20180821132121-20180821152121-00184.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Johann Jacob Reichard (7 August 1743 in Frankfurt – 21 January 1782 in Frankfurt) was a German physician and botanist.
He studied medicine, philosophy and natural sciences at the University of Göttingen, receiving his doctorate in 1768. While working as a physician in his hometown, he carried out investigations of flora native to the Frankfurt am Main area, publishing Flora Moeno-Francofurtana (2 volumes, 1772–78) as a result. Beginning in 1773, he served as chief physician at the Senckenburg Foundation, in which capacity, he was in charge of its library, botanical gardens and chemistry laboratory. From 1779 he worked as a physician at the Bürgerhospital in Frankfurt.
In 1775 he became a member of the Academy of Sciences Leopoldina. In 1780 he was founding editor of the periodical, Medizinisches Wochenblatt für Aerzte, Wundārzte und Apotheker. The plant genus Reichardia (family Asteraceae) was named in his honor by Albrecht Wilhelm Roth.
References
1743 births
1782 deaths
Physicians from Frankfurt
University of Göttingen alumni
18th-century German botanists
Scientists from Frankfurt | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaWikipedia"
} | 8,556 |
Marco Pierre White has been sharing his secrets for a perfect Christmas Dinner.
TOP TV chef Marco Pierre White has been getting into the festive spirit by sharing his tips for a perfect Christmas dinner.
The traditional roast is the centrepiece of festive celebrations and preparation can be daunting but Marco has some advice for the big day.
He said: "The thought of cooking Christmas dinner fills most of us with dread. It's the crescendo to Christmas Day and everybody wants it to be superb. I've got a few essential tips.
"For my potatoes, I cook with clarified butter, which is very simple to make. Slowly heat 7oz/200g of chopped, unsalted butter in a pan. Discard the surface liquid (milk solids and water). The remaining golden liquid is clarified butter.
"An hour before you plan to serve, put the chopped potatoes in a saucepan of unsalted cold water. Place on a high heat, bring to the boil and then reduce the heat to a simmer.
"Meanwhile, put the clarified butter/fat into the roasting tin for the potatoes. I also sprinkle in a chicken stock cube – this provides seasoning so there is no need for salt. Heat the fat in the oven at 190C/gas mark 5.
"At the first sign of cracks in the potatoes' edges, remove them from the heat and drain. Remove the roasting tin from the oven and carefully place the hot potatoes into the fat, which should come up the edge of the potatoes. Baste them well with clarified butter or your turkey baste and return to your oven.
"Do not touch the potatoes now until they are ready to be served, turning them may break them. Just leave them be."
Marco also has some ideas for cooking a perfect turkey, he says it is important the bird is at room temperature when it goes into the oven and to cook stuffing separately.
He recommends pre-heating the oven to 190C/gas mark 5 and starting to cook the bird uncovered after it has been basted.
Marco added: "When the turkey is golden brown, remove it from the oven and cover it in tinfoil to prevent it from browning further. Return it to the oven and continue to cook at 170C/gas mark 3.
"Chop three onions in half, remove the outer layer of skin and place the halved onions into the roasting tin with the turkey. The onions will caramelise, adding sweetness and colour into the roasting juices."
Check the turkey by inserting a skewer into the thickest part of the bird – the breast behind the thigh. The temperature of the skewer represents the temperature inside the turkey; if it's only slightly warm, it needs longer.
When it is cooked remove the turkey and quickly wrap it in tin foil to rest - remember it will stay warm for around two hours and continue to cook. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 7,044 |
(HealthCastle.com) By buying products that bear a "USDA Organic" seal, most consumers hope to establish some sense of consistency or peace of mind that the foods they purchase have been produced or grown in accordance with organic standards. While many of us couldn't recite the specifics the regulations spell out, many perceive "organic" food items to be more wholesome, closer to the natural state of things.
However, things may have gotten a little out of hand: The New York Times recently reported that the list of non-organic ingredients allowed in organic products has grown from 77 in 2002 to over 250 today. While there may be some ingredients for which no organic alternatives exist, should we be concerned about the increasing number of non-organic ingredients approved for use in organic products?
The USDA National List of Allowed and Prohibited Substances specifies which synthetic substances can be added to organic foods or used in organic food production. It also specifies which naturally occurring substances are prohibited. Items on the list serve different purposes, during either farming, production, or in the actual end product. Companies can petition to add new substances to the list; these submissions are reviewed by the National Organic Standards Board, which in recent years has come under increasing criticism by organic advocates that it is being influenced by corporate interests.
One example of a non-organic ingredient allowed in organic food is carrageenan. Carrageenan is extracted from seaweed, but some safety concerns were raised by the Cornucopia Institute. Carrageenan is found in some flavored milk and non-dairy milk beverages like soy and almond milk, in which it is used to prevent separation and contribute the creamy mouthfeel associated with dairy. It can also be found as an ingredient in organic chocolate milk.
The Bottom Line: Is Organic Still Worth It?
Beyond the list of allowed non-organic ingredients, organic regulation forbids the use of synthetic fertilizers, pesticides, sewage sludge, irradiation, and genetic engineering in food production. It also prohibits the addition of artificial sweeteners, artificial flavorings, and food dyes. Organic food production is supposed to follow ecologically sound principles that help promote biodiversity and facilitate recycling of resources. So, buying certified organic still differentiates what you get from foods derived from conventional food production.
Having said that, you still need to be smart about what to purchase. Even with organic foods or food products, the general rule of thumb is to purchase ingredients and foods that are as close to their natural (i.e., minimally processed) state as possible. For example, if you choose to avoid carrageenan, buy organic plain milk and make your own homemade chocolate milk. Alternatively, the Cornucopia Institute has produced a shopping guide for avoiding organic foods containing carrageenan. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
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using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using System.Text;
using System.Threading.Tasks;
using CSharpDiscriminatedUnion.Attributes;
namespace CSharpDiscriminatedUnion.Generator.Tests.UnionTypes
{
[GenerateDiscriminatedUnion]
public partial class NoCaseUnion
{
}
[GenerateDiscriminatedUnion]
public partial class NoCaseUnionGeneric<T>
{
}
[GenerateDiscriminatedUnion]
public partial class NoCaseUnionGeneric<T, U>
{
}
[GenerateDiscriminatedUnion]
public partial class NoCaseUnionGeneric<T, U, V>
{
}
[GenerateDiscriminatedUnion]
public partial class NoCaseUnionGenericWithConstraints<T, U, V>
where T : class
where U : struct
where V : List<string>, new()
{
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 1,683 |
Q: str_replace with the_content is not working I am trying to replace the a URL of the content with php. i tried the code mentioned below but it didn't work. is there any way to achieve this with php only?
function replace_text_wps($text){
$replace = array(
'https://www.facebook.com/something">' => 'https://www.instagram.com/something">',
);
$text = str_replace(array_keys($replace), $replace, $text);
return $text;
}
add_filter('the_content', 'replace_text_wps',99);
A: If you give a look at the documentation, of str_replace you will find your needs. https://www.php.net/manual/en/function.str-replace.php
There is 3 choices for you there :
function replace_text_wps($text){
$replace = array(
'https://www.facebook.com/something">' => 'https://www.instagram.com/something">',
);
$text = str_replace(array_keys($replace), array_values($replace), $text);
// OR
$text = str_replace(array(
'https://www.facebook.com/something">'
), array(
'https://www.instagram.com/something">'
), $text);
// OR
$text = str_replace('https://www.facebook.com/something">', 'https://www.instagram.com/something">', $text);
return $text;
}
add_filter('the_content', 'replace_text_wps',99, 1);
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 7,750 |
using System;
using System.Collections.Generic;
using System.Linq;
using System.Text;
using System.Threading.Tasks;
using Planru.Core.Domain.Specification;
using Planru.Core.Domain;
using System.Linq.Expressions;
using MongoDB.Driver;
using MongoDB.Driver.Linq;
using System.Data.Entity.Design.PluralizationServices;
using MongoDB.Driver.Builders;
using MongoDB.Bson;
using Planru.Crosscutting.Data;
using Planru.Crosscutting.Adapter;
using Planru.Crosscutting.Common;
using Planru.Core.Configuration.Annotations;
namespace Planru.Core.Persistence.MongoDB
{
public abstract class Repository<TPersistenceEntity, TDomainEntity, TID> : IRepository<TDomainEntity, TID>
where TDomainEntity : Entity<TID>
where TPersistenceEntity : EntityDMO<TID>
{
private bool _disposed = false;
private MongoCollection<TPersistenceEntity> _collection;
private ITypeAdapter _typeAdapter;
public Repository(MongoDatabase database, ITypeAdapter typeAdapter)
{
_typeAdapter = typeAdapter;
_collection = database.GetCollection<TPersistenceEntity>(this.GetCollectionName());
}
public void Add(TDomainEntity item)
{
var entity = Adapt<TPersistenceEntity>(item);
_collection.Insert(item);
}
public void Add(IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> items)
{
var entities = Adapt<TPersistenceEntity>(items);
_collection.InsertBatch(items);
}
public void Remove(TDomainEntity item)
{
this.Remove(item.Id);
}
public void Remove(TID id)
{
_collection.Remove(Query.EQ("_id", BsonValue.Create(id)));
}
public void Remove(IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> items)
{
IEnumerable<TID> ids = items.Select(e => e.Id);
Remove(ids);
}
public void Remove(IEnumerable<TID> ids)
{
_collection.Remove(Query.In("_id", new BsonArray(ids)));
}
public void Modify(TDomainEntity item)
{
var entity = Adapt<TPersistenceEntity>(item);
_collection.Save(item);
}
public void Modify(IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> items)
{
var entities = Adapt<TPersistenceEntity>(items);
_collection.Save(items);
}
public bool Exists(TID id)
{
return _collection.AsQueryable<TPersistenceEntity>().Any(e => e.Id.Equals(id));
}
public TDomainEntity Get(TID id)
{
var result = _collection.FindOneById(BsonValue.Create(id));
return Adapt<TDomainEntity>(result);
}
public IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> GetAll()
{
var result = _collection.FindAll().AsEnumerable();
return Adapt<TDomainEntity>(result);
}
public IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> AllMatching(ISpecification<TDomainEntity> specification)
{
return this.GetFiltered(specification.SatisfiedBy());
}
public PageResult<TDomainEntity> GetPaged<KProperty>(int pageNumber, int pageSize,
Expression<Func<TDomainEntity, KProperty>> orderByExpression, bool ascending)
{
var newOrderByExpression =
ExpressionConverter<TPersistenceEntity>.Convert(orderByExpression);
IEnumerable<TPersistenceEntity> persistenceEntities;
if (ascending)
persistenceEntities = _collection.AsQueryable()
.OrderBy(newOrderByExpression)
.Skip(pageNumber * pageSize)
.Take(pageSize);
else
persistenceEntities = _collection.AsQueryable()
.OrderByDescending(newOrderByExpression)
.Skip(pageNumber * pageSize)
.Take(pageSize);
var domainEntities = Adapt<TDomainEntity>(persistenceEntities);
return new PageResult<TDomainEntity>(domainEntities, pageNumber, pageSize, this.Count());
}
public IEnumerable<TDomainEntity> GetFiltered(Expression<Func<TDomainEntity, bool>> filter)
{
var filterExpression = ExpressionConverter<TPersistenceEntity>.Convert(filter);
var result = _collection.Find(Query<TPersistenceEntity>
.Where(filterExpression))
.Select(e => Adapt<TDomainEntity>(e));
return result;
}
private TTarget Adapt<TTarget>(object source)
{
return _typeAdapter.Adapt<TTarget>(source);
}
private IEnumerable<TTarget> Adapt<TTarget>(IEnumerable<object> sourceArray)
{
return sourceArray.Select(source => _typeAdapter.Adapt<TTarget>(source));
}
public long Count()
{
return _collection.Count();
}
protected virtual string GetCollectionName()
{
var collectionName = ((CollectionAttribute)typeof(TPersistenceEntity).GetCustomAttributes(true)
.FirstOrDefault(attr => attr.GetType() == typeof(CollectionAttribute))).Name;
return collectionName;
}
protected virtual void Dispose(bool disposing)
{
if (_disposed)
return;
if (disposing)
{
//
}
_disposed = true;
}
public void Dispose()
{
Dispose(true);
GC.SuppressFinalize(this);
}
}
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 2,129 |
{"url":"https:\/\/math.stackexchange.com\/questions\/497138\/how-prove-this-displaystyle-sum-k-1n-sin-frac1k12-le-ln2","text":"# How prove this $\\displaystyle\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\sin\\frac{1}{(k+1)^2}\\le\\ln{2}$\n\nshow that\n\n$$\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\sin\\dfrac{1}{(k+1)^2}\\le\\ln{2}$$\n\nI think this is nice inequality, and idea maybe use this $$\\sin{x}<x$$ so $$\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\sin{\\dfrac{1}{(n+1)^2}}<\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\dfrac{1}{(k+1)^2}<\\dfrac{\\pi^2}{6}-1\\approx 0.644<\\ln{2}$$\n\nBut this problem is from Middle school students compution,so they don't know\n\n$$\\sum_{k=1}^{\\infty}\\dfrac{1}{k^2}=\\dfrac{\\pi^2}{6}$$ so I think this problem have other nice methods? Thank you\n\nand this problem is from http:\/\/tieba.baidu.com\/p\/2600561301\n\n\u2022 $$\\frac{1}{(k+1)^2} \\le \\frac{1}{(k+\\frac12)(k+\\frac32)} = \\frac{1}{k+\\frac12} - \\frac{1}{k+\\frac32}$$ \u2013\u00a0achille hui Sep 18 '13 at 4:22\n\u2022 What are the two questions before this one (items (1) and (2)), on the document you linked to? Are they preliminary steps? If so, why not including them in your question? \u2013\u00a0Did Sep 18 '13 at 11:05\n\nFollowing @achille hui's comment we can answer the question using a telescoping approach: $$\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\sin{\\dfrac{1}{(k+1)^2}}\\le\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\dfrac{1}{(k+1)^2}\\le\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\dfrac{1}{(k+\\tfrac{1}{2})(k+\\tfrac{3}{2})}=\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\dfrac{1}{(k+\\tfrac{1}{2})}-\\dfrac{1}{k+\\tfrac{3}{2}}.$$\nIn the right-most summation, the only terms that survive after cancellation are the first and last: $$\\sum_{k=1}^{n}\\dfrac{1}{(k+\\tfrac{1}{2})}-\\dfrac{1}{k+\\tfrac{3}{2}}=\\frac{1}{1+\\tfrac{1}{2}}-\\frac{1}{n+\\tfrac{3}{2}}.$$\nThe answer follows since $$\\frac{1}{1+\\tfrac{1}{2}}-\\frac{1}{n+\\tfrac{3}{2}} = \\frac{2}{3}-\\frac{1}{n+\\tfrac{3}{2}}<\\frac{2}{3}<\\ln(2).$$\nOnce you noticed that $\\sin x\\le x$ you do not need to know the exact value of $\\sum_{k=1}^{\\infty}\\frac{1}{k^2}.$ Instead, you can approximate it by evaluating first few terms and estimating the tail. More precisely, $$\\sum_{k=2}^{n}\\frac{1}{k^2}=\\left(\\frac{1}{4}+\\frac{1}{9}+\\frac{1}{16}\\right)+\\frac{1} {5^2}+...+\\frac{1}{n^2}\\le 0.4236...+\\frac{1}{4\\cdot 5}+\\frac{1}{5\\cdot6}...+\\frac{1}{(n-1)\\cdot n}=$$ $$=0.4236...+\\frac{1}{4}-\\frac{1}{n}\\le 0.68< \\ln 2.$$","date":"2019-09-18 17:54:49","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 1, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.8683099746704102, \"perplexity\": 367.51850471789163}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2019-39\/segments\/1568514573323.60\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20190918172932-20190918194932-00078.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
"You saw, O king, and behold, a great image. This image, mighty and of exceeding brightness, stood before you, and its appearance was frightening. The head of this image was of fine gold, its chest and arms of silver, its middle and thighs of bronze, its legs of iron, its feet partly of iron and partly of clay. As you looked, a stone was cut out by no human hand, and it struck the image on its feet of iron and clay, and broke them in pieces. Then the iron, the clay, the bronze, the silver, and the gold, all together were broken in pieces, and became like the chaff of the summer threshing floors; and the wind carried them away, so that not a trace of them could be found. But the stone that struck the image became a great mountain and filled the whole earth. Scripture Verse Crafts
2 Chronicles 2:14 - The son of a woman of the daughters of Dan, and his father [was] a man of Tyre, skilful to work in gold, and in silver, in brass, in iron, in stone, and in timber, in purple, in blue, and in fine linen, and in crimson; also to grave any manner of graving, and to find out every device which shall be put to him, with thy cunning men, and with the cunning men of my lord David thy father. Bible Verse Crafts
"Now I am sending Huram-abi, a skilled man, endowed with understanding, the son of a Danite woman and a Tyrian father, who knows how to work in gold, silver, bronze, iron, stone and wood, and in purple, violet, linen and crimson fabrics, and who knows how to make all kinds of engravings and to execute any design which may be assigned to him, to work with your skilled men and with those of my lord David your father.
It is inappropriate to simply accept a piece of biblical art without discernment. All art portrays the artist's faith and spirituality (because we are spiritual beings), so all art is in some way flawed (because humans are flawed). Though biblical art can help us to see more clearly what a passage is communicating, it is the Scriptures, as God's Word, that are the ultimate authority. Bible Scripture Verse Crafts
He also told this parable to some who trusted in themselves that they were righteous, and treated others with contempt: "Two men went up into the temple to pray, one a Pharisee and the other a tax collector. The Pharisee, standing by himself, prayed thus: 'God, I thank you that I am not like other men, extortioners, unjust, adulterers, or even like this tax collector. I fast twice a week; I give tithes of all that I get.' But the tax collector, standing far off, would not even lift up his eyes to heaven, but beat his breast, saying, 'God, be merciful to me, a sinner!' ... Bible Scripture Verse Crafts
As for you, if you will walk before Me as your father David walked, in integrity of heart and uprightness, doing according to all that I have commanded you and will keep My statutes and My ordinances, then I will establish the throne of your kingdom over Israel forever, just as I promised to your father David, saying, 'You shall not lack a man on the throne of Israel.' But if you or your sons indeed turn away from following Me, and do not keep My commandments and My statutes which I have set before you, and go and serve other gods and worship them, then I will cut off Israel from the land which I have given them, and the house which I have consecrated for My name, I will cast out of My sight. Share Your Faith Products
There's no shortage of Father's Day activities to celebrate your favorite guy on his special day, from a father-daughter or father-son getaway to bonding over a few dad-centric tunes. But once the gifts have been exchanged and the brunch has been devoured, one of the best ways to continue the celebrations at home is to plop down on the sofa and share some Father's Day Bible verses together. Wind things down, grab the good book, and tap into your faith by reading up on these short passages about fathers, husbands, and the love of God. Whether you're a son, daughter, or spouse of the man of honor, you can remind him why he's so loved with these inspirational words (or write them in his Father's Day card!). Share Your Faith Products
Then God said, "Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion over the fish of the sea and over the birds of the heavens and over the livestock and over all the earth and over every creeping thing that creeps on the earth." So God created man in his own image, in the image of God he created him; male and female he created them. Bible Verse Crafts
"Then bring near to you Aaron your brother, and his sons with him, from among the people of Israel, to serve me as priests—Aaron and Aaron's sons, Nadab and Abihu, Eleazar and Ithamar. And you shall make holy garments for Aaron your brother, for glory and for beauty. You shall speak to all the skillful, whom I have filled with a spirit of skill, that they make Aaron's garments to consecrate him for my priesthood. These are the garments that they shall make: a breastpiece, an ephod, a robe, a coat of checker work, a turban, and a sash. They shall make holy garments for Aaron your brother and his sons to serve me as priests. They shall receive gold, blue and purple and scarlet yarns, and fine twined linen. ... Scripture Verse Crafts
Jacob lived in the land of his father's sojournings, in the land of Canaan. These are the generations of Jacob. Joseph, being seventeen years old, was pasturing the flock with his brothers. He was a boy with the sons of Bilhah and Zilpah, his father's wives. And Joseph brought a bad report of them to their father. Now Israel loved Joseph more than any other of his sons, because he was the son of his old age. And he made him a robe of many colors. But when his brothers saw that their father loved him more than all his brothers, they hated him and could not speak peacefully to him. Now Joseph had a dream, and when he told it to his brothers they hated him even more. ...
and in the cutting of stones for settings, and in the carving of wood, that he may work in all kinds of craftsmanship. "And behold, I Myself have appointed with him Oholiab, the son of Ahisamach, of the tribe of Dan; and in the hearts of all who are skillful I have put skill, that they may make all that I have commanded you: the tent of meeting, and the ark of testimony, and the mercy seat upon it, and all the furniture of the tent, the table also and its utensils, and the pure gold lampstand with all its utensils, and the altar of incense, the altar of burnt offering also with all its utensils, and the laver and its stand, Bible Verse Crafts
Then to Adam He said, "Because you have listened to the voice of your wife, and have eaten from the tree about which I commanded you, saying, 'You shall not eat from it'; Cursed is the ground because of you; In toil you will eat of it All the days of your life. "Both thorns and thistles it shall grow for you; And you will eat the plants of the field; By the sweat of your face You will eat bread, Till you return to the ground, Because from it you were taken; For you are dust, And to dust you shall return." Scripture Verse Crafts
Huram also made the pails, the shovels and the bowls. So Huram finished doing the work which he performed for King Solomon in the house of God: the two pillars, the bowls and the two capitals on top of the pillars, and the two networks to cover the two bowls of the capitals which were on top of the pillars, and the four hundred pomegranates for the two networks, two rows of pomegranates for each network to cover the two bowls of the capitals which were on the pillars.read more. Bible Scripture Verse Crafts
"The house which I am about to build will be great, for greater is our God than all the gods. "But who is able to build a house for Him, for the heavens and the highest heavens cannot contain Him? So who am I, that I should build a house for Him, except to burn incense before Him? "Now send me a skilled man to work in gold, silver, brass and iron, and in purple, crimson and violet fabrics, and who knows how to make engravings, to work with the skilled men whom I have in Judah and Jerusalem, whom David my father provided. Scripture Verse Crafts
Being Cleansed From SinSittingLikenessExpiationGod Made Visible In ChristGod's Glory RevealedPerfection, DivineGospel, Historical Foundation OfAdoration, Of ChristGod Is TranscendentLight, SpiritualExaltation Of ChristChrist's NatureAccuracyRevelation, In NtHoliness, Believers' Growth InGlory, Revelation OfGlory Of GodDivinity Of ChristEarth, God SustainingSelf ImageImage Of God
Many are the plans in the mind of a man, but it is the purpose of the Lord that will stand. What is desired in a man is steadfast love, and a poor man is better than a liar. The fear of the Lord leads to life, and whoever has it rests satisfied; he will not be visited by harm. The sluggard buries his hand in the dish and will not even bring it back to his mouth. Strike a scoffer, and the simple will learn prudence; reprove a man of understanding, and he will gain knowledge. ... Bible Verse Crafts
And King Solomon sent and brought Hiram from Tyre. He was the son of a widow of the tribe of Naphtali, and his father was a man of Tyre, a worker in bronze. And he was full of wisdom, understanding, and skill for making any work in bronze. He came to King Solomon and did all his work. He cast two pillars of bronze. Eighteen cubits was the height of one pillar, and a line of twelve cubits measured its circumference. It was hollow, and its thickness was four fingers. The second pillar was the same. He also made two capitals of cast bronze to set on the tops of the pillars. The height of the one capital was five cubits, and the height of the other capital was five cubits. There were lattices of checker work with wreaths of chain work for the capitals on the tops of the pillars, a lattice for the one capital and a lattice for the other capital. ... Bible Verse Crafts
Now there were four supports at the four corners of each stand; its supports were part of the stand itself. On the top of the stand there was a circular form half a cubit high, and on the top of the stand its stays and its borders were part of it. He engraved on the plates of its stays and on its borders, cherubim, lions and palm trees, according to the clear space on each, with wreaths all around.read more.
The anger of the LORD burned against Israel, and He gave them into the hands of plunderers who plundered them; and He sold them into the hands of their enemies around them, so that they could no longer stand before their enemies. Wherever they went, the hand of the LORD was against them for evil, as the LORD had spoken and as the LORD had sworn to them, so that they were severely distressed. Then the LORD raised up judges who delivered them from the hands of those who plundered them. Bible Verse Crafts
Character Of WickedRevelation, Necessity Ofevangelism, nature ofSatan, Power OfSpiritual Warfare, Enemies InImagination, Evil SchemingPresent Evil AgeNames And Titles For SatanRevelation, Responses ToShiningUnbelief, Nature And Effects OfLikenessFalse ReligionUnbelief, Sourced InSatan, As DeceiverSpiritual Blindness, Consequences OfPrincehood Of SatanSatanticImage Of God
Now when the wall had been built and I had set up the doors, and the gatekeepers, the singers, and the Levites had been appointed, I gave my brother Hanani and Hananiah the governor of the castle charge over Jerusalem, for he was a more faithful and God-fearing man than many. And I said to them, "Let not the gates of Jerusalem be opened until the sun is hot. And while they are still standing guard, let them shut and bar the doors. Appoint guards from among the inhabitants of Jerusalem, some at their guard posts and some in front of their own homes." The city was wide and large, but the people within it were few, and no houses had been rebuilt. Then my God put it into my heart to assemble the nobles and the officials and the people to be enrolled by genealogy. And I found the book of the genealogy of those who came up at the first, and I found written in it: ... Share Your Faith Products
For I want you to know how great a struggle I have for you and for those at Laodicea and for all who have not seen me face to face, that their hearts may be encouraged, being knit together in love, to reach all the riches of full assurance of understanding and the knowledge of God's mystery, which is Christ, in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge. I say this in order that no one may delude you with plausible arguments. For though I am absent in body, yet I am with you in spirit, rejoicing to see your good order and the firmness of your faith in Christ. ... Bible Scripture Verse Crafts
1 Then the LORD said to Moses, 2 "See, I have chosen Bezalel son of Uri, the son of Hur, of the tribe of Judah, 3 and I have filled him with the Spirit of God, with wisdom, with understanding, with knowledge and with all kinds of skills— 4 to make artistic designs for work in gold, silver and bronze, 5 to cut and set stones, to work in wood, and to engage in all kinds of crafts. 6 Moreover, I have appointed Oholiab son of Ahisamak, of the tribe of Dan, to help him. Also I have given ability to all the skilled workers to make everything I have commanded you: Bible Scripture Verse Crafts
So he made two doors of olive wood, and he carved on them carvings of cherubim, palm trees, and open flowers, and overlaid them with gold; and he spread the gold on the cherubim and on the palm trees. So also he made for the entrance of the nave four-sided doorposts of olive wood and two doors of cypress wood; the two leaves of the one door turned on pivots, and the two leaves of the other door turned on pivots. He carved on it cherubim, palm trees, and open flowers; and he overlaid them with gold evenly applied on the engraved work. Scripture Verse Crafts | {
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In memory of Tony Tanner
Contents
A Note on References
Introduction
1 How Much Does Age Matter?
2 Do Sisters Sleep Together?
3 What Do the Characters Call Each Other?
4 How Do Jane Austen's Characters Look?
5 Who Dies in the Course of Her Novels?
6 Why Is It Risky to Go to the Seaside?
7 Why Is the Weather Important?
8 Do We Ever See the Lower Classes?
9 Which Important Characters Never Speak in the Novels?
10 What Games Do Characters Play?
11 Is There Any Sex in Jane Austen?
12 What Do Characters Say When the Heroine Is Not There?
13 How Much Money Is Enough?
14 Why Do Her Plots Rely on Blunders?
15 What Do Characters Read?
16 Are Ill People Really to Blame for Their Illnesses?
17 What Makes Characters Blush?
18 What Are the Right and Wrong Ways to Propose Marriage?
19 When Does Jane Austen Speak Directly to the Reader?
20 How Experimental a Novelist Is Jane Austen?
Notes
Bibliography
Acknowledgements
By the Same Author
A Note on References
Quotations from Jane Austen's fiction are taken from the Oxford University Press edition of The Novels of Jane Austen, edited by R. W. Chapman, 3rd edition (1965–6). References are given within the text, by volume and chapter number. References to Lady Susan and Sanditon are given by chapter number. The aim has been to enable readers easily to locate passages, irrespective of the editions they might be using.
Quotations from Jane Austen's letters are taken from the Oxford University Press edition, edited by Deirdre Le Faye. As pagination differs between the third (1995) and fourth (2011) editions, references are given within the text by letter number.
Introduction
Did Jane Austen know how good she was? It is a question often asked by her aficionados, struck on each new reading by the intricate brilliance of her fiction and perhaps aware that many of her first readers just did not see it. Contemporary reviewers might have been generally complimentary, but their very compliments show their failure to grasp what they were reading. 'Whoever is fond of an amusing, inoffensive and well principled novel, will be pleased with the perusal of Emma.' 'If Emma be not allowed to rank in the very highest class of modern Novels, it certainly may claim a least a distinguished degree of eminence in that species of composition.' Though she compared herself confidently with other novelists, especially other women novelists, of her times, there is no evidence that Austen herself dreamed of posterity. Her famously modest description of her own art in a letter to her brother James – 'the little bit (two Inches wide) of Ivory on which I work with so fine a Brush' (Letters, 146) – is so arch that some have taken it as a kind of boast: surely she did not think her work was such a small thing. Yet there is something incongruous about her latter-day status. Shakespeare and Dickens, the only other English authors who can rival her continuing, international appeal, were successful candidates for fame in their own day. They were also conscious innovators in the forms they used, whose audacity was widely – by rivals, grumpily – recognised. Here is the reason why that question about Austen's creative self-awareness is irresistible: she did things with fiction that had never been done before. She did things with characterisation, with dialogue, with English sentences, that had never been done before. Is it possible that she had no particular idea of how singular her novels were? Or did she have some hunch that her fiction was unlike that of any of her contemporaries, and would duly outlive all her rivals?
'Few so gifted were so truly unpretending,' wrote Henry Austen in his posthumous Biographical Notice of his sister. Critics and biographers of recent times have tended to bridle at the version of the author that came down from her family: a woman who wished nothing of fame and whose writing was undertaken more to amuse her relations than to reach out to any public. Yet the widespread resistance to the image of a modest lady has been allowed to obscure an important truth: she was in some ways the most surprising genius of English Literature. She lived in an age distinguished by its literary intimacies and exchanges: we cannot think of the so-called Romantic period without thinking of the networks of friendship among its leading writers. Jane Austen knew not a single notable author, even distantly. Her most renowned female predecessor, Fanny Burney, had conversed with men and women of letters, and had been befriended by Samuel Johnson, no less. Her best-known female contemporary, Maria Edgeworth, may have lived in seclusion in Ireland, but when she did come to London she consorted with Jeremy Bentham and Walter Scott. The thoroughly eccentric William Blake, much of whose work was produced in very limited editions for a small number of patrons, was still known by a circle of London artists and literati, and his writings were discussed by fellow poets such as Wordsworth and Coleridge. Even the so-called peasant poet John Clare became acquainted with Coleridge, Hazlitt and Lamb, and had his high season in the salons of literary London. Not Austen. There are a couple of poignant passages in her letters where she looks forward to the possibility of meeting the poet George Crabbe – then acknowledges that she has missed her chance of doing so. In his memoir, Henry Austen recalls a planned meeting with the French novelist and intellectual Germaine de Staël, which duly never took place. Though her books sold well in her lifetime, Jane Austen was utterly unknown to her great literary contemporaries. Her one encounter with a leading author came when Emma was reviewed at length in the Quarterly Review by Walter Scott. Yet the review, while admiring, was anonymous. In a letter to her publisher John Murray, Austen expressed regret that 'so clever a Man' as the reviewer should have left Mansfield Park out of his survey of her work (Letters, 139). It is unclear whether this means that Austen knew she was reading the considered response of the novelist who had burst on to the scene with Waverley less than two years earlier.
Jane Austen's obscurity among her contemporaries is all the more striking when one considers her technical audacity. There was nothing so surprising about the fact that she wrote novels. There was something miraculous about the fact that she wrote novels whose narrative sophistication and brilliance of dialogue were unprecedented in English fiction. She introduced free indirect style to English fiction, filtering her plots through the consciousnesses of her characters. She perfected fictional idiolect, fashioning habits of speaking for even minor characters that rendered them utterly singular. She managed all this with extraordinary self-confidence and apparently without the advice or expert engagement of any other accomplished writer. She had had access to books, of course, and the conversations of a bookish family, but no circle of fellow authors. It might be a wrench to think of Austen, the conservative literary genius in a revolutionary age, as an experimental writer, but such she was. This has nothing to do with her subject matter: indeed, provide some bare plot summaries of her novels, and they can be made to sound rather less daring than those of contemporaries such as Maria Edgeworth or Mary Brunton. Her brilliance is in the style, not the content. Even when it comes to her characters, her success is a matter of formal daring as much as psychological insight. We hear their ways of thinking because of Austen's tricks of dialogue; their peculiar views of the world are brought to life by her narrative skills.
Virginia Woolf, a reader completely alive to Austen's fictional intelligence, said that 'of all great writers she is the most difficult to catch in the act of greatness'. Woolf meant that it was nearly impossible to take a single scene, or single paragraph, as an epitome of that greatness. The apparent modesty of Austen's dramas is, though, only apparent. Look closely, and the minute interconnectedness of her novels is a bravura achievement. This interconnectedness is the reason why, when you re-read her novels, you have the experience of suddenly noticing some crucial detail that you have never noticed before, and realising how demanding she is of your attention. One of the special delights of reading Jane Austen is becoming as clever and discerning as the author herself, at least for as long as one is reading. And when you do notice things it is as if Austen is setting puzzles, or inviting you to notice little tricks, which do justice to the small, important complications of life. Readers of Austen love quiz questions about her novels, but the apparently trivial pursuit of the answers invariably reveals the intricate machinery of her fiction. Are there any scenes in Austen where only men are present? Who is the only married woman in her novels to call her husband by his Christian name? How old is Mr Collins? Among the pleasures of knowing Jane Austen's novels is trying to answer such questions, but in this book I hope to show that doing so also reveals the true depths of her fictional world.
This book tries to catch her in the act of greatness, by scrutinising the patterns and puzzles that she builds into her novels. 'I hope somebody cares for these minutiae,' she wrote in a letter to her sister Cassandra, joking about the particulars of a recent journey – the distances and the times – with which she found herself filling her letter (Letters, 84). In life, such details may be inert; in Austen's novels, never. How far is it from Kellynch to Uppercross in Persuasion? The answer, three miles, is significant because Anne Elliot's short journey from one place to the other is 'a total change of conversation, opinion, and idea' (I. vi). What time do John Thorpe and James Morland set off from Tetbury to Bath in Northanger Abbey? Ten o'clock: we need to be clear because John Thorpe is an absurd braggart obsessed with the unlikely speed of his horse, and his bending of every fact to his purpose ('It was eleven, upon my soul! I counted every stroke') is the essence of his character. Little things matter, not because Austen's interests are trivial, but because the smallest of details – a word, a blush, a little conversational stumble – reveal people's schemes and desires. Austen developed techniques that rendered characters' hidden motives, including motives that were hidden from the characters themselves, and gave the novel reader new opportunities to discern these from slight clues of dialogue and narrative. The talk of Austen's 'miniature' art should not be a way of shrinking her achievement, but of drawing attention to its beautiful, exacting precision (which is why the metaphor of the ivory and the fine brush is indeed a boast). Almost a decade after her death, Walter Scott recorded in his journal that he had just read 'Miss Austen's very finely written novel of Pride and Prejudice' for at least the third time, and marvelled at her unmatched 'talent for describing the involvements and feelings and characters of ordinary life'. 'The Big Bow wow strain I can do myself like any now going but the exquisite touch, which renders ordinary common-place things and characters interesting from the truth of the description and the sentiment, is denied to me.'
'Exquisite touch' is a generously precise appreciation of Jane Austen's precision. Accuracy is her genius. Noticing minutiae will lead you to the wonderful connectedness of her novels, where a small detail of wording or motivation in one place will flare with the recollection of something that went much earlier. This is one of the reasons they bear such re-reading. Every quirk you notice leads you to a design. The boon of Austen's confidence is that the reader can take confidence too, knowing that if he or she follows some previously neglected thread it will produce a satisfying pattern. Look at the presence of the weather in her novels and you will find her circumstantial exactitude, but also a carefully planned insertion of chance into her plots. Attend to her descriptions of her characters' blushes and you are shown how they become interpreters – often misinterpreters – of each other's unspoken thoughts. To follow one of these topics is to catch her narrative technique in action. Over and over again, it has seemed to me that as I have pursued some theme through Austen's fiction I have been finding a pattern that she has made to please and amuse us. So when I look at the characters in her novels whose speech is never quoted, or at scenes from which her heroines are absent, I am discovering what the novelist designed, not exercising my ingenuity but revealing the author's.
My book asks and answers some very specific questions about what goes on in her novels, in order to reveal their cleverness. The closer you look, the more you see. This sometimes means discerning what the author would have taken for granted, so this book tries to make explicit some of the matters of fact that, after two centuries, do need some explaining. Reading Austen it is important to know how much money was worth, or what conventions of mourning might have been, or how polite people addressed each other. I hope that I interestingly illuminate some of these matters of social history. A little knowledge will reveal the peculiar role that Austen gives to seaside resorts, or her expectation that we register the presence of servants, even when they are not mentioned. Yet it is also easy to lose yourself in scrutiny of the mores of Regency England. It is salutary for the Austen researcher in need of historical background to find, over and over again, that Austen's novels are themselves consistently invoked by social historians as 'evidence' of this or that custom. It is doubly salutary, as Austen invariably uses conventions, rather than merely following them. A book about the customs of the time will tell you that a young lady would not normally walk out alone, but we are surely not to side with Miss Bingley in her disapproval of Elizabeth Bennet's walk across the fields to visit her ailing sister at Netherfield. We can still sense that Elizabeth was doing something unconventional, and that Austen's contemporaries, like Mr Bingley, would have relished her doing so.
The themes that I have pursued are trails of the author's intent. How did she manage to produce such complex yet unified novels? The sparse manuscripts that have survived from Jane Austen's mature years as a published novelist – some cancelled chapters of Persuasion, the beginnings of a novel called Sanditon – give us few clues as to her methods of composition. Except that they suggest that she did have a design to follow when she wrote. We do not have the equivalent of Dickens's number plans or Nabokov's card indexes, but any attentive reader will feel that final intent is encoded in early beginnings. We will never know whether Austen made plans on paper, or whether she simply had a great writer's ability to hold in her head the details of what she had already written. The lack of evidence about her habits of composition has allowed a long tradition of condescension to her. Henry James seemed to think that Austen had not known what she was doing, technically speaking. While conceding that her stature was assured – she was 'one of those of the shelved and safe' – he thought that she 'leaves us hardly more curious of her process, or of the experience that fed it, than the brown thrush who tells his story from the garden bough'. She had all the 'grace' of 'her unconsciousness', he thought, finding for her process of composition the metaphor of a woman with her work basket, making her tapestry flowers and occasionally dropping stitches as she 'fell a-musing'. There has hardly been a novelist more conscious of his methods than James, whose prefaces to his novels are evidence – and are meant to be evidence – of the rigour of his art. He knew just what he was doing, but then what he was doing was built on Jane Austen's fearless innovations. It was Austen who had taught later novelists to filter narration through the minds of their own characters. It was Austen who made dialogue the evidence of motives that were never stated. It was Austen, a Jamesian avant la lettre, who made the morality with which her characters act depend on the nice judgements of her readers. Why should she not know what she was doing?
In truth, literary critics who admire Austen rather relish the many examples of great literary minds who have been baffled by her hold over intelligent readers. 'What is all this about Jane Austen? What is there in her? What is it all about?' wrote Joseph Conrad to H.G. Wells in 1901. This book might take its motto from Vladimir Nabokov, who said in his lecture on Mansfield Park that 'the beauty of a book is more enjoyable if one understands its machinery, if one can take it apart'. Yet this great, thoroughly sophisticated novelist had initially failed to understand Austen's greatness, confessing his antipathy to her and, apparently, all women novelists in a letter to his friend, the critic Edmund Wilson. 'I dislike Jane, and am prejudiced, in fact, against all women writers. They are in another class. Could never see anything in Pride and Prejudice.' Wilson explained to him that he was entirely 'mistaken' about her. 'Jane Austen approaches her material in a very objective way.' Under his influence Nabokov was soon studying Mansfield Park. Wilson knew that Austen was an entirely conscious artist, believing that she shared with James Joyce 'the unique distinction in English novels of having a sense of form'. When we see how good she is, we can hardly doubt that she knew it herself. This book was written in the firm belief that Austen rewards minute attention, that hardly anything in her novels is casual or accidental. Discussing Pride and Prejudice in a letter to Cassandra, Jane Austen adapted a couple of lines from Scott's narrative poem Marmion: 'I do not write for such dull Elves / As have not a great deal of ingenuity themselves' (Letters, 79). That ingenuity is the subject of this book, and worth examining because Austen hoped (or is it expected?) that her reader would share it. The self-indulgent purpose of the book has been to convey my own pleasure in reading Jane Austen. Its less selfish aim is simply to sharpen the pleasure of other readers of her novels.
ONE
How Much Does Age Matter?
. . . she was fully satisfied of being still quite as handsome as ever; but she felt her approach to the years of danger . . .
Persuasion, I. i
So reliable are the misjudgements of casting directors as to the appropriate ages of actors chosen to perform in film and TV adaptations of Jane Austen's novels that new conventions have been established. Even in the minds of many who have read Pride and Prejudice, an impression of the age of Mrs Bennet, say, or of Mr Collins has become settled. It would surprise many to be told that Elizabeth Bennet's mother is probably only a little way past her fortieth birthday (her eldest daughter is twenty-one, and it is likely that she married when not much more than eighteen). The matter is significant early in the novel, when Mr Bennet makes a joke about the risk of Mr Bingley being attracted to her instead of one of her daughters (I. i). The joke would be empty if his wife were in her fifties or sixties. Instead, Mrs Bennet's easy dismissal of his suggestion ('I do not pretend to be any thing extraordinary now') bespeaks her confidence that she does still possess allure. Equally, many admirers of Pride and Prejudice think of Mr Collins as middle-aged. In the 1940 Hollywood film the role was taken by British character actor Melville Cooper, then aged forty-four. The trend was set. In Andrew Davies's 1995 BBC adaptation Mr Collins was played by David Bamber, then in his mid-forties. In the 2005 film the role was taken by a slightly more youthful Tom Hollander, aged thirty-eight. Yet Mr Collins is introduced to us as a 'tall, heavy-looking young man of five-and-twenty' (I. xiii). Adaptors miss something by getting his age wrong. His solemnity and sententiousness are much better coming from someone so 'young'. Middle-aged is what he would like to sound, rather than what he is.
Age naturally matters to characters in Austen's novels because these novels are about getting married, and the age of a young woman (but perhaps also a man) will determine her (or his) marriage prospects. Age matters to the novelist because she uses it to shape the reader's expectations. The facts that Austen gives us about her characters' ages are like dramatic instructions. Take Sense and Sensibility. In Ang Lee's 1995 film, Emma Thompson, then aged thirty-six, played Elinor Dashwood; Gemma Jones, then aged fifty-two, played her mother. But Elinor is nineteen. Readers have long differed over whether her composure is admirable or unsettling, but it is all the more striking given her age. Austen's own phrasing acknowledges the prematurity of Elinor's 'strength of understanding, and coolness of judgement' (I. i). These qualify her, 'though only nineteen', to guide her mother. Equally, Mrs Dashwood is just forty, a fact that matters a good deal in the novel's dialogue. In the second chapter of the novel, Mr and Mrs John Dashwood discuss how much Mrs Dashwood might cost them if they settle an annuity – an annual payment for the course of her life – on her. 'She is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty', points out Mrs John Dashwood (I. ii).
Later, after we and the Dashwoods have first met Colonel Brandon, a 'silent and grave' man who is 'the wrong side of five and thirty', Marianne and her mother discuss Mrs Jennings's jokes about a possible romance between him and Marianne. Mrs Dashwood, 'who could not think a man five years younger than herself, so exceedingly ancient as he appeared to the youthful fancy of her daughter', tries to convince her daughter that Mrs Jennings is not actually ridiculing his age (I. viii). When Marianne talks of Colonel Brandon's 'age and infirmity', her mother laughs at the apparent 'miracle' of her own life having been 'extended to the advanced age of forty'. We know from Mrs Dashwood at the end of Chapter iii that Marianne is 'not seventeen'. She is youthfully absurd in her sense of the importance of age, going on to say that a twenty-seven-year-old woman could only marry a thirty-five-year-old man in order to perform 'the offices of a nurse', in return for financial security. Elinor, even while she disagrees with her sister, concedes that 'Perhaps . . . thirty-five and seventeen had better not have any thing to do with matrimony together.' It is an unnecessary fragment of dialogue if Austen had not wanted the reader to feel some sense of compromise at the end of the novel. We are supposed to remember this judgement when Marianne and Colonel Brandon do eventually marry, so that we know just how far Marianne has been aged, metaphorically speaking, by her errors and her sufferings.
Austen's is an age-sensitive world, in which some people's age sensitivity is wrong-headed. Modern readers do not have to study any social history to understand how the novels use information about characters' ages. Any social historian, on the other hand, who tried to extract social conventions from the novels would have to be very wary. A good example is the most extraordinary reflection on the significance of a woman's age in all of Austen's novels, in the fourth chapter of Persuasion. We have just been told of Lady Russell's response, eight years earlier, to the engagement of Anne Elliot to Captain Wentworth. She was dismayed to see her favourite 'throw herself away at nineteen, involve herself at nineteen in an engagement with a young man, who had nothing but himself to recommend him' (I. iv). Anne's age is repeated, as Lady Russell must have repeated it to herself. Not, as we might now think, because she was too young to be getting married, but because she would have been turning her back on the prospect of a finer match. Anne was 'so young; known to so few'. That 'so young' is Lady Russell's thought, and the next phrase, 'known to so few', clarifies her logic: 'at nineteen' she has every chance of attracting a grander and richer husband – a husband, if Lady Russell is to be gratified, with aristocratic pedigree. But this was not to be. Persuaded to break off her engagement to Captain Wentworth, Anne lost 'bloom and spirits' and no noble suitor appeared. When she was 'about two-and-twenty' she received a proposal from Charles Musgrove, eldest son of a local landed gentleman. Lady Russell was in favour of her accepting, and the novel's explanation of this gives us an alarming glimpse of a young woman's wasting assets: 'however Lady Russell might have asked yet for something more, while Anne was nineteen, she would have rejoiced to see her at twenty-two so respectably removed from the partialities and injustice of her father's house, and settled so permanently near herself.' When she was nineteen, Charles Musgrove would not have been good enough; when she is twenty-two, he is entirely desirable. At twenty-two she must, according to Lady Russell's thinking, already be prepared to compromise. Her allure is fast diminishing.
This must surely be Lady Russell's anxious judgement rather than the author's. Charlotte Heywood, the heroine-to-be of Sanditon, is 'a very pleasing young woman of two and twenty' when the novel begins (Ch. 2). There is no suggestion that she is anything other than 'young'. Jane Bennet is twenty-two at the beginning of Pride and Prejudice, and clearly still glowing. Yet there is a hint in one of Austen's letters that nineteen is indeed thought to be the prime age for a young woman, when she characterises a Hampshire acquaintance. 'Miss H. is an elegant, pleasing, pretty looking girl, about 19 I suppose, or 19 & ½, or 19 ¼, with flowers in her head, & Music at her fingers ends' (Letters, 73). The joke seems to be that her appeal rather depends on her not yet being twenty. Without this sense of the brevity of a young woman's maximum allure, there would be no point to Elizabeth Bennet's brilliant riposte to Lady Catherine de Bourgh's impertinent enquiry as to her age: 'With three younger sisters grown up . . . your Ladyship can hardly expect me to own it' (II. vi). Lady Catherine responds that, being no more than twenty, Elizabeth has no reason not to declare her age: she is still at her marketable peak.
In fact, the average age of women marrying for the first time in Jane Austen's lifetime was probably twenty-three or twenty-four. We should not trust the judgement of Anne's highly fallible adviser and surrogate mother Lady Russell. It was she who 'persuaded' the heroine to relinquish the man she truly loved. But we are to think that her reasoning is narrow-minded rather than merely absurd. Her concession to the match with Charles Musgrove would make no sense if it were irrational. Three years might make a big difference to a woman's marriageability. And, indeed, twenty-two would already be older than any of Austen's other heroines when they receive their proposals. Elinor Dashwood is nineteen at the beginning of Sense and Sensibility and is engaged to Edward Ferrars nine months later. Elizabeth Bennet is twenty when Mr Darcy first proposes to her, and she accepts him after another six months have passed. When the Crawfords arrive at Mansfield, in July, Fanny Price has 'just reached her eighteenth year' (from later references, this evidently means that she is eighteen years old). Henry Crawford proposes to her six months later. At the end of Mansfield Park we do not know how long it is before Edmund asks her to marry him because the author has decided to 'abstain from dates upon this occasion' (III. xvii). We might infer a year or so, in which case Fanny would be nineteen or twenty when she is finally claimed by the man she loves. Emma Woodhouse is twenty at the beginning of Emma and is united to Mr Knightley a year later. Catherine Morland is the youngest bride of all: engaged to Henry Tilney at the age of seventeen, and married less than a year afterwards. (One of the peculiarities of these novels is that most last about a year, though not one of them mentions any heroine having a birthday.)
Age sensitivity is no mere social convention: it is built into the structure of Austen's novels. Never more so than in Persuasion, with the early vanishing of Anne's 'bloom' and Sir Walter's certainty that she would never now be courted by any aristocratic suitor. His folly in thinking his favourite daughter Elizabeth 'as blooming as ever' at the age of twenty-nine is the insensitivity to age of mere vanity (I. i). Age cannot be evaded. Elizabeth's 'approach to the years of danger' is both her thought and the author's confirmation of it. The pressure is cranked up by our knowledge that Elizabeth yearns for a proposal from a suitably elevated suitor 'within the next twelvemonth or two'. She thinks of herself in a race against time. She hates seeing that page in the Baronetage, 'with the date of her own birth' but without the record of a marriage. While Sir Walter believes his and his daughter's ageing to be suspended, he is highly attentive to the ages of others. To illustrate his antipathy to the navy he tells Mr Shepherd of the Admiral whom he imagines past sixty, when he is truly only forty (I. iii). When he hears of Admiral Croft's reputed gout, Sir Walter calls him 'Poor old gentleman', though he is considerably younger than Sir Walter himself (II. vi). He calls Mrs Smith 'old and sickly', thinking her forty – though she is in fact thirty (II. v). Even when Anne tells him her true age, he insists on describing her as 'between thirty and forty' – when she is but a year older than his precious, 'handsome' eldest daughter.
Judgements of what is inevitable at any given age are invariably ridiculous failures of imagination.
There is no dodging age, and Austen provides the facts of her characters' ages as primary information – rather like newspapers of today, which conventionally append the age of a person to the first mention of his or her name. She was unusual in doing this. In novels of the period it is conventional to be told the age of a heroine in the opening chapters, but rare to be told the age of any other character. Austen is singular in requiring us to notice the ages of almost all her major characters. The information is interesting because of the dramatic use she makes of it. Her characters think and talk about how old people are, and her novels are comically true to the self-centredness of their different ideas of age. What is old? Emma's protégée Harriet Smith, aged seventeen, has her own ideas about this, ideas strong enough for her almost to contradict the wisdom offered by her mentor. Harriet is appalled to hear Emma's recommendation that Robert Martin should wait six years before he think of marrying. 'Six years hence! dear Miss Woodhouse, he would be thirty years old!' (I. iv). The recommendation is deceitful: Emma pretends to disinterested judgement when in fact she is trying to put Robert Martin's marriage beyond Harriet's hopes. Clearly thirty seems an advanced age to Harriet. She goes on, later in the same conversation, to describe the newly married Mr Weston as 'almost an old man', being 'between forty and fifty'. Given Mr Weston's sprightliness – he is always walking somewhere – Harriet's horror at the vale of age that he is entering is comic. Yet her sense that thirty is very late to be marrying is not so foolish. Emma talks as if marriage were merely a prudential undertaking, while Harriet unguardedly speaks from deeper needs. If the choice of a sexual partner is all or nothing, why not choose when you are in your prime?
Judgements of what is inevitable at any given age are invariably ridiculous failures of imagination. 'A woman of seven and twenty . . . can never hope to feel or inspire affection again,' declares Marianne Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility, I. viii). Persuasion, in which the heroine who has lost her bloom is exactly this age, might be a retort. Except that age still matters. In Pride and Prejudice Charlotte Lucas is twenty-seven when she snares a husband, and her age spurs her to waste no time when he hoves into view. She becomes the only woman in all Jane Austen's fiction to marry a man younger than herself. The novelist expects us to notice the slight difference between her age and that of her husband (of about two years). It further emphasises Charlotte's achievement, with little money and no beauty to assist her. It is not clear that in Austen's world it was any more unusual for a wife to be older than her husband than it might be today. In 1792 her brother James married thirty-year-old Anne Mathew, his first wife, when he was twenty-seven. Her brother Henry married his cousin Eliza in 1797 when he was twenty-six and she was ten years older than him. James Austen, whose wife Anne died in 1795, had already proposed to Eliza unsuccessfully in 1796. The pattern was to continue after Austen's death. A year after his first wife, Mary, died in July 1823, her naval brother Frank married his second wife, Martha Lloyd (elder sister of his brother James's second wife Mary). When they married, Frank was fifty-four and Martha was sixty-two or sixty-three. Jane Austen herself was almost twenty-seven when she received a proposal from twenty-one-year-old Harris Bigg-Wither in 1802, and might have received a proposal aged twenty-nine from clergyman Edward Bridges, three years younger than her, in 1805.
The predatory protagonist of Austen's Lady Susan (an early epistolary tale unpublished in the author's lifetime) is said by her sister-in-law to be thirty-five but to look ten years younger (Letter 6). She is well able to ensnare the twenty-three-year-old Reginald De Courcy, and most of the other characters worry that he will indeed marry her. 'Our difference of age must be an insuperable objection,' he reassures his father (Letter 14). Yet the story relies on the possibility that he is wrong. Contradicting even more resoundingly Marianne's judgements about a woman's marriageability after her mid-twenties is the union that opens Emma. The new Mrs Weston, who first joined the Woodhouses as a young governess for the infant Emma and her sister, was with the family for sixteen years, so must be in her mid-thirties. Our realisation of this matters. We are to acknowledge the luck for Miss Taylor, apparently embarked on a lifetime as a superior servant, in finding what Mr Knightley calls 'independence' so late in the day. The novel opens into a discussion of this luck, with Mr Knightley telling Mr Woodhouse that his daughter 'knows how very acceptable it must be at Miss Taylor's time of life to be settled in a home of her own' (I. i). 'Miss Taylor's time of life' is, implicitly, not the usual one at which to be netting a husband. Later, we should be aware again of Mrs Weston's age so that we see the suspect glitter of Frank Churchill's gallantry when he tells Emma in their first conversation that, anticipating meeting his father's new wife, he had 'not expected more than a very tolerably well-looking woman of a certain age', but had found his stepmother to be 'a pretty young woman' (II. v). At the age of thirty-five, the author was herself the object of a similar flourish of flattery on the part of Wyndham Knatchbull, who, at a London evening gathering, apparently called her 'A pleasing looking young woman' (Letters, 72). She reported the comment to Cassandra, adding 'that must do—one cannot pretend to anything better now—thankful to have it continued a few years longer'. Coming from Knatchbull, a London merchant in his sixties, the compliment was more genuine than if it had come from a Frank Churchill, a keen-eyed young man in his early twenties.
For most of Emma, Mrs Weston is pregnant. It is not clear when exactly she tells anyone, but widespread knowledge is suggested in the course of one of Miss Bates's effusions at the ball at the Crown Inn. 'She was now met by Mrs. Weston.—"Very well, I thank you, ma'am. I hope you are quite well. Very happy to hear it. So afraid you might have a headach!—seeing you pass by so often, and knowing how much trouble you must have"' (III. ii). The 'trouble' here seems likely to be the endurance of a first pregnancy in middle age. By now Mrs Weston is in the seventh month of pregnancy, so her condition is likely to be evident to all. We can infer the pleased surprise at her news among her friends, including Emma, and share the apprehension as the expected birth of her baby approaches. Her age gives an extra force to the manner in which the arrival of her daughter is announced. 'Mrs. Weston's friends were all made happy by her safety.' 'Safety' would always be a consideration – two of Austen's sisters-in-law and any number of acquaintances died in childbirth – but here it signals her friends' worries about her having a first child so late. Mr Weston's age is also noticed. When we are told in the novel's first chapter that he is a 'suitable age' to marry Emma's friend, it sounds much like Emma's own judgement. Well into his forties, he is the right age to be marrying a woman who is well out of youth. When he becomes a father again, more than two decades after his first wife gave birth to Frank, we find Emma considering how his daughter will be 'a great comfort to Mr. Weston as he grew older—and even Mr. Weston might be growing older ten years hence' (III. xvii). As she entertains herself with the warming thought of the more sedentary Mr Weston solaced by 'the freaks and the fancies' of his child, we are invited to contrast the image with her relationship with her own elderly father. The gap of years here is a kind of chasm. 'The evil of the actual disparity in their ages (and Mr. Woodhouse had not married early) was much increased by his constitution and habits' (I. i).
Elsewhere in Austen's fiction, marriages between middle-aged women and older men look less commendable. In Sanditon Mr Parker tells Charlotte the full marital history of Lady Denham, who married her first husband, 'an elderly Man' with 'considerable Property', when she was 'about thirty'. We are to infer that her husband, Mr Hollis, might have been in his sixties, and it seems that from the beginning her duty was to 'nurse him' (Ch. 3). 'After a widowhood of some years, she had been induced to marry again.' Her wealth attracts Sir Harry Denham; his title attracts her. Her age at marriage is left unspecified, but we could guess that she was in her forties. Resourceful women are certainly able to find husbands once they themselves are middle-aged. Persuasion relies on our knowing this, for Sir Walter Elliot, in his mid-fifties, is the prey of Mrs Clay, who is called 'a clever young woman' and is a widow in her thirties. Anne thinks of her as 'between thirty and forty' (II. v). When she does so she is comparing her with her friend Mrs Smith, who is just thirty, so we might suppose that Mrs Clay is not so much older. Yet no one in the novel cites age as a reason for thinking their marriage unlikely. Both Anne and Lady Russell fear that it might be entirely possible, and even Elizabeth scorns the idea not because of the age disparity but because Mrs Clay has freckles. Meanwhile it is clear to the reader that Mrs Clay and her father, Mr Shepherd, are calculating on her catching the vain Baronet.
Age matters very much to women, but to men too. Henry Crawford's reflection is characteristically self-regarding, when he tells his sister that he is staying in Mansfield not only for the hunting. 'I am grown too old to go out more than three times a week; but I have a plan for the intermediate days' (II. vi). (His plan is to make Fanny fall in love with him.) He is called 'young' by the narrator and must still be in his early twenties, but likes to talk as if his youth were fled. Mr Knightley feels his age in Emma with better reason. There is a light suggestion of how a man's age does and does not matter in the very manner of telling us about his age at the beginning of Emma, when we are introduced to him as 'a sensible man about seven or eight-and-thirty' (I. i). The narrator sounds as if the character has got beyond precision in these matters. Yet he himself is rather accurate about years and dates. He smiles when he points out that he is sixteen years older than Emma, as if this means that he will always be right in their differences of opinion (I. xii). The disparity in their ages has made some readers feel uncomfortable about their eventual marriage, though Mr Knightley himself likes to draw attention to it. After they have become engaged, he mocks himself for his past censure of Emma, the only good of which was to fix his affections on her: 'by dint of fancying so many errors,' he says, he has been 'in love with you ever since you were thirteen at least' (III. xvii). It is an unsettling declaration, but evidence that the novel is determined to exploit and not try to forget the age difference between these two eventual lovers. The sixteen years between them allowed them not to notice what they felt towards each other. They have behaved as if the gap between their ages precluded romance, but we know that they should have known better. Age does shape their relationship, but not at all as they expected.
TWO
Do Sisters Sleep Together?
At night she opened her heart to Jane.
Pride and Prejudice, III. xvii
Are sisters not more intimate, more truly confiding, than any of Austen's lovers? Jane Austen's own most intimate relationship was with her sister, Cassandra, and a few years ago this gave rise to one of the peculiar controversies that periodically bubble up around Austen. In August 1995 a review essay by Professor Terry Castle of Stanford University on Deirdre Le Faye's new Oxford edition of Jane Austen's Letters appeared in the London Review of Books (LRB). It was concerned mostly with the evidence in surviving letters of the closeness between the two Austen sisters, including their physical closeness. That issue of the LRB carried the question 'Was Jane Austen Gay?' on its cover. Largely because of this surely mischievous headline, the review became the focus of a public controversy about the nature of the sisters' relationship that spilled into magazines and newspapers and other broadcast media. For several months the correspondence column of the LRB was able to rely on freshly provoked contributions from academics and Austen enthusiasts. In a letter of her own to the journal, Professor Castle denied that she had ever suggested that the novelist was 'gay', but pointed out that the two sisters shared a bed for the whole of their adult lives.
What did such intimacy mean? Sisterly chat, of which there is so much in Austen's novels, would surely be peculiarly significant for a writer who would have talked to her own sister in bed. Except that those academics earnestly debating the implications of bed-sharing were, like Emma Woodhouse, 'imaginists'. The LRB debate was brought to a resounding close by Bonnie Herron from the University of Alberta who wrote to point out that Edward Copeland had given a paper at the annual conference of the Jane Austen Society of North America in 1993 showing, from the records of Ring Brothers of Basingstoke, a home furnishing store, that Austen's father had bought the sisters two single made-to-order beds when they were young adults. 'Jane and Cassandra each had her own bed'. The disputants would have been better focusing on the novelist Fanny Burney, Austen's most important female predecessor, whose fiction is notably devoid of sisterly intimacy, but who certainly did share a bed with her own sister, Susan. Their bed-sharing was clearly of some significance to them. Three weeks before Susan's marriage in 1782 to the ominously dashing Captain Molesworth Phillips, Fanny Burney wrote a letter to her expressing some of her mixed feelings about the forthcoming happy event. 'There is something to me at the thought of being so near parting with you as the Inmate of the same House – Room – Bed – confidence – life, that is not very merrifying.'
Jane and Cassandra Austen did share a compact bedroom, which they occupied until the ailing Jane left the family home in Chawton for Winchester in May 1817, aged forty-two. Surely it was a place for sotto voce confidences at the end of the day. Any visitor to Jane Austen's house in Hampshire will be struck by the small sleeping space occupied by two middle-aged women. Indeed, so restricted is this that only one single bed is now placed in the room; if there were the original two, visitors would scarcely be able to enter. Jane and Cassandra might not quite have shared their bodily warmth, as Terry Castle had liked to imagine, but they would have ended and begun each day in intimate isolation from all others. What about the sisters in Austen's novels? Did the novelist assume that they too would have this place of joint retreat where talk would be intimate? The immediate answer is, sometimes – and that where they do, this intimacy is at the heart of the novel.
Most of Austen's sisters have their own bedchambers. There is no need to share bedrooms at Mansfield Park or Kellynch Hall, for instance. This is a fact of wealth and domestic architecture in Mansfield Park and Persuasion, but it is more than this. Both these novels are stories of sisterly alienation. Emma lets us infer a comparable history of sibling separation. Emma's older sister Isabella is long gone from Hartfield, but we know that it is a house large enough always to have allowed the sisters separate rooms. Would the distance of outlook and temperament between Emma and Isabella be imaginable if they had spent their teenage years sharing a bedroom? The Morlands in Northanger Abbey, with their ten children, would have to have a remarkably capacious rectory at Fullerton not to make some room-sharing necessary, and we might presume that Catherine shares at least a bedchamber, if not a bed, with Sarah, who, a year younger than her, has become her 'intimate friend and confidante' (I. ii). Sisterly communication, however, might have been limited to family matters or the pleasures of the latest Gothic novel. Catherine's dizzying encounter with Henry Tilney is her first romance and her three months away from home, first in Bath and then at Northanger Abbey, have transformed her. She has had some fond illusions expelled and she has fallen in love. Sarah's inability to grasp what has happened to her erstwhile confidante is signalled in the penultimate chapter, when Henry Tilney has unexpectedly arrived at the Morlands' rectory and, after initial conversation has given way to awkward silence, has asked if Catherine might show him the way to the Allens' house, that he might pay his respects to them. Sarah blurts out that their house can be seen from the window, producing 'a silencing nod from her mother' (II. xv). Sarah has no idea why Henry and her sister might need an excuse to be alone together.
What about Sense and Sensibility? Barton Cottage has four bedrooms as well as the garrets for the servants, so the Dashwood ladies could have a room each (I. viii). Yet we know that one of the bedrooms is 'spare' and unused, so Elinor and Marianne might indeed be sleeping in the same room. When the two sisters stay in London they are certainly sharing a bedroom. The morning after the party at which they meet Willoughby after his long separation and silence, and at which we witness his coldness to Marianne and his apparent attachment to another woman, Elinor is 'roused from sleep' by Marianne's 'agitation and sobs' and sees her sister 'only half dressed . . . kneeling against one of the window-seats' and writing a letter by the dim early morning light (II. vii). She begins to ask a question, but Marianne stops her short. 'No, Elinor . . . ask nothing.' The refusal to tell her anything presses all the more on Elinor because of the intimacy of their situation. It is in this shared bedroom that the revealing conversation between the sisters takes place a few hours later, when Elinor comes up after breakfast and finds her sister 'stretched on the bed' clasping Willoughby's terrible letter, in which he dishonestly professes surprise that Marianne should have imagined 'more than I felt, or meant to express'. Now Marianne can tell her that 'there has been no engagement between them', and can show her the increasingly anguished letters that she has sent to him. It is hard to imagine the conversation taking place anywhere but a bedroom. The bedroom is commonly Marianne's retreat. She has taken to this sisterly sanctum when the Steele sisters later arrive on a visit, and Elinor is nettled by Miss Steele's suggestion that, if Marianne is 'laid down upon the bed, or in her dressing gown', she and Lucy might go up to see her (II. x). 'Elinor began to find this impertinence too much for her temper' and the elder Miss Steele gets a 'sharp reprimand' from Lucy. Only Marianne's sister can visit her in their bedroom.
We know that Elizabeth and Jane Bennet also share a bedroom. In Pride and Prejudice (I. xxi) Jane receives a letter from Miss Bingley announcing the Bingleys' indefinite absence from Netherfield and she looks for an opportunity to tell Elizabeth about it: 'a glance from Jane invited her to follow her up stairs. When they had gained their own room, Jane, taking out the letter, said, "This is from Caroline Bingley . . . You shall hear what she says".' In their shared room, unhampered talk is natural. Jane tells Elizabeth everything. 'I will read you the passage which particularly hurts me. I will have no reserves from you.' Shut away together from the rest of their family, the two sisters can talk to each other quite explicitly of the prospect of Jane becoming Mr Bingley's wife. When Mrs Bennet talks to her daughters of this prospect, it is painfully embarrassing for them and comic for the reader; when Jane and Elizabeth discuss it in their bedchamber, we hear the truth of their feelings and uncertainties. Later, as the end of the novel approaches, with Lydia already married and Jane betrothed, Elizabeth tells Jane of her engagement to Mr Darcy in their bedroom. 'At night she opened her heart to Jane' (III. xvii). Confidences flow across the gap – as we might imagine – between their beds. 'All was acknowledged, and half the night spent in conversation.'
The bedroom is a sanctum, and only special people may enter. In all Austen's fiction, we never encounter a husband and wife together in a bedroom. We know that General Tilney and his wife had separate bedrooms because Catherine is caught by Henry Tilney sneaking a look at Mrs Tilney's bedroom. Admission to a bedroom is a rare privilege, for the reader as well as for a character. For the sake of some show of 'tenderness', the baleful Bingley sisters visit Jane Bennet in her bedroom during her illness – but it is a Netherfield bedroom, and not Jane's personal domain. Solicitous though he is about her state of health, Mr Bingley does not visit Jane Bennet in her bedroom during her illness. When she is able to come down to the drawing room for a while, Mr Bingley sits with her and talks to almost no one else. But only his sisters are permitted to entertain Jane with their conversation in the bedroom. Elizabeth, meanwhile, signals her closeness to her sister by spending much of her time in the bedroom. When she is first tending Jane, she passes 'the chief of the night' in her room (I. ix).
Sisterly closeness is not necessarily to be admired.
Think of Jane and Elizabeth Bennet and we might suppose that unreserved sisterly talk is admirable. But Austen knows that such confidential talk can allow malign confederacy too. Think of the conversations between sisters that we do not hear – the sisterly chat going on just off stage, perhaps in bedrooms that we never get to visit. In Sense and Sensibility, the Steele sisters talk together, and have always lived in close proximity, even though they are peculiarly divided associates. Miss Steele – Anne – is 'nearly thirty' and 'very plain'; Lucy Steele is 'two or three and twenty' and 'pretty' (I. xxi). There is a special friction that has come from their life together and that is evident when they first converse with Elinor. With superb crassness Miss Steele asks Elinor if she had 'a great many smart beaux' in Sussex, while Lucy looks 'ashamed of her sister'. Anne always says something tactless or inapposite, so Lucy 'generally made an amendment to all her sister's assertions' (I. xxi). Privately, however, in exchanges that we must imagine, they tell each other things. This is crucial to the plot of Sense and Sensibility, for clever, dishonest Lucy makes the mistake of sharing with her sister the secret of her engagement to Edward Ferrars. Anne (or 'Nancy', as Mrs Jennings likes to call her) lets Mrs John Dashwood know, prompting the latter's 'violent hysterics' (III. i). Her mistake (for she has none of the subtlety of calculation that Lucy possesses) is characteristic of the Steele sisters' twisted intimacy. Even what the two do not share still gets shared. During a stroll in Kensington Gardens, Anne Steele cheerfully tells Elinor about the lovers' chat between Edward and Lucy. Elinor is surprised that this exchange should have taken place in her presence.
'La! Miss Dashwood, do you think people make love when any body else is by? Oh, for shame!—To be sure you must know better than that.' (Laughing affectedly.)—'No, no; they were shut up in the drawing-room together, and all I heard was only by listening at the door.' (II. ii)
When Elinor expresses her dismay at this behaviour, the elder Steele assures her that such eavesdropping is more or less what her sister would expect. 'I am sure Lucy would have done just the same by me; for a year or two back, when Martha Sharpe and I had so many secrets together, she never made any bones of hiding in a closet, or behind a chimney-board, on purpose to hear what we said.' Theirs is a relationship of mutual espionage. The Steele sisters have lived so close to each other that such prying has become their way. Only when she has been badly bitten by her sister's indiscretion does Lucy change her policy of confiding in her sister. She conceals her engagement to Robert Ferrars from Anne, and even takes some money from her under false pretences before disappearing with her new paramour.
Sisterly closeness is not necessarily to be admired. Perhaps the closest sisterly conversationalists in Austen's fiction are Kitty and Lydia Bennet. They are habitual companions, a cameo of their companionship given us when they wait in the upstairs room of an inn for Elizabeth's return from Kent. As they travel back from there to Longbourn, Lydia gossips and jokes, 'assisted by Kitty's hints and additions' (II. xvi). Kitty's talk is hooked to Lydia's. Later, when Elizabeth is trying to explain her sister's elopement, she comments on Lydia's preoccupation with 'love, flirtation, and officers': 'She has been doing every thing in her power, by thinking and talking on the subject, to give greater—what shall I call it? susceptibility to her feelings, which are naturally lively enough.' This 'talking' has largely been with Kitty. Kitty is unsurprised at the news of Lydia's elopement and Jane's letter tries to excuse her for having 'concealed their attachment' (III. iv). Kitty knew about their being 'in love' – but not (Jane thinks) before they went to Brighton (III. v) – she knows from letters, not talking. Talking about it would have made her Lydia's abettor. Once Lydia has been rescued from disgrace, the chat between the sisters must be brought to an end. 'From the further disadvantage of Lydia's society she was of course carefully kept' (III. xix).
More poisonous sisterly confederates are Caroline Bingley and Louisa Hurst. Caroline Bingley is the more powerful, but they come as a pair. In Chapter viii of Pride and Prejudice, when Elizabeth leaves the company after dinner to attend to her sick sister, they speak with peculiarly unified intent.
'She has nothing, in short, to recommend her, but being an excellent walker. I shall never forget her appearance this morning. She really looked almost wild.'
'She did indeed, Louisa. I could hardly keep my countenance. Very nonsensical to come at all!' (I. viii)
This is a performance for the benefit of their brother and Mr Darcy. Listen to this almost rehearsed unanimity and you know that these sisters have already been talking, agreeing about their efforts to denigrate Elizabeth. Discussing with Jane Mr Bingley's later neglect of her, Elizabeth certainly takes for granted that both sisters are behind it: '"You persist, then, in supposing his sisters influence him." "Yes, in conjunction with his friend."' (II. i). They are quite a pair. In Miss Bingley's original invitation to Jane to come to Netherfield, she refers to the amount of time that she and Mrs Hurst spend together, and pretends that they are often at loggerheads, 'for a whole day's tête-à-tête between two women can never end without a quarrel' (I. vii). But this is a blind. The sisters are always together and always of a mind.
When Jane visits Miss Bingley in London, she is made to realise that she cannot stay long 'as Caroline and Mrs Hurst were going out' (II. iii). The implication, unperceived by Jane, is that Caroline Bingley has pre-arranged with her sister to extract her from a tricky interview. Again, they have been talking together. When Elizabeth and her aunt, Mrs Gardiner, arrive at Pemberley to visit Georgiana Darcy, she is in the saloon, 'sitting there with Mrs Hurst and Miss Bingley' (III. iii). They have clearly arranged to try to fight Elizabeth off. Miss Bingley confesses the confederacy when she deplores to Mr Darcy the supposed alteration in Elizabeth's appearance since their last meeting. 'She is grown so brown and coarse! Louisa and I were agreeing that we should not have known her again' (III. iii). The fact that this malign pair are always scheming together should allow us to correct what is surely a printer's error in all the standard editions of Pride and Prejudice. In Volume III Chapter xiii, where Jane recognises how she and Bingley were kept from meeting each other while both were in London, she explains, 'It must have been his sister's doing' (III. xiii). But she immediately adds, 'They were certainly no friends to his acquaintance with me.' 'They' were up to something: she and Elizabeth are thinking of both sisters, who have always been scheming together, and Austen must surely have meant 'sisters'' (plural possessive) not 'sister's' (singular possessive).
Sisterly togetherness can be deceptive. Maria and Julia Bertram seem to come as a pair, until we see that they are really rivals. They have 'their own apartments' at Mansfield Park (I. xvi) – all the grandeur that space can provide – and true apartness becomes natural to them. They begin in concert, alternating in their reports of Fanny's ignorance (I. ii). They go out together as 'belles of the neighbourhood' (I. iv). But then come the Crawfords, and the casting of that play. The intimacy between the sisters is what allows Julia to know that she is being fobbed off with an undesirable part. When Henry Crawford asks her to play Amelia, she looks at Maria. 'Maria's countenance was to decide it; if she were vexed and alarmed—but Maria looked all serenity and satisfaction' (I. xiv). Theirs is an antagonistic union: they know each other, as we say, all too well.
The sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was now become her greatest enemy . . . With no material fault of temper, or difference of opinion, to prevent their being very good friends while their interests were the same, the sisters, under such a trial as this, had not affection or principle enough to make them merciful or just, to give them honour or compassion. (I. xvii)
These are sisters reared together as a proud pair who have long since ceased to talk to each other.
Persuasion offers us the one hint of sisterly talk that excludes the heroine but is neither conspiratorial nor rivalrous. Henrietta and Louisa Musgrove may be fairly empty-headed girls, but Anne envies them 'that seemingly perfect good understanding and agreement together, that good-humoured mutual affection, of which she had known so little herself with either of her sisters' (I. v). Close in age (nineteen and twenty) and schooled together, they have an easy – we might imagine somewhat giggly – closeness. When Captain Wentworth becomes a regular visitor to the Musgrove home and the dancing begins, we glimpse the possibility of a Bertram scenario: 'as for Henrietta and Louisa, they both seemed so entirely occupied by him, that nothing but the continued appearance of the most perfect good-will between themselves could have made it credible that they were not decided rivals' (I. viii). But the potential rivalry evaporates exactly because of their habit of talking to each other. On the walk with Anne, Mary Musgrove, Charles Musgrove and Wentworth, they find themselves suddenly in sight of Winthrop, where Henrietta's discarded suitor Charles Hayter lives. Mary, disliking this liaison, wants to turn back.
Henrietta, conscious and ashamed, and seeing no cousin Charles walking along any path, or leaning against any gate, was ready to do as Mary wished; but 'No!' said Charles Musgrove, and 'No, no!' cried Louisa more eagerly, and taking her sister aside, seemed to be arguing the matter warmly. (I. x)
This moment of pressing sisterly talk – of witnessed intimacy – enables Henrietta's change of heart. We naturally assume from the exchange that Louisa knows her sister's true feelings: Henrietta has talked to her of them before now. Her awkwardness conquered, Henrietta goes with her brother to call on the Hayters and her future is happily decided.
All Austen's heroines have sisters. Sense and Sensibility is unique is giving us, at first, the thoughts of both of them when they talk privately together. Marianne smiles 'within herself' when Elinor says that Edward has a taste for drawing (I. iv). Then later in the same conversation Elinor 'was sorry for the warmth she had been betrayed into, in speaking of him' (I. iv). This is confidential talk indeed: the sisters discuss Elinor's feelings for Edward, and Marianne finds out that they are not engaged. Yet despite the movement between viewpoints the conversation is unbalanced. Elinor's measured sentences are set against Marianne's histrionic exclamations: 'Cold-hearted Elinor!' It will not be long before private speech between the sisters is reported entirely from Elinor's point of view. In a novel so concerned with secrecy, it is telling that, while Elinor and Marianne are often alone together, attempts at conversation are often stopped short. '"Marianne, may I ask?"—"No, Elinor," she replied, "ask nothing; you will soon know all."' (II. vii). When Marianne does finally tell Elinor the truth about her relationship with Willoughby, it is an outpouring that permits no actual exchange between the two. After her recovery from her near-fatal illness, Marianne has, notoriously, learned to talk to her sister in an entirely new way. Back in Devon, the two sisters go for a walk together, Marianne 'leaning on Elinor's arm' (III. x). The younger sister embarks on a flow of self-reproval couched in balanced Johnsonian sentences such as she would once have scorned.
There are, in fact, only five significant conversations between Elinor and Marianne in Sense and Sensibility. In Pride and Prejudice we are given twelve private conversations between Elizabeth and Jane. Their retreat into each other's company is a recurrent feature of the novel. Volume II Chapter xvii begins, 'Elizabeth's impatience to acquaint Jane with what had happened could no longer be overcome . . .' (the news is Darcy's proposal and Wickham's perfidy). This is typical. The sisters are constantly looking for opportunities to be alone together. Jane is Elizabeth's 'willing listener' (II. xvii), even if their conversations commonly stage the clash between Elizabeth's candour (in our sense of unsentimental truth telling) and Jane's 'candour' (in Austen's sense of thinking the best of people). In their crowded house, they have to spend time finding places to talk. One of their haunts is the shrubbery, where Elizabeth tells Jane about Darcy's supposed cruelty to Wickham in the shrubbery (I. xvii). They take their moments in what spaces they can, sometimes simply having to 'walk out' from the house in order to be able to communicate with each other (III. vii).
Such communication is unusual in Austen's fiction, even where sisters like each other. In Mansfield Park Fanny Price returns to her family home in Portsmouth, to find, as well as much discord, a new 'intimacy' with her sister Susan (III. ix). 'Susan was her only companion and listener' (III. xiii). But Austen strangely muffles the relationship. Before this conversational kinship is established, we do hear Susan speak, complaining mostly about the running of the household. Once she and Fanny become companions, no word of dialogue between the sisters is given us. There is some sisterly talk similarly missing from Emma. When Emma's sister Isabella visits Hartfield for Christmas, she speaks a good deal, but from Chapters xi to xvii she says no word of directly quoted dialogue to Emma herself. The sisters speak at opposite ends of a crowded room, or through intermediaries. Emma, we have been told, has had seven years without Isabella's company since her sister got married. The sisters are not well matched, but the separation is also a narrative requirement: in this novel Austen needs to isolate her heroine from advice and confidences and private conversation.
In the end, in Persuasion, Austen has abandoned the idea that sisterliness might permit the warmest kind of intimacy. Though its plot is as sister-influenced as that of Pride and Prejudice – it too turns on an estate that will go to a more distant relative because a father has produced only daughters – its heroine has just one reported conversation with her elder sister, Elizabeth. This is when Anne warns her that Mrs Clay might have designs upon their father. Sisterhood makes the conversation possible, but also difficult. Anne is coldly rebuffed, though she hopes that her sister might be 'made observant' by this private exchange (I. v). With her other sister, Mary, in contrast, there is no shortage of one-to-one conversation, though this usually casts Anne as a tactful therapist, listening to Mary's complaints and talking her round into cheerfulness. It is Mary, naturally, who causes her sister peculiar pain when she happily reports Wentworth saying, 'You were so altered he should not have known you again' (I. vii). No wonder that sisterly chat holds no allure for Anne. It is often remarked that Persuasion marks a new departure – taking its heroine off to sea and leaving the landed gentry to their houses and their fates. It is also the end of sisterhood. When Anne becomes engaged once more to Wentworth, she cares 'nothing' about the 'disproportion in their fortune', but a different imbalance does pain her:
to have no family to receive and estimate him properly, nothing of respectability, of harmony, of good will to offer in return for all the worth and all the prompt welcome which met her in his brothers and sisters, was a source of as lively pain as her mind could well be sensible of under circumstances of otherwise strong felicity. She had but two friends in the world to add to his list, Lady Russell and Mrs Smith. (II. xii)
Anne has escaped her family and can feel a melancholy relief. There is no more need for talking to her sisters.
THREE
What Do the Characters Call Each Other?
. . . in the whole of the sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between them.
Sense and Sensibility, I. xii
Only one married woman in all Jane Austen's novels calls her husband by his Christian name. The wife in question is Mary Musgrove (née Elliot) in Persuasion. Not only does she refer to her husband as 'Charles' when talking to her sister Anne, she calls him 'Charles' when she speaks to him directly. Are we to take this as a commendable modern intimacy? Or is it an unwonted breach of domestic decorum? It is likely that anything Mary says will be a little wrong, and we note that she first addresses him as 'Charles' to oppose his wish to leave her with her sick child in order to go to meet Captain Wentworth. 'Oh! no, indeed, Charles, I cannot bear to have you go away' (I. vii). Such informality seems to make dispute all the easier for Mary, as when her husband tells Anne that Captain Benwick is full of her virtues. 'Mary interrupted him. "I declare, Charles, I never heard him mention Anne twice all the time I was there"' (I. ii). She is always ready to make an objection. 'Good heavens, Charles! how can you think of such a thing? . . . Oh! Charles, I declare it will be too abominable if you do . . . But you must go, Charles. It would be unpardonable to fail' (II. xxiv). Charles Musgrove in turn addresses his wife as 'Mary' when he wishes to contradict her. 'Now you are talking nonsense, Mary'(I. ix); 'Now Mary, you know very well how it really was. It was all your doing . . . Now Mary, I declare it was so, I heard it myself, and you were in the other room' (II. ii).
Any keen reader of Austen will register, though perhaps only half-consciously, the weight of this. For even the fondest of Austen's other wives find some alternative to using their husbands' Christian names. Mrs Croft may be 'Sophy' to her husband, but he is 'my dear admiral' to her. Mr Weston may address his wife as 'Anne, my dear', but she calls him 'Mr. Weston'. The Weston example is particularly striking as we are hearing this recently married couple talking without any witnesses and therefore without any need for formality. We never know Mr Weston's forename – nor Mr Allen's, Mr Palmer's, Mr Bennet's, Dr Grant's, or Admiral Croft's. Even Mrs Elton has to find a nauseating endearment – 'Mr. E' – rather than brandish her husband's Christian name (Emma, II. xiv). Will none of Austen's heroines use their beloved husband's first names after marriage? Elinor Dashwood might do so when she has become Elinor Ferrars, as her husband has long been 'Edward' to her family. He has qualified by already being a relative by marriage. Elizabeth Bennet might be put off doing so by her husband's cumbersome Christian name, Fitzwilliam. But surely Anne Elliot will call Captain Wentworth 'Frederick'? At least in private? We cannot know, but nothing in the talk between married couples in the novels encourages us to think that she will.
The nature of the Musgrove marriage is revealed to us by this small touch: their use of each other's first names. It is no sign of amorous feeling (Charles has married Mary, after all, because Anne would not have him). Rather, it dramatises the companionable disrespect of their relationship. They complain about each other, but in a fatalistic vein, and they also complain in unison, about the failure of Charles's parents to give them more money. They cannot agree about many things, but are not afraid to disagree. They bicker, but they take their social pleasures together. Neither admirable nor wholly improper, their informality in naming each other epitomises this relationship. In Austen's novels, as here, we should notice conventions about how people name others in order to see how they are disobeyed – or to see that different characters follow different conventions. Charlotte Heywood in Sanditon notes Lady Denham's 'oldfashioned formality' towards her young companion, and distant relation, 'of always calling her Miss Clara' (Ch. 6). But clearly some conventions have a near-moral force. After Maria Bertram gets married, she is always 'Mrs. Rushworth' to both Fanny and the narrator. To call her anything else, even in one's thoughts, would be to undo her marital ties. And this is just what Henry Crawford desires. Encountering her coldness, 'he must get the better of it, and make Mrs. Rushworth Maria Bertram again in her treatment of himself' (III. xvii).
Informality between spouses is not symmetrical. In the second chapter of Sense and Sensibility, John Dashwood calls his wife 'My dear Fanny', though she addresses him as 'My dear Mr. Dashwood' (I. ii). 'Shall we walk, Augusta?' says Mr Elton to his wife in front of the group at Box Hill. This is almost ostentatious. 'Happy creature! He called her "Augusta." How delightful!' says Harriet Smith, after first meeting the vicar's new wife (II. xiv). Her exclamation indicates that the Eltons are behaving in an unusual, perhaps modish, manner. Mr Elton's flourishing of 'Augusta' is made the more repellent by Mrs Elton's mock-coy revelation that he wrote an acrostic on her name while courting her in Bath. Yet it is not simply 'wrong' to use your wife's Christian name. Admiral Croft addresses his wife Sophia as 'Sophy' as he sits in his gig with her and Anne (I. x). She addresses him as 'my dear' and, with an anxious exclamation as he steers erratically, 'My dear admiral, that post!' When Admiral Croft talks to Anne he commonly quotes or cites the support of his wife, and invariably calls her 'Sophy'. We are to notice this as a marked informality: he is the only husband in Austen's novels to call his wife by an affectionate shortening of her Christian name. Yet this is surely at one with his breezy good-heartedness, and a sign of the couple's closeness. His uxoriousness is such that, at one point, as he struggles to remember Louisa Musgrove's name, he frankly wishes that all women were called Sophy.
Equally enamoured of a special name is Fanny Price in Mansfield Park: 'there is nobleness in the name of Edmund. It is a name of heroism and renown . . .' (II. iv). A person's Christian name is a kind of magic word. The heroine-centred novels of the eighteenth century invariably gave their protagonists singular names. The trend was set by Samuel Richardson with Pamela (1740) – a name previously to be found only in literary romance. Other heroines of successful eighteenth-century novels were called Clarissa, Evelina, Emmeline, Cecilia and Camilla. Austen chooses traditional English names for her heroines, but for other female characters she chooses names that sometimes seem to announce unreliability. The range of female names in Austen's fiction is far wider than the range of male names (twenty-six male versus fifty-five female, even though there are scarcely more named female characters than named male characters). The wider lexicon allows for romantic names that bode ill: Maria, Julia, Lydia, Augusta and Selina. Marianne, a recent importation from France, should give us pause. The Musgrove sisters, bubbly provincial aspirants to fashion, come as a named pair: Henrietta and Louisa. These are new names. The Musgroves, in their state of change, 'perhaps of improvement', enshrine their family ambitions in their daughters' names. One of the running jokes in Persuasion is Admiral Croft's inability to remember Louisa's Christian name, which is really a sign of her failure of character. 'And very nice young ladies they both are; I hardly know one from the other' (I. x). Before he tells Anne the news of Louisa's engagement to Captain Benwick, he says, 'you must tell me the name of the young lady I am going to talk about' (II. vi). A few minutes after Anne has done so, and he has confidently referred to her as 'Louisa Musgrove', he is saying that Captain Wentworth's letter to his sister did not indicate 'that he had ever thought of this Miss (what's her name?) for himself'.
In Austen's novels as in her family, names are often handed down to signify continuity. 'Henry is the eldest, he was named after me,' says Mr Woodhouse of his grandson. 'Isabella would have him called Henry, which I thought very pretty of her' (Emma, I. ix). In Mansfield Park, Tom Bertram, the eldest son, has been named after the pater familias, Sir Thomas. In Persuasion, Charles Musgrove's eldest son is called Charles, while Mr Elliot carries the name Walter, which he despises (II. ix). Eldest daughters often get their mother's names, as Cassandra Austen did: Maria Bertram and Fanny Price in Mansfield Park; Elizabeth Elliot in Persuasion. Some names peculiarly meant something to Austen. Northanger Abbey opens with a private joke about the name Richard – 'a very respectable man, though his name was Richard' – that the centuries of annotation have not clarified. Perhaps there are other examples of names that had some family meaning to the Austens. It is difficult not to think that the characters in Jane Austen's fiction who shared her author's name – Jane Bennet and Jane Fairfax – thereby acquired a special interest for knowing readers.
As well as those married men whose forenames we never know, think of the women: Mrs Dashwood, Mrs Bennet, Mrs Allen, Mrs Norris, Mrs Grant, Mrs Dixon, Mrs Smith. The last of these is particularly significant, as she is Anne Elliot's old and intimate friend, and the two women are usually found talking alone together. The formality perhaps tells us something of the original age gap between the friends and suggests a distance that remains. Mrs Grant's name remains unknown because in each of several private conversations, Mary Crawford calls her 'Mrs. Grant' or 'sister', while being called 'Mary' – sometimes 'dear Mary' or 'dearest Mary' – in return. The women are some ten years apart in age, so Mrs Grant is a semi-maternal figure, and she is married, so Mary Crawford is speaking in a proper way. Yet the younger woman is a good deal more worldly and more penetrating than her half-sister. The asymmetry of their forms of address helps create the sense that Mrs Grant is an indulgent, fond attendant on Mary, who need not exactly requite her attentions.
Such asymmetry is often telling. The famous example is in Emma, where Mr Knightley uses the heroine's forename, but she never uses his. This serves the plot: his use of Emma's forename signifies that he is an honorary family member and a kind of father figure, and therefore out of the romantic running. It helps to sustain Emma's own failure to think of him in romantic terms. (Mr Weston – licensed by his wife's intimacy with Emma perhaps – also uses her forename, without any suggestion of offence.) Emma, in turn, always addresses Harriet Smith as 'Harriet', but Harriet, with all that proper respect that Emma so enjoys, never uses her Christian name, always addressing her as 'Miss Woodhouse'. Emma simply assumes that Harriet's name is hers to use. It is inconceivable that Harriet would have invited Emma to use her Christian name. Here the asymmetry enacts a power difference. It also enables Emma to avoid the damning ordinariness of Harriet's surname. ('Mrs. Smith, such a name!' exclaims Sir Walter Elliot in Persuasion (II. v).) But how does it feel to Mr Elton, who always calls her 'Miss Smith'? Every time he does so he thinks of the lowness of her origins. When he proposes to Emma, who tells him that he should be addressing himself to her protégée instead, his disbelief is measured by the number of times he repeats the name 'Miss Smith!' How could he couple himself to someone with such a name – which, as she is illegitimate, is almost certainly not the name of her unknown father.
Comparably, in Persuasion, Elizabeth Elliot calls Mrs Clay 'Penelope', but the pseudo-respectful Mrs Clay addresses her as 'My dear Miss Elliot' (II. x). Elizabeth's use of Mrs Clay's first name is evidently improper when she never calls her own sister 'Anne'. It is doubly so when Elizabeth has extended her intimacy to a woman whose interest in her is entirely predatory. In Sense and Sensibility the Miss Steeles so wheedle their way into the John Dashwood establishment that Elinor hears 'accounts of the favour they were in' from Sir John Middleton. 'Mrs. Dashwood had never been so much pleased with any young women in her life as she was with them; had given each of them a needle book, made by some emigrant; called Lucy by her Christian name; and did not know whether she should ever be able to part with them' (II. xiv). Lucy will not be calling Mrs John Dashwood by her Christian name, but the power imbalance is not as obvious as it seems. Lucy Steele is working on her new patroness. More evidently subordinate is Fanny Price, who calls Maria Bertram 'Miss Bertram', while Maria Bertram calls her 'Fanny'. More unsettling is the asymmetry by which Edmund always calls Fanny by her forename, but Fanny never calls him Edmund. In extremis, she will exclaim, 'Oh! Cousin . . .' (e.g. II. ix). The imbalance is calculated by the novelist. What Fanny has most to suffer is the torment of Edmund's easy intimacy with her: 'My dear Fanny . . .' She preserves the possibility, unlikely though she believes it, of moving to some greater intimacy. If she ever calls him Edmund, it will only be at the moment when he ceases to be her cousin.
Familiarity can be contemptuous. When Miss Bingley tells Elizabeth Bennet at a ball that she is foolish to be charmed by Mr Wickham, she refers to him as 'George Wickham' three times in one short paragraph, and the very use of his forename is scornful. Names are used by Austen, as well as by her characters, as though they are precious material, so we sometimes hear only once, glancingly, what someone's name is. Thus the label on the trunk seen by Harriet Smith, directed to Mr Elton at his hotel in Bath, which names him as Philip (II. v). Or the signature on Mr Collins's letter to Mr Bennet that shows him, for the only time in Pride and Prejudice, to be called William. There is the signature 'John Willoughby' at the foot of the letter that cruelly disclaims any attachment between himself and Marianne Dashwood (II. vii). Or the one passing endearment from Mr to Mrs Weston that reveals her to be called Anne. We only find out Captain Benwick's Christian name for the first time late in Persuasion, when Admiral Croft refers to him as 'James Benwick' (II. vi). Is this the privilege of seniority? Or a further example of the Admiral's bracing informality? What about Mr Elliot? Eventually we read the letter where, for the only time, we see he is called William – and hear him say that he hates the Elliot name (II.ix). (William Walter Elliot is the only character in Austen's completed fiction to be given two forenames, burdening him with the reminder of his lineage.)
As narrator, Austen shares the sensitivities of her characters in the matter of names.
The mere use of a person's Christian name is a rare privilege and can carry great weight. The famous example is in Sense and Sensibility, where Elinor overhears Willoughby discussing the gift of a horse with her sister and saying, 'Marianne, the horse is still yours' (I. xii). Elinor knows what to think: 'in the whole of the sentence, in his manner of pronouncing it, and in his addressing her sister by her Christian name alone, she instantly saw an intimacy so decided, a meaning so direct, as marked a perfect agreement between them. From that moment she doubted not of their being engaged to each other.' A woman who lets a man speak her name has given him a special power. We hear Willoughby's loss of this privilege when he turns up at Cleveland to explain himself to Elinor. He declares that his purpose is 'to obtain something like forgiveness from Ma—from your sister' (III. viii). He used to call her 'Marianne', an acknowledgement of intimacy, and now – married to another woman – he has forfeited the right to do so.
Between two young women, the habit is easier. The 'quick' progress of the friendship between Catherine and Isabella in Northanger Abbey means that, on their second meeting, 'They called each other by their Christian name' (I. v). But the quickness is suspect. Isabella is interested in Catherine as a way to her brother, and all her warmth is feigned. In contrast, it is a long time before Catherine calls Eleanor Tilney by her Christian name. Although we may not realise it until we search the text, 'it is not until the very night of the General's barbarously turning Catherine out of doors that we hear Eleanor and Catherine use each other's Christian names'. The sense of decorum with which Henry Tilney's sister is addressed is emphasised by the the narrator's habit of calling her 'Miss Tilney'. It is a long time before even the novelist can dare to use Miss Tilney's forename, well into the second volume of the novel, when Catherine hears Captain Tilney 'whisper to Eleanor' (II. v). Catherine waits even longer before using Eleanor's name. After their acquaintance in Bath and four weeks' stay at Northanger Abbey, the first occasion recorded by the novel is one of high feeling. Eleanor has come to Catherine to tell her that her father has decreed that she must leave. Eleanor begins her mortifying announcement, 'My dear Catherine . . .' (II. xiii). Catherine responds with the same, new informality. '"My dear Eleanor," cried Catherine . . .' (II. xiii). Now the intimacy has been hazarded, and Catherine can have confidence in it. 'Do not be distressed, Eleanor . . .' A crisis has pushed them to this closeness. 'You must write to me, Catherine' . . . 'Oh, Eleanor, I will write to you indeed.' Few readers will be conscious that the two women are now naming each other in a new way. The novels employ nuances such as this that shape any sensitive reader's understanding, but that only text-searching can reveal.
In Mansfield Park Mary Crawford calls Fanny by her Christian name for the first time in a note, written with the (false) assurance that Fanny is about to become engaged to her brother (II. xiii). Though Mary Crawford may be expert at infiltrating people's affections, she is clever enough to know when she is risking familiarity, and explicitly draws attention to her new assumption of intimacy. 'My Dear Fanny, for so I may now always call you, to the infinite relief of a tongue that has been stumbling at Miss Price for the last six weeks'. 'Stumbling' because it is a formality, she implies, that hinders confidence and affection. From here on, her use of Fanny's name is a constant assault on her defences, often in phrases such as 'dear Fanny' or 'Good, gentle Fanny' (III. v). Mary Crawford is herself called 'Mary' by the narrator in scenes with only her brother or Mrs Grant, who both use her Christian name, but is called 'Miss Crawford' by the narrator in scenes with Fanny. Fanny is resolute against her blandishments and the novelist is with her. This just begins to change in the third volume, in a scene where Miss Crawford is reminding Fanny that her brother has helped William Price gain promotion. '"I cannot imagine Henry ever to have been happier," continued Mary presently, "than when he had succeeded in getting your brother's commission." She had made a sure push at Fanny's feelings here' (III. v).
If familiarity is noticeable, nicknames and shortenings are potentially jarring. Some can be disdainful. Sir Thomas Bertram's son becomes 'Tom' to everyone because he is himself no respecter of tradition or obligation. When the Musgrove sisters start lamenting 'poor Richard' the author informs us that they are in fact referring to 'a thick-headed, unfeeling, unprofitable Dick Musgrove' (Persuasion, I. vi). In fact he 'had never done any thing to entitle himself to more than the abbreviation of his name'. 'Richard' is respectful; 'Dick' dismissive. Fanny Price's father calls her 'Fan', a rough informality that is all the more striking as she addresses him as 'Sir' in reply (Mansfield Park, III. xv). She seems to be trying to tug him back to a gentility that he has forgotten.
Men in Austen use each other's surnames for informality. In Sense and Sensibility, Sir John Middleton calls his brother-in-law 'Palmer', at least in company (I. xix). In Mansfield Park, Henry Crawford calls Edmund 'Bertram' and Edmund calls Henry Crawford 'Crawford'. In Emma, Mr Knightley refers to Mr Weston as 'Weston' when he talks to Mrs Weston. It is a form of familiarity in which Austen joins. In Sense and Sensibility, the narrator from the first refers to 'Willoughby', not 'Mr Willoughby'. Soon Elinor, Marianne and Mrs Dashwood are also calling him this. After he has jilted Marianne and his history as a seducer has been revealed, he arrives for a confrontation with Elinor who, for the first time, resolutely addresses him as 'Mr. Willoughby': his privilege has been withdrawn. In Pride and Prejudice Mr Darcy is 'Darcy' to his friend Mr Bingley, but soon to the narrator as well. He is later called 'Darcy' by his cousin Colonel Fitzwilliam and his aunt Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Wickham refers to him as 'Darcy' in a dialogue with Elizabeth late in the novel, when he comes to Longbourn as Lydia's husband. We can take the familiarity as further evidence of Wickham's untrustworthiness. Elizabeth calls her future husband 'Darcy' just once in the whole novel, in confidential conversation with Jane, as she reveals his proposal (and Wickham's nefariousness). 'There is but such a quantity of merit between them; just enough to make one good sort of man . . . For my part, I am inclined to believe it all Darcy's' (II. xvii). Her informal use of his name is a stronger sign of her good will towards him than the judgement she is passing. Wickham, in contrast, is first called by his surname by the narrator, the sign of an impending familiarity (I. xvi). The first character who refers to him in this way is Mr Bennet, who jestingly and improperly tells Elizabeth, 'Let Wickham be your man. He is a pleasant fellow, and would jilt you creditably' (II. i). The next to do so is, tellingly, Lydia, who refers to 'dear Wickham' when she is reporting to Elizabeth that he is not, after all, to marry the heiress Mary King. 'There is no danger of Wickham's marrying Mary King . . . Wickham is safe.' It is a clue to Lydia's later attachment to him. And once the truth about him has been revealed, he becomes 'Wickham' to Elizabeth and Jane too (II. xvii).
In the fullest treatment of names in Austen, Maggie Lane suggests that this familiar use of men's surnames was a fashion left over from the 1790s, when early versions of Sense and Sensibility and Pride and Prejudice were first composed. 'We would never speak of Churchill or Elliot,' she observes. The former is indeed always 'Frank Churchill', but surely for special reasons: not just because his adoptive father, Mr Churchill, is still alive, but also because the two elements of his social being – the name his father has given him and the name he has taken from his adoptive parents – have to be equally stated. He will never be 'Churchill' because it is not his true name. Meanwhile we know that Mr Elliot called Mrs Smith's husband 'Smith', so presumably did get called 'Elliot' in return. The issue is really whether women might use men's surnames, and is brought alive by Mrs Elton's evident impertinence in Emma. Who arrived when she was meeting the Westons for the first time? she asks Emma. '"Knightley!" continued Mrs. Elton; "Knightley himself!—Was not it lucky?"' (II. xiv) We do not need a social historian to explain why Emma is silently indignant. 'Absolutely insufferable! Knightley!—I could not have believed it. Knightley!—never seen him in her life before, and call him Knightley!' Mrs Elton does not only continue to talk of 'Knightley', she addresses him as such. '"Is not this most vexatious, Knightley?" . . . "Pray be sincere, Knightley" . . . "Yes, believe me, Knightley"' (III. vi). The convention of this familiarity has not changed; what is novel is Mrs Elton's singular presumptuousness in adopting it.
Unlike those much younger men from the earlier novels, Mr Knightley is always called 'Mr' by the narrator. He famously tires of the formality.
'"Mr. Knightley."—You always called me, "Mr. Knightley;" and, from habit, it has not so very formal a sound.—And yet it is formal. I want you to call me something else, but I do not know what.'
'I remember once calling you "George," in one of my amiable fits, about ten years ago. I did it because I thought it would offend you; but, as you made no objection, I never did it again.'
'And cannot you call me "George" now?'
'Impossible!—I never can call you any thing but "Mr. Knightley." I will not promise even to equal the elegant terseness of Mrs. Elton, by calling you Mr. K.' (III. xvii)
Even being in love does not let you use a man's Christian name. Thus an added reason for Catherine Morland's distress as she is about to leave Northanger Abbey. Parting from Eleanor Tilney, she wants to mention 'one whose name had not yet been spoken by either' (II. xiv). She asks to be remembered to 'her absent friend', but at 'this approach to his name' she is overcome by emotion. The impossibility of Henry's name is all the greater as she has never used it, even to Eleanor.
To use a Christian name with amorous intent is hazardous indeed. The climax of the after-dinner evening at Mansfield Park, where Mr Crawford shows off his reading skills to Fanny and tries to pressure her into conversational exchange, is his first ever use of her Christian name. Expressing his 'warmest hopes' of some eventual return of his professed affection, he exclaims 'Yes, dearest, sweetest Fanny—Nay—(seeing her draw back displeased) forgive me.' He knows that she has been offended not by the endearments but by the use of her name. 'Perhaps I have as yet no right—but by what other name can I call you?' Austen does not need to describe Fanny's feelings; we are to sense vividly her embarrassment and displeasure when he goes on to tell her, 'it is "Fanny" that I think of all day, and dream of all night' (III. iii). What we perhaps hardly notice is the amorous hyperbole of his finding in her 'some touches of the angel' earlier in his speech. But we should, for we have heard Mrs Norris thinking Julia 'an angel' much earlier on in the novel. Mr Crawford is not so completely wrong as her, but is falling back on the same cliché. He talks as if modesty and principle were more than human. He never addresses her as 'Fanny' again.
A more subtle impertinence is his sister's addressing Fanny as 'my dear child'; it is a form of would-be endearment that is precisely calculated by the author. It catches Mary Crawford's fundamentally condescending attachment to Fanny, but it also shows us how unaware she is of Fanny's feelings. Fanny has grown into a womanly rival for Edmund's affections, no child any longer. The impertinent endearment is only used elsewhere in Austen by one other character, Mrs Elton, who addresses the powerless and humiliated Jane Fairfax as 'my dear child'. She takes possession of Jane Fairfax by calling her 'Jane', to Frank Churchill's evident surprise and distaste (II. ii). When he writes his long letter explaining his actions to Mrs Weston – and thus to Emma too – he expresses his anger at Mrs Elton's 'system of . . . treatment' of Jane Fairfax, and his protest focuses on her use of his fiancée's Christian name. '"Jane," indeed!—You will observe that I have not yet indulged myself in calling her by that name, even to you' (III. xiv). 'Think, then, what I must have endured in hearing it bandied between the Eltons with all the vulgarity of needless repetition, and all the insolence of imaginary superiority.' And this is the point: Jane Fairfax is certainly not going to call Mrs Elton 'Augusta'.
As narrator, Austen shares the sensitivities of her characters in the matter of names. So she has the peculiar habit of referring to a character formally and informally in the same stretch of narrative. When Charlotte Lucas sets about luring Mr Collins into a marriage proposal, we are told 'Charlotte's kindness extended further . . . Such was Miss Lucas's scheme' (I. xxii). The first statement seems to take us sympathetically into the character's thoughts; the second to view her with a colder detachment. 'Charlotte had been tolerably encouraging . . . Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window . . .': these are in almost adjacent sentences. 'Miss Lucas, who accepted him solely from the pure and disinterested desire of an establishment . . . Charlotte herself was tolerably composed . . .' The reader is hardly conscious of the narrator's movement back and forth between formal and familiar names, but it conditions our odd mix of sympathy and horror at what the character is doing.
Formality can be painful, never more than in Persuasion, when Captain Wentworth addresses Anne as 'madam' in his first words to her that are actually quoted in the novel (I. viii). Then, in the crisis after Louisa Musgrove's fall, she overhears him exclaim, 'but, if Anne will stay, no one so proper, so capable as Anne!' (I. xii) It takes her a moment 'to recover from the emotion of hearing herself so spoken of' – and the emphatic use of her Christian name, twice, is partly what causes this emotion. The modern reader knows that Captain Wentworth is acknowledging her competence and care, but the name-sensitive reader knows that, by calling her 'Anne', he is releasing the energy of pent feelings. In the cancelled manuscript Chapter x, he exclaims 'Anne, my own dear Anne!', but in the finished novel he is never heard actually to address her by her Christian name. The avoidance of a name can be powerful too. After their first meeting, in a passage where Anne is thinking about Captain Wentworth, he is called by his name and title. At a certain point, however, Anne starts avoiding his name in her thoughts, so the narrator starts avoiding it too. When Anne is introduced to Mr Elliot, we hear that 'his manners were so exactly what they ought to be, so polished, so easy, so particularly agreeable, that she could compare them in excellence to only one person's manners' (II. iii). That 'one person' is Captain Wentworth, but his name is suppressed. Or again, when Mr Elliot recalls looking at her at Lyme 'with some earnestness', 'She knew it well; and she remembered another person's look also.' The avoidance of 'Captain Wentworth' is a concession of feeling on the part of the heroine. Perhaps she once called him 'Frederick' and now declines the formality of his title and surname when she thinks of him. It is the comparison with Mr Elliot – the resexualisation of the heroine – that forces the suppression. When Lady Russell invites her to consider herself as the future Lady Elliot, she knows that she cannot accept Mr Elliot – partly because 'her feelings were still adverse to any man save one' (II. v). So much is in a name that the narrator, in imitation of the heroine, has to omit it. It is just too potent a word.
FOUR
How Do Jane Austen's Characters Look?
'She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire . . .'
Emma, II. iii
Jane Austen aficionados like to share their mild outrage at the casting in some of the many film versions of her novels, especially the casting of the actresses who play the heroines. Sometimes this is prompted by the film-makers' provocative neglect of Austen's characterisation – the choice, for instance, of Billie Piper, energetic action girl, as Fanny Price in an ITV Mansfield Park – but often the offence is a matter of looks. Could Gwyneth Paltrow be Emma, as she was in the 1996 Hollywod film? Her accent was less a worry than her looks. Not only the wrong-coloured eyes (blue instead of Emma's 'true hazle') but also a willowy frame that seemed not to match Austen's insistence on her heroine's physical robustness. And how could the thin and delicate Keira Knightley be chosen for Elizabeth Bennet, famous for her three-mile walk down lanes and across loamy fields? Such casting is often an affront to our presuppositions about how Austen's heroines look. The affront is telling, for these presuppositions are founded on so much that is only implicit in the novels themselves. We do not know, for instance, even the colour of these heroines' hair. How people look is often suggested rather than specified in Austen's novels. Why should she not tell us?
Perhaps because she would have us, like Laurence Sterne in Tristram Shandy, imagine an attractive woman to meet our own requirements: 'Sit down, Sir, paint her to your own mind—as like your mistress as you can—as unlike your wife as your conscience will let you.' But Austen wants us to think not so much about how characters look, but how they look to each other. Her sparing use of specification when it comes to looks is striking when looks can be so important. Think of the Bennet girls, who must rely on their personal attractions to win them some kind of financial security and social standing. When Jane Bennet becomes engaged to Mr Bingley her mother exclaims, with embarrassing glee and yet also honesty, 'I was sure you could not be so beautiful for nothing!' (Pride and Prejudice, III. xiii). There is the sense confessed quietly throughout Austen's narrative that looks are hugely important (thus those words used so frequently about characters when we first meet them: handsome, pretty, gentlemanlike, elegant). Austen herself is too honest not to mention a character's looks when he or she is introduced to us. And yet there is often the sense for the reader that looks are difficult to catch, elusive, unspecifiable. This is partly because Austen wants to avoid the strained formulae of other novels. For most novelists of Austen's age and earlier, a heroine's looks belong with her predictable parcel of virtues. In the first chapter of a novel that Jane Austen certainly read, Mary Brunton's Self-Control (1810), we find that the heroine, Laura Montreville, is possessed of 'consummate loveliness', 'cheerful good sense' and 'matchless simplicity'. There is a ready vocabulary of superlatives for any novel heroine, for her virtues and for her attractiveness. Austen needed to escape such a vocabulary, and thus came her interest in the indefinability of some of her most important characters' looks. (One of her tricks is to save her precise descriptions for minor characters.)
The elusive qualities of Elizabeth Bennet's looks are explicitly discussed in Pride and Prejudice, taken up by Mr Darcy when he responds to Miss Bingley's sarcasm about adding her to the portraits in Pemberley: '". . . what painter could do justice to those beautiful eyes?" "It would not be easy, indeed, to catch their expression, but their colour and shape, and the eye-lashes, so remarkably fine, might be copied"' (I. x). The difficulty of catching the 'expression' of Elizabeth's eyes is evidence of their beauty, and the detection of this difficulty is proof of Mr Darcy's attraction to her. Later he talks to Elizabeth about her trying to 'sketch' his 'character', and she talks of trying to 'take your likeness', as if the most appreciative judges of other people – especially other people to whom they may be attracted – are those who know how hard it is to render a likeness.
Elizabeth's eyes in Pride and Prejudice captivate Mr Darcy. We remember finding out in Chapter vi that she does not please Mr Darcy's taste. 'But no sooner had he made it clear to himself and his friends that she had hardly a good feature in her face, than he began to find it was rendered uncommonly intelligent by the beautiful expression of her dark eyes.' That 'made it clear to himself' is wonderfully satirical: he convinces himself against the pressure of an unstated allure. The eyes have him. Mr Darcy's judgement also alerts us to the feature of a woman that we are most likely to find out about throughout Austen's fiction. We are told of Anne Elliott's 'mild dark eyes', and of Fanny Price's 'soft light eyes' (to be preferred by any properly discerning male judge to Mary Crawford's 'sparkling dark ones'). Catherine Morland's eyes are not specifically described like this, though in the opening pages of Northanger Abbey we are told of her transformation from tomboy to 'interesting' young woman, how, as she grows through her teens, 'her eyes gained more animation'. Marianne Dashwood's eyes naturally reveal her personality, but also have an unusual colour that makes her allure singular: 'in her eyes, which were very dark, there was a life, a spirit, an eagerness which could hardly be seen without delight' (I. x).
When we come to the looks of the Austen heroine whom we know best of all, Emma Woodhouse, eye colour is the one particular of which we can be sure. Emma is 'handsome', we know this from the first sentence, but we know rather little about her appearance, beyond her former governess's enraptured description. 'Such an eye! the true hazle eye—and so brilliant! regular features, open countenance, with a complexion! oh! what a bloom of full health, and such a pretty height and size; such a firm and upright figure. There is health, not merely in her bloom, but in her air, her head, her glance' (I. v). Mrs Weston's appreciation may be a little too exclamatory for comfort, but it is not in itself unusual, for how people appear in Austen's novels is inseparable from how they are looked at. And looking at others appreciatively – judging the attractiveness of their features – is a proper aesthetic activity. There is a kind of connoisseurship of looks in Austen.
Take Harriet Smith in Emma. 'She was a very pretty girl, and her beauty happened to be of a sort which Emma particularly admired. She was short, plump and fair, with a fine bloom, blue eyes, light hair, regular features, and a look of great sweetness' (I. iii). This is a description, but through Emma's eyes. Harriet's appearance is caught through Emma's appreciation of it. We soon know that she is so caught up in her own appreciativeness that she can readily mistake as intended for Harriet Mr Elton's later compliment about the 'soft eye' of a 'lovely woman' in the ingratiating rhyme that he composes. Emma flatters herself on the score of her powers of discrimination, and this includes her connoisseurship of looks. Her appreciation therefore runs to Jane Fairfax, whom of course she does not like, but whose looks she has to admire in an aesthetic way.
Jane Fairfax was very elegant, remarkably elegant; and she had herself the highest value for elegance. Her height was pretty, just such as almost every body would think tall, and nobody could think very tall; her figure particularly graceful; her size a most becoming medium, between fat and thin, though a slight appearance of ill-health seemed to point out the likeliest evil of the two. Emma could not but feel all this; and then, her face—her features—there was more beauty in them altogether than she had remembered; it was not regular, but it was very pleasing beauty. Her eyes, a deep grey, with dark eye-lashes and eyebrows, had never been denied their praise; but the skin, which she had been used to cavil at, as wanting colour, had a clearness and delicacy which really needed no fuller bloom. It was a style of beauty, of which elegance was the reigning character, and as such, she must, in honour, by all her principles, admire it:—elegance, which, whether of person or of mind, she saw so little in Highbury. (II. ii)
All this, like much of the novel, is in free indirect style, where the narrative takes on the habits of thought and the vocabulary of the character. That opening repetition – 'very elegant, remarkably elegant' – lets us hear Emma thinking to herself, complimenting Jane Fairfax but also her known judgement. For a moment she can admire Jane Fairfax, whom she does not like, as a compliment to her own discernment. She likes to see 'elegance' because of its rarity, and because, by implication, so few in Highbury are qualified, like her, to recognise it.
The habit of one character looking at another with disinterested aesthetic regard is the more peculiar as looking can be charged with such significant feeling in Austen's fiction. Rarely is this sense stronger than in the scene at the concert in Bath in Persuasion, staged as Anne has begun to believe that Captain Wentworth still loves her. The singers sing, or Mr Elliot talks on, while in every interval of the two Anne looks for Wentworth, and tries to catch a look from him. For nothing more is possible. When speech is difficult, characters become so sensitive to looks that they feel them without looking themselves. Or they think they do so. In Emma, Frank Churchill takes his leave of Highbury after having stopped short of giving Emma a proper explanation of the state of his feelings. 'I think you can hardly be without suspicion,' he says, and she naturally misunderstands (II. xii). He is on the point of confessing his attachment to Jane Fairfax; Emma believes he is about to declare his love for her. 'She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard him sigh.' Most important of all are the occasions when characters will not look back when looked at. Thus the peculiar passage in Emma, shortly after Frank Churchill has blunderingly revealed his knowledge of Mr Perry's coach, where the narrative unfolds from Mr Knightley's perspective. 'Mr. Knightley's eyes had preceded Miss Bates's in a glance at Jane. From Frank Churchill's face, where he thought he saw confusion suppressed or laughed away, he had involuntarily turned to her's; but she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl' (III. v). Jane Fairfax is adept at turning her looks from others.
In Persuasion, it is the heroine who avoids meeting another's eyes. When Anne Elliot encounters Wentworth again after almost eight years the narrative mimics her own looking aside.
Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's, a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that was right; said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing; the room seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone. (I. vii)
She looks down and away, only confusedly sensing what is happening. She sees only enough to mortify her the more, to notice that the years have given him 'a more glowing, manly, open look'. When she plays the piano as he dances with the Musgrove and Hayter girls she can look at the music or the keys, though not without an acute sensitivity to his glances. 'Once she felt that he was looking at herself – observing her altered features, perhaps, trying to trace in them the ruins of the face which had once charmed him.' Only in the crisis of Louisa Musgrove's fall at Lyme is such painful restraint abandoned. In desperation, Wentworth does look at – and look for – Anne. 'Captain Wentworth's eyes were also turned towards her' (I. xii). The manoeuvres of looking and not looking are set aside. And then when, in Bath, she senses that his feelings for her are fully re-awakened, she and we discover a different kind of not-looking, seeing Wentworth in the street and looking and then 'not daring to look again' (I. vii).
This emotionally charged evasion of looks contrasts with the strange licensed looking that we have seen with Mr Darcy's inspection of Elizabeth Bennet or Emma's of Jane Fairfax. When Emma Woodhouse visits Jane Fairfax after the latter's two-year absence from Highbury, we are told first of her 'dislike' of the woman, and second of her admiration of her person. She looks at her with a 'sense of pleasure'. The next day she tells Mr Knightley, 'She is a sort of elegant creature that one cannot keep one's eyes from. I am always watching her to admire' (II. iii). This is not a confession, but a declaration that is supposed to exhibit her good taste. When Frank Churchill attempts to pre-empt suspicions of his relationship with Jane by commenting on her 'most deplorable want of complexion', Emma enters into the debate with 'a warm defence of Miss Fairfax's complexion' – as if the matter were not charged with significance. Emma says, 'there is no disputing about taste'. Even more cunningly, Frank Churchill confidentially mocks Jane's hairstyle:
she saw Frank Churchill looking intently across the room at Miss Fairfax, who was sitting exactly opposite.
'What is the matter?' said she.
He started. 'Thank you for rousing me,' he replied. 'I believe I have been very rude; but really Miss Fairfax has done her hair in so odd a way—so very odd a way—that I cannot keep my eyes from her. I never saw any thing so outré! Those curls! This must be a fancy of her own. I see nobody else looking like her! I must go and ask her whether it is an Irish fashion. Shall I? Yes, I will—I declare I will— and you shall see how she takes it;— whether she colours.'
He was gone immediately; and Emma soon saw him standing before Miss Fairfax, and talking to her; but as to its effect on the young lady, as he had improvidently placed himself exactly between them, exactly in front of Miss Fairfax, she could absolutely distinguish nothing. (II. viii)
Frank Churchill's sotto voce comments to Emma are an improvised excuse for being caught in a lover's gaze. When he goes to speak to Jane he naturally ('improvidently', Emma mistakenly thinks) blocks Emma's view of Jane's face.
It still surprises some readers to find that looks in Austen's novels can so openly express what we might call sexual attraction.
Mr Darcy's aesthetic appreciation of Elizabeth Bennet's eyes is amusing self-delusion, but this way of looking at women can be more uncertain in its effects on us. For the modern reader, there is, I think, something disconcerting about Mr Knightley's appreciative discussion of Emma's 'person' in the fifth chapter of Emma. 'How well she looked last night!' exclaims Mrs Weston.
'Oh! you would rather talk of her person than her mind, would you? Very well; I shall not attempt to deny Emma's being pretty.'
'Pretty! say beautiful rather. Can you imagine any thing nearer perfect beauty than Emma altogether—face and figure?'
'I do not know what I could imagine, but I confess that I have seldom seen a face or figure more pleasing to me than her's. But I am a partial old friend.' (I. v)
We may detect here something more than the language of an 'old friend'. He is sizing up her body as well as appreciating her features. It is important, however, that Mrs Weston does not immediately detect anything in his relish of Emma's 'face and figure'. Such relish is allowed, even of a young woman's figure, which means nothing less than the shape of her body as revealed and concealed by her dress. The aesthetic appreciation of a woman's shape, or shapeliness, seems, in Sense and Sensibility, to have been shared by the author herself. Elinor Dashwood, we are told, has 'a delicate complexion, regular features, and a remarkably pretty figure'. Her sister is 'still handsomer'. 'Her form, though not so correct as her sister's, in having the advantage of height, was more striking' (I. x). The use of 'correct' here, which is surely the author's judgement, is strange to us, implying that there is some culturally agreed standard for body-shape, by which observers would reasonably judge actual women.
Egged on by Mrs Weston ('She is loveliness itself. Mr. Knightley, is not she?') Mr Knightley actually agrees with her superlatives. '"I have not a fault to find with her person," he replied. "I think her all you describe. I love to look at her."' These two characters could not have this conversation if either were conscious that Mr Knightley was a possible partner for Emma. He is indeed Emma's 'old friend' – and we might remember this when 'friend' becomes the word that prods him into proposing to her some nine months later: 'as a friend, indeed, you may command me,' she says to him. '"As a friend!" repeated Mr. Knightley. "Emma, that I fear is a word—No, I have no wish—Stay, yes, why should I hesitate?"' (III. xiii)
There is a kind of appreciative looking at a young woman – and not at her face only – that is a quite proper exercise in taste. It can be done foolishly or wrongly. We should note that Sir Walter Elliot greatly fancies himself a connoisseur of female beauty. And there is something wrong with Mr Darcy's first expression of what he sees in Elizabeth: 'Catching her eye, he withdrew his own and coldly said, "She is tolerable; but not handsome enough to tempt me."' (I. iii) He is fancying himself an imperturbable judge. 'Though he had detected with a critical eye more than one failure of perfect symmetry in her form, he was forced to acknowledge her figure to be light and pleasing.' Elizabeth does not please his taste, having 'hardly a good feature in her face', but then 'her dark eyes' correct his judgement. Everyone knows about the tingling dialogue between the two of them, but the complexity of feeling between them is truly expressed in a drama of looking. It is through looks that the impression of something between them has been given.
Famously, it is really set in motion by Elizabeth's walk across the fields, and Mr Darcy's 'admiration of the brilliancy which exercise had given to her complexion'.
Elizabeth could not help observing, as she turned over some music books that lay on the instrument, how frequently Mr. Darcy's eyes were fixed on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to so great a man; and yet that he should look at her because he disliked her was still more strange. (I. x)
She supposes it is all about taste or distaste, as when Miss Bingley invites her to walk up and down the room with her – perhaps, Mr Darcy suggests, 'because you are conscious that your figures appear to the greatest advantage in walking'. Yet it is about more than taste.
Even Mr Darcy senses that something is happening: on Elizabeth's last day at Netherfield, he 'would not even look at her'; when they meet in Meryton we find him 'beginning to determine not to fix his eyes on Elizabeth' (I. xv). Looks are risky. His looks escape his intentions. His looking indeed becomes so attentive that it make others observant. A great watcher of others' looks, Charlotte Lucas (now Collins) wonders explicitly if he is in love with her friend.
She watched him whenever they were at Rosings, and whenever he came to Hunsford; but without much success. He certainly looked at her friend a great deal, but the expression of that look was disputable. It was an earnest, steadfast gaze, but she often doubted whether there were much admiration in it, and sometimes it seemed nothing but absence of mind. (II. ix)
It still surprises some readers to find that looks in Austen's novels can so openly express what we might call sexual attraction. Just such is the look that Anne gets from the unknown gentleman on the steps to the beach in Lyme: 'he looked at her with a degree of earnest admiration, which she could not be insensible of' (I. xii). She has had 'the bloom and freshness of youth restored', 'the animation of eye', and she knows just how she is being looked at by this stranger in a public place. It is a look that is open enough to be seen and interpreted by Captain Wentworth too.
It was evident that the gentleman (completely a gentleman in manner) admired her exceedingly. Captain Wentworth looked round at her instantly in a way which shewed his noticing of it. He gave her a momentary glance, a glance of brightness, which seemed to say, 'That man is struck with you, and even I, at this moment, see something like Anne Elliot again.' (I. xii)
It is a look of admiration that Mr Elliot later admits to, though when he does so Anne remembers 'another person's look also'. These looks keep coming back, as when Mr Elliot enters the confectioner's shop in Bath.
Captain Wentworth recollected him perfectly. There was no difference between him and the man who had stood on the steps at Lyme, admiring Anne as she passed, except in the air and look and manner of the privileged relation and friend. He came in with eagerness, appeared to see and think only of her. (II. vii)
Mr Elliot fusses away, unaware that his own role in the novel is to spark Captain Wentworth's jealousy.
This idea of a man appreciating a woman, expressed in the wordless encounter between Anne and Mr Elliot in Lyme, is put to unsettling use in Mansfield Park, when Edmund reports to Fanny his father's appreciation of her looks.
'Your complexion is so improved!—and you have gained so much countenance!—and your figure—nay, Fanny, do not turn away about it—it is but an uncle. If you cannot bear an uncle's admiration, what is to become of you? You must really begin to harden yourself to the idea of being worth looking at. You must try not to mind growing up into a pretty woman.'
'Oh! don't talk so, don't talk so,' cried Fanny, distressed by more feelings than he was aware of. (II. iii)
Edmund blunders, not knowing of Fanny's love for him, and doubly so in talking of her being 'worth looking at'. He alerts her both to the possibility of her being attractive, and to the fact that he does not look at her with a lover's eyes. This perceptive yet unseeing registering of another person's physical attractions can even distinguish a woman looking at a man, though this is much rarer. Emma is unique in allowing its heroine to appreciate the masculine 'figure' in a comparably candid manner, when she looks at Mr Knightley at the dance at the Crown. 'His tall, firm, upright figure, among the bulky forms and stooping shoulders of the elderly men, was such as Emma felt must draw every body's eyes; and, excepting her own partner, there was not one among the whole row of young men who could be compared with him' (II. ii). It is as close as Emma can go to recognising something beyond friendship.
In the scene where Mr Knightley and Emma finally acknowledge their true feelings for each other, looks take over. Looking in Austen is perhaps never more charged with meaning than when Mr Knightley declares himself to Emma and expects her response to what is implicitly a proposal. 'He stopped in his earnestness to look the question, and the expression of his eyes overpowered her' (III. xiii). It is an extraordinary grammatical usage: to 'look the question'. As if only looking can express meaning. Something similar happens when Captain Wentworth places his letter before Anne Elliot in the room at the White Hart, and she sees and cannot misinterpret his 'eyes of glowing entreaty' (Persuasion, II. xi). A substitute for speech, the letter concludes with an acknowledgement that speech will hardly be necessary to communicate her response. 'A word, a look will be enough,' it says. Soon they meet again, in the company of others. 'He joined them; but, as if irresolute whether to join or to pass on, said nothing, only looked. Anne could command herself enough to receive that look, and not repulsively. The cheeks which had been pale now glowed, and the movements which had hesitated were decided. He walked by her side.' Wentworth is right. After all the elusiveness of people's looks in Jane Austen's fiction – after all the uncertain, anxious, puzzled, mistaken looking that has gone on – here finally, satisfyingly . . . a look is enough.
FIVE
Who Dies in the Course of Her Novels?
A sudden seizure of a different nature from any thing foreboded by her general state, had carried her off after a short struggle. The great Mrs. Churchill was no more.
Emma, III. ix
If we except the little pre-history of the Dashwood family in the first chapter of Sense and Sensibility, and the odd case of Lord Ravenshaw's grandmother (of which more later), there are only two deaths that occur within Jane Austen's novels, and one of these is of a character whom we never meet. The two people who die are Dr Grant in Mansfield Park and Mrs Churchill in Emma. Neither is lamented; both deaths are indeed calculated to make us consider how we might fail to grieve at others' mortality. In the case of Mrs Churchill, the consideration is comic. She is the most powerful absentee character in all Austen's fiction. We never see or hear her; she exerts influence over her adopted son, Frank Churchill, mostly by feigning various illnesses, but always off stage. Then suddenly she dies from an unspecified 'seizure', though we are told that it is something different from anything of which she has long been complaining (III. ix). Even the malade imaginaire is susceptible to the reaper. She is dead, but she is vindicated. The inhabitants of Highbury, none of whom have ever met her, respond with peculiarly disingenuous feeling: 'Every body had a degree of gravity and sorrow.'
Dr Grant's death in Mansfield Park is more frankly unregretted. In the rounding-up that happens in the novel's closing phases, Dr and Mrs Grant, who first brought the amoral, chaos-causing Crawfords to Mansfield, have returned to London, where Dr Grant has found ecclesiastical advancement in Westminster. His self-satisfaction is not to last. Soon he 'brought on apoplexy and death, by three great institutionary dinners in one week' (III. xvii). It is thoroughly poetic justice: the gastronome clergyman kills himself with gluttony at the height of his contentment. We expect deaths like this in a different kind of novel – in Fielding, say, where the irascible Captain Blifil, who has married the wealthy Squire Allworthy's sister, also dies of 'an apoplexy . . . just at the very instant when his heart was exulting in meditations on the happiness which would accrue to him by Mr. Allworthy's death'. Dr Grant's demise is comically smuggled in from a different, moralistic and satirical, kind of narrative. And it is not just poetic justice. His death also serves the other characters' wishes and the author's narrative purposes. For it means that the two half-sisters, Mrs Grant and Mary Crawford, can live together in pretty perfect harmony. The novel says nothing of any sadness or sense of loss that we might hope Mrs Grant to have felt. At the beginning of the paragraph in which Dr Grant dies, we are told that Mrs Grant has 'a temper to love and be loved', so we may take the omission to confirm what we surely already suspect: that she never loved her husband.
Dr Grant was not yet fifty, but the flesh is frail. By dying he is rather surprisingly fulfilling the casual prediction made by the formerly feckless heir to the estate, Tom Bertram. When Dr Grant first arrives to take the living that was previously promised to Edmund Bertram, Tom convinces himself that the man who has purchased the position will, 'in all probability, die very soon' (I. iii). The prediction exhibits Tom's callous wishful thinking: the living has been snatched from Edmund's hands to cover his own gambling debts. Yet it is evidently a plausible guess. When Dr Grant appears 'a hearty man of forty-five' Tom is not to be dissuaded, and proves an accurate prognosticator. The apparently healthy prelate does indeed make way for Edmund Bertram to take up the station – and to receive the income – for which he has been groomed. Dr Grant's demise from gorging suits everyone. The novel's penultimate paragraph tells us that, to complete Edmund and Fanny's happiness, 'the acquisition of Mansfield living by the death of Dr Grant' has occurred just at the moment when the young couple wanted a larger income and a home nearer 'the paternal abode' (III. xvii). His end could hardly have been better timed.
It is telling that the two characters who die are more conveniently dead than alive. Austen wants you to notice how deaths can suit the living. Mary Crawford and Mrs Grant must both be wearing full mourning as they begin a new life together, but we take it that, even in their black clothes, they are delighted to be rid of an irksome impediment to their sisterly friendship. At the end of Emma Frank Churchill consorts with his now acknowledged fiancée, Jane Fairfax, clad in sombre mourning garb. Mrs Churchill's death has made their marriage possible, but requires an interim. 'There must be three months, at least, of deep mourning' (III. xvi). Frank Churchill meets Emma again after the announcement of his engagement, smiling and laughing on this 'most happy day', but suited, we should realise, all in black. We are not told this, but Austen's first readers would have 'seen' this garb, and registered the clash of official sorrow and private happiness. The deaths of close kin usually required a period of full (often called 'deep') mourning – in which clothes were predominantly black – followed by an equal period of 'second' or 'slight' mourning. Often the household servants would also be required to wear mourning. For a woman, full mourning might involve not only a black dress but also the rejection of shimmering silk for duller bombazine. 'Short mourning for distant relations was comparable with second mourning and was expressed rather by lack of any colour than by wearing black.' Second mourning could involve the wearing of grey clothing. Other signs distinguished second mourning: for women, black edging on dresses or black ribbons; for men, black bands on hats and cuffs, or black buckles. Conventions were not certain, however: there are many examples from the late eighteenth and early nineteenth centuries of men and women anxiously asking each other about the regulations currently governing mourning.
Periods of mourning were also disputable, though by the mid-nineteenth century it was de rigueur for a widow to wear full mourning for a year. In Fanny Burney's 1778 novel Evelina, the young heroine is disapproving of the fact that her grandmother is out of mourning only three months after the death of her husband: she has been living in France and thinks that no one in England will know how short a time she has been a widow. In Lady Susan, the amoral protagonist has been 'only four months a widow', so as she flirts and fascinates, she is presumably doing so, shockingly, in mourning garb (Letter 2). Austen's own life was full of deaths and wearing black must have become a habit. She remarks in one letter in July 1813 that she will not need to put on mourning for the recently deceased Thomas Leigh, her mother's cousin, as she is still wearing it for her sister-in-law Eliza, who had died just over two months earlier (Letters, 86). She can just carry on in black. The donning of mourning was a regular demand. It was not only worn for family members. In 1810, for instance, twelve weeks of national mourning was decreed to mark the death of George III's daughter Princess Amelia. In June 1811 Austen described how her niece Anna and family friend Harriet Benn walked with her to Alton to buy mourning to be worn in the event of the King's death, and that she bought a black 'Bombasin' for her mother (Letters, 75). The mourning clothes adopted by Austen's characters would have been visible in the mind's eye of an early reader who took these habits for granted. In Persuasion, Captain Benwick is 'in mourning' for Fanny Harville's loss, which means not just that he is sad, but that he is actually wearing mourning, as the Harvilles are likely to be (I. xi). Anne learns the story of their shared tragedy, but then their clothes would have made her curious. If we do not see these clothes we lose something, for Captain Benwick must have either eschewed his mourning dress while paying his attentions to Louisa Musgrove, or courted her while wearing it. Either possibility gives peculiar force to Captain Harville's later exclamation to Anne, 'Poor Fanny! she would not have forgotten him so soon' (II. xi). Mourning dress is, after all, donned in order to stop you escaping from the memory of the dead person.
No one dies during the course of Persuasion, but the novel is full of the deaths that have mattered to its characters. As Linda Bree rightly says, 'most of the characters would have been wearing black, in some form, throughout the novel'. The requirement to wear mourning alerts us to the possibility that people who thus advertise their loss are not always so very sad. On hearing the news of Mrs Churchill's death in Emma, Mr Weston shakes his head solemnly while thinking – Austen cannot resist telling us – 'that his mourning should be as handsome as possible' (III. ix). His wife, meanwhile, sits 'sighing and moralizing over her broad hems'. Thinking about the clothes is natural – sometimes more natural than actual mournfulness. In October 1808 Jane Austen told her sister, 'My Mother is preparing mourning for Mrs E. K.—she has picked her old silk pelisse to peices [sic], & means to have it dyed black for a gown—a very interesting scheme' (Letters, 57). Mrs E. K. might have been Elizabeth Knight, sister of Thomas Knight, who had adopted Edward Austen, henceforth Edward Knight, as his heir. The duties of mourning reached a long way – in Persuasion the Elliots wear black ribbons after the death of Mr Elliot's wife, a woman they have never met – and made necessary such adaptations of clothing.
Reading through Austen's letters you might think that she cared too much about the sartorial implications of the deaths of friends and relations. When the mother of the Austens' close friend Martha Lloyd died, her dressmaker was apparently slow to make up the mourning dress that she ordered, prompting Austen to send Martha 'Lines supposed to have been sent to an uncivil Dress maker'.
Miss Lloyd must expect to receive
This license to mourn & to grieve,
Complete, er'e the end of the week –
It is better to write than to speak –
Mrs Austen even penned a facetious rhyming response from the imagined dressmaker, to divert their friend. But the business of attending to mourning dress was exactly a diversion from grief. Even when the death of Edward's wife Elizabeth provoked Austen to shock and raw sorrow, she was soon turning to the costume implications.
I am to be in bombazeen and crape, according to what we are told is universal here, and which agrees with Martha's previous observation. My mourning, however, will not impoverish me, for by having my velvet pelisse fresh lined and made up, I am sure I shall have no occasion this winter for anything new of that sort. I take my cloak for the lining, and shall send yours on the chance of its doing something of the same for you, though I believe your pelisse is in better repair than mine. One Miss Baker makes my gown and the other my bonnet, which is to be silk covered with crape. (Letters, 59)
Such detail can sound griefless to modern ears, but the peculiar requirements of mourning inevitably prompted such practical considerations.
The adopting of mourning dress might, however, free the mourner from any obligation to grieve. When encountered at the inn in Lyme in Persuasion, Mr Elliot is in mourning, as is his manservant (I. xii). But Mr Elliot is already looking about him. There is that moment on the steps from the beach when he pauses to gaze at Anne with 'earnest admiration'. He does not seem to be a man dwelling on memories of his recently dead wife. When Anne meets him again in Bath, she asks herself why he is paying court to her family and wonders if he has an interest in Elizabeth. But then she reflects that 'Mr. Elliot . . . had not been a widower seven months' (II. iv). Every time she sees 'the crape round his hat' she considers that he cannot be pursuing any amorous scheme so soon after the death of his wife. She should instead infer that he is behaving like someone who has indeed forgotten about his wife. He is not the only character to whom mourning is mere convention. Lady Russell, noticing Mr Elliot's attentions to Anne, begins 'to calculate the number of weeks which would free him from all the remaining restraints of widowhood, and leave him at liberty to exert his most open powers of pleasing' (II. v). When Mrs Smith suggests that Mr Elliot might have an interest in her, Anne responds as if this were improper. 'Mr. Elliot's wife has not been dead much above half a year. He ought not to be supposed to be paying his addresses to any one' (II. ix). Her friend has no time for this argument – 'if these are your only objections . . . Mr. Elliot is safe' – and is sure that he will not let his mourning impede his courtship.
Mourning, as Austen's novels require us to realise, is not the same as grieving.
How long should one grieve? It is a question at the heart of Persuasion. By Captain Harville's account, Captain Benwick is so distressed by news of Fanny Harville's death that Captain Wentworth has to stay with him for a week (I. xii). When Anne meets him it has been just over four months since he first received the news. Yet we should know that such consuming grief is suspect when we find him, in fact, already prepared to fall in love with someone else. Anne's judgement on him when she hears the news of his engagement to Louisa Musgrove is pragmatic and magnanimous. 'He had an affectionate heart. He must love somebody' (II. vi). It is less than six months from his hearing the news of his fiancée's death to his proposing to Louisa – no wonder Captain Harville feels that his sister would have slower to forget their love (II. xi). It is the subsequent discussion between him and Anne of how long grief should possess a person – of whether men or women have more 'retentive feelings' – that sparks Captain Wentworth's epistolary declaration of his own undiminished passion.
The business of dressing in mourning was so conventional that Austen could joke in her letters about those who took it to excess. Writing to Cassandra from Bath in 1799, she described bumping into a vicar from Hampshire whom they knew: 'at the bottom of Kingsdown Hill we met a Gentleman in a Buggy, who on a minute examination turned out to be Dr Hall—& Dr Hall in such very deep mourning that either his Mother, his Wife, or himself must be dead' (Letters, 19). Mourning, as Austen's novels require us to realise, is not the same as grieving. Characters who know all about the conventions of mourning do not necessarily know anything about grief. In the bleakly brilliant opening of Persuasion, Sir Walter Elliot's imperviousness to melancholy reflection is shown us. How could he so often view the page in his 'favourite volume', the Baronetage, which lists the deaths of both his wife and his son? Though there might be a good motive for adding the date of one's wife's death, Austen's wording makes sure we know differently. She tells us how he has supplemented the bare year recorded by the book by 'inserting most accurately the day of the month on which he had lost his wife'. The wording ('most accurately') lets us see his fussy respect for the facts of aristocratic family history. It is anything but sadness.
In this, the most elegiac of Austen's novels, some of the conventions for condolence are laid out in all their emptiness. The Elliots failed to send a letter of commiseration to their (literally) distant cousins the Dalrymples upon the Viscount's death, and thereby committed a grave offence. This is despite the fact that the two families had never met. In return and revenge, the Dalrymples scorn to send condolences on the death of Lady Elliot. These minor aristocrats are caught up in a petty tit-for-tat. Meanwhile the expression of real grief is difficult to find. Anne Elliot's sadness at the death of her mother, when she was fourteen, is left inexplicit, but it is intimated. When she is playing the piano for the unappreciative and philistine Musgroves, we hear that apart from her time with Captain Wentworth, she had not known real appreciation of her musicality 'since the loss of her dear mother' (I. vi). That 'dear' is like a flicker of her own feeling, hidden from others. The autumnal mournfulness of the book's first part is always associated with Anne's loss of love, but it also reaches back to this loss of her mother. The novel, following its heroine's own habits of fortitude and avoidance, will not say much about this. Something explicit emerges belatedly, when we find that Anne's friendship with Mrs Smith was formed many years earlier when she 'had gone unhappy to school, grieving for the loss of a mother whom she had dearly loved' (II. v).
The Musgroves are themselves grieving for their dead son Richard – or rather, they have just been reminded to do so again by the mention of Captain Wentworth (I. vi). Their son died two years earlier, and was 'scarcely at all regretted' when news of his death first arrived. This is an extraordinary sentence for a modern reader: if their son had been sent away to sea because he was 'unmanageable', should his parents not have felt some extra stab of guilt and regret? Returning to the only two proper letters that, under Captain Wentworth's influence, he had bothered to write to them while at sea, Mrs Musgrove is thrown into 'greater grief for him than she had known on first hearing of his death'. There is some sense that Austen is rigging our judgements here. When, some time later, Captain Wentworth responds to Mrs Musgrove's expressions of grief by showing 'the kindest consideration for all that was real and unabsurd in the parent's feelings', it seems that the author is also trying to show some consideration after her earlier asperity (I. viii). The consideration is passing, for soon we are hearing of 'her large fat sighings over the destiny of a son, whom alive nobody had cared for'. The novel is satirising her for acting up to grief now, not for failing to grieve before.
That failure would once have been more understandable because a death like Richard Musgrove's would not have been exceptional. Death was always possible. The question of life expectation indeed often occupies Austen's characters. No sooner has Charlotte Lucas become engaged to Mr Collins than her mother starts thinking about her best friend's father's death. 'Lady Lucas began directly to calculate with more interest than the matter had ever excited before, how many years longer Mr Bennet was likely to live' (Pride and Prejudice, I. xxii). Such was life. In the second chapter of Sense and Sensibility, Mrs John Dashwood is happy for her husband to calculate on the 'three thousand pounds each' that the Dashwood girls will receive 'on their mother's death'. He calls this 'a very comfortable fortune for any young woman' (I. ii). But of course this is killing the mother off rather easily. If she lives another twenty years the girls are 'young women' no longer. A few sentences later, in response to her husband's suggestion of an annuity for his stepmother, Mrs John Dashwood is observing that 'people always live for ever when there is any annuity to be paid them; and she is very stout and healthy, and hardly forty'. In these examples, the prospect of death matters because of its financial consequences and it is in these terms that characters most often mention death. In the midst of proposing marriage to Elizabeth, Mr Collins cannot help referring to the fact that he is 'to inherit this estate after the death of your honoured father (who, however, may live many years longer)' (I. xix). His wonderful crassness should not make us forget that the Bennet family, because of the entailed estate, cannot avoid contemplating Mr Bennet's death, and its consequences.
Death before old age was much more common for Jane Austen than it is for us. The wives of three of her brothers died in or following childbirth. Children also died, including her own month-old niece Elizabeth, daughter of her brother Charles, in 1814. In the second half of the eighteenth century, almost a quarter of children died before the age of ten, more than half of these in the first year of their lives. Inevitably, mortality rates were much higher among the poor, but infant deaths were still common among the genteel classes. Mrs William Deedes, sister-in-law to the novelist's brother Edward, had nineteen children, of whom four died in infancy. The earliest of Austen's surviving letters, from January 1796, ends with an almost passing instance of infant mortality: 'I am sorry for the Beaches' loss of their little girl, especially as it is the one so much like me' (Letters, 1). The mother concerned, Henrietta-Maria Hicks-Beach, had nine children, four of whom died in infancy. Perhaps the most shocking sentence that Austen ever wrote is about the death of an infant. 'Mrs Hall of Sherbourn was brought to bed yesterday of a dead child, some weeks before she expected, owing to a fright.—I suppose she happened unawares to look at her husband' (Letters, 10). It would not have been imaginable if stillbirths had not been so common.
The deaths of children and babies feature often enough in Austen's letters to make you suspect that she has kept them out of her fiction. There are just two examples, both external to the novels in which they feature. In Persuasion there is Sir Walter Elliot's 'still-born son', ruthlessly recorded in his copy of the Baronetage, though never mentioned within the novel itself. The poignancy of this is all the more powerfully implicit, given the narrative implications. If this son had lived, Kellynch Hall would not be going the way of Mr Elliot. In Mansfield Park, Fanny Price, back in Portsmouth with her family, finds herself thinking about 'another sister, a very pretty little girl' who was about five when she left Portsmouth and 'who had died a few years afterwards' (III. vii). When the news of her death had reached Mansfield, she 'had for a short time been quite afflicted'. Susan and Betsey fight over a silver knife that the dying Mary had left to Susan, bringing her lost child to Mrs Price's mind. 'Poor little sweet creature! Well, she was taken away from evil to come.' Mrs Price has learned an acceptance of mortality that elsewhere borders on Malthusian unconcern. As letters arrive telling Fanny of Tom Bertram's dangerous illness, none of the Prices 'could be interested in so remote an evil as illness in a family above an hundred miles off; not even Mrs. Price, beyond a brief question or two' (III. xiii). Austen has to tell us that this indifference to deaths in other families is common enough.
Mrs. Price did quite as much for Lady Bertram, as Lady Bertram would have done for Mrs. Price. Three or four Prices might have been swept away, any or all, except Fanny and William, and Lady Bertram would have thought little about it; or perhaps might have caught from Mrs. Norris's lips the cant of its being a very happy thing, and a great blessing to their poor dear sister Price to have them so well provided for.
People do die, and not just the very young. Sir Walter Elliot's wife Elizabeth has died, as his favourite book records, some sixteen or seventeen years after marriage, probably in her late thirties. All the more contemptible, then, that, suggesting that Anne put off her appointment with Mrs Smith, he says in a kind of jest, 'She is not so near her end, I presume, but that she may hope to see another day' (II. v). Mrs Clay's husband has died while she is still a 'young woman'. In Persuasion, Fanny Harville has died in her twenties, and the novel need offer no further explanation of the fact (I. xi). In Emma, we are told that Captain Weston's first wife dies after three years of marriage, in her mid-twenties; the event, though sad, is not treated as remarkable. Jane Fairfax's father dies in action, and her mother follows, 'sinking under consumption and grief soon afterwards' (II. ii). The evidence of Austen's letters is more informative than any mortality statistics, for it conveys just that sense of precariousness that lies behind her novels and is unknown to most modern readers. Writing to Cassandra from Bath in May 1801, Austen talks of her aunt's cough and her mother's cold, before suddenly recalling something graver. 'You will be sorry to hear that Marianne Mapleton's disorder has ended fatally; she was beleived [sic] out of danger on Sunday, but a sudden relapse carried her off the next day' (Letters, 37). The daughter of a Bath surgeon, Miss Mapleton was twenty-one or twenty-two. If such a death was not unusual, why then should Marianne Dashwood not sicken and die? Mr Bennet's joke about his daughter Jane's indisposition – 'if she should die' – would be pointless if her death were inconceivable (I. vii). 'People do not die of little trifling colds,' declares Mrs Bennet, but this is cavalier.
It is hard to know what to make of a certain casualness in Austen's own treatment of deaths in her letters. 'Mr Waller is dead, I see;—I cannot greive [sic] about it, nor perhaps can his Widow very much' (Letters 53). She says this to Cassandra in passing, in between a list of family engagements and news of harvesting on her brother Edward's estate. Cassandra must have known just the reasons for the widow's possible lack of grief, but we never will. Had Mr Waller, whom they knew in Southampton, been a wife-beater? Or just a dull dinner companion? On the death of Mrs Wyndham Knatchbull in 1807 she wrote, 'I had no idea that anybody liked her, & therefore felt nothing for any Survivor, but I am now feeling away on her Husband's account, and think he had better marry Miss Sharpe' (Letters, 50). Not taking deaths very seriously was part of life. Thus the force of her comment on news of the Battle of Albuera in 1811. 'How horrible it is to have so many people killed!—And what a blessing that one cares for none of them' (Letters, 74). There is a grimly comic honesty in such remarks that should sensitise us to some of her characters' casualness about the deaths of those about whom they do not care. In Mansfield Park, the Honourable John Yates complains that his theatrical pleasures were interrupted by the sudden death of Lord Ravenshaw's grandmother (I. xiii). 'It is impossible to help wishing, that the news could have been suppressed for just the three days we wanted.' It 'was suggested' – after all, she was 'only a grand-mother' and did live 'two hundred miles off'.
Mary Crawford exhibits her deep, cold carelessness when, misjudging Fanny as ever she does, she jokes in a letter about the possibility of Tom Bertram's death – an eventuality that would leave Edmund as the heir to the title and the estate. 'To have such a fine young man cut off in the flower of his days is most melancholy. Poor Sir Thomas will feel it dreadfully. I really am quite agitated on the subject. Fanny, Fanny, I see you smile, and look cunning, but upon my honour, I never bribed a physician in my life' (III. xiv). She writes this when she believes Tom's death likely and is acknowledging, in some sophisticated way, the benefit that might come to her from it. By a flourish of irony, she tries to recruit Fanny to her own sense of the desirability of Tom's death. Soon she is speculating about the consequences for Edmund, who would be suddenly and desirably presented with 'wealth and consequence'. Mary Crawford treats cynically the precariousness of life, a fact that presses on all Austen's characters. Her first readers were aware of this precariousness in a way that we must rediscover as we read. Very few people die in her stories, but all her novels are shadowed by death.
SIX
Why Is It Risky to Go to the Seaside?
'I have been long perfectly convinced, though perhaps I never told you so before, that the sea is very rarely of use to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once.'
Emma, I. xii
If bad things do happen at the seaside, one of Austen's heroines is safe. Emma Woodhouse (unlike her father, quoted above) has never seen the sea. We find this out when she intervenes to halt a dangerous-tending disagreement between her father and her sister about the merits of sea bathing. 'I must beg you not to talk of the sea. It makes me envious and miserable;—I who have never seen it!' (I. xii) She is being tactful, but she is also being truthful. It is a satisfying touch, telling us something essential about Emma: all-powerful in Highbury, but incapable of reaching out beyond it; fearless in her little world, but timid about what might lie outside its closely hemmed borders. By a carefully managed irony, however, she cannot escape the seaside. She is the unknowing witness, even the abettor, of an amorous relationship that was born at the seaside. Early in the novel we hear, from Mr Woodhouse, that Frank Churchill's much-vaunted letter to Mrs Weston congratulating her on her marriage to his father is written from Weymouth (I. ii). Much later, we hear from Miss Bates that Jane Fairfax has been in Weymouth (II. i). When Jane Fairfax arrives in Highbury and meets Emma, we are told that 'She and Mr. Frank Churchill had been at Weymouth at the same time. It was known that they were a little acquainted' (II. ii). During his first visit to Hartfield after his arrival, Frank Churchill says that he is obliged to pay a visit to the Bates household (he pretends to have trouble remembering the name) because of his acquaintance with 'a lady'. Mr Weston guilelessly seconds his purpose. 'True, true, you are acquainted with Miss Fairfax; I remember you knew her at Weymouth, and a fine girl she is. Call upon her, by all means' (II. v). His son seems to hesitate – 'another day would do as well; but there was that degree of acquaintance at Weymouth which—' – before his father eggs him on.
If you search an e-text of Emma, it is possible to follow the seventeen mentions of Weymouth scattered through the novel and find a sure trail. Reconstructing events, you can see that even while Emma was contriving her fantasy courtship of Harriet Smith by Mr Elton, a true amour was being pursued on the Dorset coast. Emma's ignorance of what it might be like by the sea takes on an added significance. She does indeed know nothing of this zone of love. Every mention of the place name should be, to the Regency reader, a clue to a likely romance. For is love not more likely by the sea? In Austen's novels, seaside resorts are places for flirtations and engagements, attachments and elopements, love and sex. The seaside is naturally the place for honeymoons. In Sense and Sensibility Lucy Steele marries Robert Ferrars and they go on honeymoon to Dawlish in Devon. In Mansfield Park Mr Rushworth and Maria go on their honeymoon to Brighton – 'almost as gay in winter as in summer' (II. iii). And to cap it all, Emma and Mr Knightley, once engaged, plan a 'fortnight's absence in a tour to the sea-side' following their marriage (III. xix). The resort is unspecified, suggesting that they have only got as far as agreeing that the seaside must be the thing. You might say that once Emma has really discovered love she is bound, at last, for the seaside. It will be by the sea that she and Mr Knightley begin a sexual relationship.
This last, projected trip to the sea should be enough to suggest that seaside resorts were not inherently disreputable destinations in Austen's fiction. It would be wrong to think that these towns, increasingly dedicated to the leisure of their genteel and affluent visitors, were necessarily suspect places in the early nineteenth century. Thanks to the patronage of the Prince Regent, Brighton, it is true, acquired a certain louche reputation that it has never quite lost. Other resorts, however, were highly respectable. Many readers would have known that Weymouth was the favourite resort of George III and his family. They visited for the first time in 1789, stayed more than two months, and came regularly until 1805. The King's presence in the town was a major feature of its public life: he ceremonially bathed, promenaded on the seafront, and attended events at the assembly rooms. The King's brother, the Duke of Gloucester, first came to Weymouth in 1765 and by the 1780s had built a grand house on the front; it was eventually purchased by the King. It is important that Jane Fairfax has contracted her secret engagement at a respectable resort (if she and Frank Churchill had become attached at Brighton the implications would have been more worrying). Charlotte Palmer in Sense and Sensibility has, before her marriage, been husband-hunting in Weymouth: she is empty-headed, but Austen would not have let her go where her morals were in danger.
'Weymouth is altogether a shocking place I perceive, without recommendation of any kind,' Jane Austen wrote to Cassandra in September 1804 (Letters, 39). But this was a joke in reply to her sister's report that ice was unobtainable in the town – a lament later put into the mouth of Mrs Elton in Emma (II. xvi). Jane was in Lyme Regis with her parents while Cassandra had travelled down the coast to Weymouth with their brother Henry. There she had evidently hoped to see the royal family board their yacht, the Royal Sovereign, a little spectacle for the patriotic tourist. Mr Knightley does number Weymouth among 'the idlest haunts in the kingdom', but his disapproval is unreliable: the canny reader will see that it is one of those glimpses of his jealousy that we are allowed in the first volume of Emma. 'We hear of him for ever at some watering-place or other. A little while ago, he was at Weymouth' (I. xviii). So it must be a dubious place. Mr Knightley's moral judgement comes when Emma is teasing him about his disapproval of Frank Churchill's conduct, 'taking the other side of the question from her real opinion'. Mr Knightley is riled, in advance of his competitor actually appearing. In this brilliant, redundant dialogue Emma is unconsciously exciting Mr Knightley to more and more eloquent denunciations of Frank Churchill's conduct. 'You seem determined to think ill of him,' she accurately observes. 'Me!—not at all,' he replies, 'rather displeased.' He is determined to think ill of Weymouth too.
Jealous Mr Knightley is not the only Austen character to voice disapproval of seaside resorts. Shortly before she died, Austen had begun work on a novel named after such a place. Sanditon opens with the blameless Heywood family encountering a man who calls himself 'Mr. Parker of Sanditon' and waxes enthusiastic about this 'young and rising Bathing-place, certainly the favourite spot of all that are to be found along the coast of Sussex' (Ch. 1). The 'well-looking Hale, Gentlemanlike' Mr Heywood observes that 'Every five years, one hears of some new place or other starting up by the Sea, and growing the fashion'. He is convinced that they are 'Bad things for the country'. His declaration discourages Mr Parker not a jot. Sanditon has none of the drawbacks, he assures his new acquaintance, of 'your large, overgrown Places like Brighton, or Worthing, or East Bourne'. Sanditon is the exception to his antipathy. And perhaps Mr Heywood's jaundiced views are not so very strong, for they do not stop him allowing his daughter to go on a trip to Sanditon with the proud Mr Parker. By the late eighteenth century, the annual seaside holiday had become a badge of genteel status. Austen herself had often holidayed by the sea and had stayed in several of the resorts visited by her characters. She spent the summer of 1801 in Sidmouth, with her parents and sister. (It was in Sidmouth, according to Cassandra Austen, that her sister met an alluring gentleman who died before he could seek her out again). In 1802 they took their holiday in Dawlish, while in both 1803 and 1804 they stayed in Lyme Regis. In 1805 she went to Folkestone and to Worthing. There were no further seaside jaunts, it is true, but she hardly had personal reasons for thinking maritime sinful.
The sense of the seaside town as a dangerous place is, however, insistent in her fiction. If you were to gather the examples of risky behaviour by the sea, you might suppose that the author did have a poor view of the seaside. Louisa Musgrove's self-precipitation from the Cobb in Lyme Regis is but the last of a series of foolish or bad actions. Lydia Bennet elopes with Wickham when the two of them encounter each other in Brighton. The near-seduction of Mr Darcy's sister Georgiana is staged in a seaside resort: with the help of the perfidious ex-governess Mrs Younge, Wickham has lured her to Ramsgate, where, we infer, she is at his mercy. Only her brother's last-minute arrival thwarts him. In Mansfield Park, feckless Tom Bertram is a haunter of seaside resorts. On his return from Antigua, he does not come straight home to his mother and siblings (as he dutifully should), but goes to Weymouth (I. xii). With his father still in the West Indies, he should, as the eldest son, be returning to oversee the estate, but the lure of the shore is too strong. In Weymouth he meets the foolish, expensive Hon. John Yates (I. xiii). Yates leaves Weymouth only for 'a large party assembled for gaiety', and comes away from this to Mansfield with his dangerous scheme for amateur theatricals. Later in the novel Julia Bertram accompanies Mr and Mrs Rushworth to Brighton where she meets up with Mr Yates. In easy but devilish chat in front of Fanny, the Crawfords muse on Mr Yates's presence in the resort. 'Mr. Yates, I presume, is not far off,' says Henry (II. v). His sister brushes him off with 'I do not imagine he figures much in the letters to Mansfield Park; do you, Miss Price?' – which makes her brother's guess sound worse: Julia must be consorting with her admirer secretly. Julia's eventual elopement with Mr Yates proves their hints well founded.
Austen lets us imagine the seaside town as a place of licence. We wonder why Mr Elliot, who should be mourning his wife, has been at Sidmouth (I. xii). Rum people gravitate to the seafront. There is a wonderful cameo of the bad behaviour that becomes possible in such a place in an incidental piece of dialogue in Mansfield Park. Thomas Bertram is boastfully describing his evidently flirtatious behaviour with the younger Miss Sneyd, whoever she be. 'I went down to Ramsgate for a week with a friend last September—just after my return from the West Indies—my friend Sneyd . . . his father and mother and sisters were there, all new to me' (I. v). On arrival in Ramsgate, he and Sneyd find 'Mrs. and the two Miss Sneyds . . . out on the pier . . . with others of their acquaintance'. 'Mrs. Sneyd was surrounded by men,' he recalls. 'Surrounded by men' is an extraordinary phrase, expressing Tom Bertram's indiscretion even as it implies Mrs Sneyd's welcoming enjoyment of male attentions. Her preoccupation allows Tom to 'attach' himself to one of her daughters, and to walk 'by her side all the way home'. The young lady is apparently 'perfectly easy in her manners, and as ready to talk as to listen'. The point of the story for the teller is that he addressed himself to the younger daughter and thus offended the elder daughter. Inadvertently he provides a little picture of unsettling seaside gaiety, where promenading allows for all sorts of freedom.
Thoughts of the untoward things that might have happened to characters by the sea are in the heads of some of Austen's characters. It is a choice irony that Emma cannot see the relationship between Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill because she has already started building on her fantasy of a relationship between Jane and her friend's new husband, Mr Dixon. Two young people of the opposite sex meeting at the seaside are liable to temptation, she seems to feel. What is there to do but take pleasure together? On a stroll into Highbury to survey the Crown Inn as a possible venue for a ball, Emma asks Frank Churchill whether he saw Jane Fairfax often in Weymouth. 'Were you often in the same society?' (II. vi). 'At this moment they were approaching Ford's, and he hastily exclaimed, "Ha! this must be the very shop that every body attends every day of their lives, as my father informs me."' He needs some blather about shopping to cover his discomposure, before he eventually returns to Emma's questions and is able to say calmly, 'I met her frequently at Weymouth' (II. vi). He knew the Campbells 'a little in town', and once at the resort 'we were very much in the same set'. Here is an epitome of what going to the seaside involves: visitors from London drawn together – for what? Emma, thinking of what Jane Fairfax might have been up to, supposes some very bad behaviour beside the sea. She hatches 'an ingenious and animating suspicion': an amour between Jane and the husband of the young woman, once Miss Campbell, with whom she has been brought up (II. i). There must be an 'attachment' between Jane Fairfax and Mr Dixon (II. ii). Perhaps it is 'simple, single, successless love on her side alone'. Or perhaps 'Mr. Dixon . . . had been very near changing one friend for the other'. What could be more likely, given the location? Miss Bates fuels the fantasy by telling Emma of the 'service' Mr Dixon 'rendered Jane at Weymouth, when they were out in that party on the water, and she, by the sudden whirling round of something or other among the sails, would have been dashed into the sea at once, and actually was all but gone' (II. i). The alert Mr Dixon, we hear, 'caught hold of her habit' and saved her from falling overboard. We presume that she cannot swim, and that, in all her clothing, she would soon disappear into the depths. Emma is happily imagining that with every seaside opportunity for flirtation, and the stimulus of this sudden act of preservation, illicit romance must have blossomed.
Frank Churchill takes the hint from Emma and supports her scandalous fantasy as a way of concealing his own attachment. When she tells him about the near-accident, he confesses that he was a member of that party of pleasure in the boat. Surely, Emma suggests, he must have noticed something between Jane and her saviour. 'I, simple I, saw nothing but the fact, that Miss Fairfax was nearly dashed from the vessel and that Mr. Dixon caught her.—It was the work of a moment' (II. viii). 'Simple I' should alert us, just where Emma is diverted: beneath this is all the implicit feeling of a man in love. Of course he notices nothing between Jane and Mr Dixon! He recalls the shock of it, and we are invited to imagine that this effect on him, rather than Jane Fairfax's gratitude to Mr Dixon, might have hastened a declaration of affection. Emma's theories are all as misconceived as ever, but her hunch that something amorous has taken place on the front and out in the bay is not wrong. At the seaside, it seems, people are freed from the usual restraints. At the seaside, we infer, there is no sense of established relationships or habitual forms of behaviour. No wonder that family story about Jane Austen, in her late twenties, meeting a man who was smitten by her but who died before he could pursue his interest, had a seaside setting.
Brighton, which Jane Austen does not ever seem to have visited, was the seaside town with the most vivid reputation. Nothing excites Lydia Bennet like the thought of it. 'In Lydia's imagination, a visit to Brighton comprised every possibility of earthly happiness. She saw with the creative eye of fancy, the streets of that gay bathing place covered with officers' (II. xviii). Brighton had become a fashionable bathing place in the mid-eighteenth century under the influence of local resident Dr Richard Russell, author of the hugely influential Dissertation Concerning the Use of Sea Water in the Diseases of the Glands (1753). By the end of the eighteenth century, under the rather different influence of the Prince Regent, 'a shift took place from therapeutic aims to hedonistic ones'. Kitty and Lydia's mother finds it easy to share their excitement at the thought of Brighton. Their first scheme is to get Mr Bennet to take them for the summer, his wife expressing her longing for the place more achingly than anyone. He will not abandon his library, but is willing to let his youngest daughter go to Brighton to parade as a 'common flirt' (II. xviii). A young woman travelling there without her family does need to be chaperoned, and this is Mrs Forster's job. But Mrs Forster is 'a very young woman, and very lately married'. Presumably, being so compatible with Lydia, she is herself only in her teens, and no safeguard against the dangers of the raffish resort. Lydia and Wickham have every opportunity to develop a mutual attraction and arrange their elopement. Brighton makes it easy. After her marriage, Lydia, utterly unbowed, even recommends the place to her mother for her sisters. 'They must all go to Brighton. That is the place to get husbands' (III. ix).
Austen also had something particular against Ramsgate, where her sailor brother Francis was stationed in 1803–4. In a letter to Cassandra in 1813 she writes of a friend who has decided to move to Ramsgate and exclaims 'Bad Taste!' (Letters, 92). She then adds, 'He is very fond of the Sea however;—some Taste in that.' This is the contradiction that intrigues Austen and that makes the seaside such a fascinating place. As well as being a zone of licence and even licentiousness, it is inspiriting, heady, liberating. Whenever we get to see the sea – in Mansfield Park, in Persuasion and in Sanditon – the narrative breathes its pleasure in the prospect. Even among the absurdities of Sanditon, Charlotte Heywood is able to delight in the sea. Gazing from the window of her room in Trafalgar House soon after her arrival, she looks past 'the miscellaneous foreground of unfinished Buildings . . . to the Sea, dancing and sparkling in Sunshine and Freshness' (Ch. 4). Being by the sea can be delightful, but it is a kind of intoxication. Edward Ferrars engages himself to Lucy Steele in Plymouth: does he take seafront strolls with her? When Fanny Price walks with Mr Crawford and her sister on the Portsmouth ramparts on a mild March day, with the shadows chasing across the sea, 'dancing in its glee and dashing against the ramparts with so fine a sound', she feels its 'combination of charms' (III. xi). So much so that she is made 'almost careless of the circumstances under which she felt them' – those circumstances being the attentions of her would-be suitor, with whom she is arm in arm. She is tired from the walking and needs his support – and she is charmed by 'the loveliness of the day' and therefore the more susceptible to his attentions. Her sea-born 'tender reveries' give him the chance 'to look in her face without detection', noticing that she is 'as bewitching as ever' but, thanks to her family home, 'less blooming' than she should be.
You go to the seaside for your health, so it becomes a place for the ill.
Henry Crawford knows what the sea can do, for he has his sister write a letter beginning with happy recollection of 'the balmy air, the sparkling sea, and your sweet looks and conversation', all blended in 'the most delicious harmony' (III. xii). We know that this is well-nigh dictated, because near the end of the letter she is telling Fanny to leave Portsmouth: 'Those vile sea breezes are the ruin of beauty and health.' Her aunt 'felt affected, if within ten miles of the sea'. This suggests an impossible sensitivity, but presumably her aunt's hatred of her seafaring husband gave her this special aversion. It is a nicely peculiar expression of feeling, as Austen's contemporaries were used to thinking of the seaside as a kind of tonic. Sea bathing was one of the prescriptions in the fashionable doctor's armoury. In a letter of August 1805 Austen tells her sister that their eleven-year-old nephew Edward (eldest son of their brother Edward) is ill and that Dr Wilmot is to be consulted: 'If Sea-Bathing should be recommended' he will stay with them in Worthing (Letters, 45). The novelist expresses no scepticism about this proposed treatment, even though enthusiasm for sea bathing in her novels is made to seem absurd. 'A little sea-bathing would set me up forever,' declares Mrs Bennet idiotically in Pride and Prejudice, seconding Lydia's wish to be in Brighton (II. xviii). Kitty claims that her aunt Mrs Philips has told her that bathing in the sea 'would do me a great deal of good'. For these two, the supposedly health-giving influences of the sea would be the excuse for a pleasure trip. For Emma Woodhouse's sister Isabella the influences are real. Mr and Mrs John Knightley have not visited Highbury during the summer because the holiday 'had been given to sea-bathing for the children' (I. xi). She and her father, fellow hypochondriacs, energetically debate the relative merits of Southend and Cromer and the good or bad effects of sea air (I. xii). Mr Wingfield (her apothecary) is supposed to recommend it; Mr Perry is supposed to doubt its efficacy. The daughter's celebration of the delights of Southend (where Austen's brother Charles lived for a time) is the less convincing for her assurance that they 'never found the least inconvenience from the mud' (I. xii). Mr Woodhouse thinks 'the sea is very rarely of use to any body. I am sure it almost killed me once.' Yet, despite the sea's near-fatal properties, Mr Woodhouse is prepared to contemplate one resort. 'You should have gone to Cromer, my dear, if you went any where.' Why? Because Mr Perry has been there and thus told his rich, weak-headed patient that it is 'the best of all the sea-bathing places'.
The superstitious faith in the efficacy of the seaside is at its most extreme in the opening of Sanditon, where Mr Parker, who has just sprained his ankle when his coach overturned, assures his wife that, once back at home, 'we have our remedy at hand you know.—A little of our own Bracing Sea Air will soon set me on my feet again' (Ch. 1). The enthusiasm of Mr Parker is imitated in the narration. 'Nobody could catch cold by the Sea, Nobody wanted Appetite by the Sea, Nobody wanted Spirits, Nobody wanted Strength' (Ch. 2). The fortunes of Sanditon seem founded on its capacity to attract invalids and hypochondriacs. As Tony Tanner puts it, 'The invention and promotion of Sanditon is inseparable from the invention and promotion of sickness.' You go to the seaside for your health, so it becomes a place for the ill. As Mr Parker delights in saying, 'Never was there a place more palpably designed by Nature for the resort of the Invalid' (Ch. 1). Sea air and sea bathing are 'healing, softing, relaxing—fortifying and bracing—seemingly just as was wanted'. Mr Parker's faith in the curative powers of air and bathing knows no limit. 'The sea air and sea bathing together were nearly infallible, one or the other of them being a match for every disorder of the stomach, the lungs or the blood' (Ch. 2). Yet all this talk of health is not such nonsense after all. A late afternoon stroll and a morning walk by the sea are apparently enough to transform Anne, whose 'very pretty features' reappear, 'having the bloom and freshness of youth restored by the fine wind which had been blowing on her complexion, and by the animation of eye which it had also produced' (I. xii). Both the unknown 'gentleman' walking down to the beach, and Captain Wentworth himself, seem to notice.
Lyme, though, has a special status, being granted a strangely sub-travelogue descriptive paragraph by the author, who strays well away from what her characters can observe to detail the charms of the surrounding countryside. 'Charmouth, with its high grounds and extensive sweeps of country, and still more its sweet retired bay . . . the woody varieties of the cheerful village of Up Lyme . . . Pinny, with its green chasms between romantic rocks . . .' (I. xi). The touristic prose expresses some need to do justice to the allure of this place, where Anne is to be rekindled but where excitement is also to produce such folly. For this is not the seaside of assemblies and flâneurs and relationships in flux, where elopements and engagements are always likely. This is the seaside of visceral excitement or melancholy, of rocks and cliffs and chasms, such as are documented in Austen's peculiar paragraph. It is a place where the visitors spend time 'wondering and admiring' and it is just the place for Captain Benwick to walk and recite Byron or Scott to himself. In the other novels the seaside resort is a place of parade; in autumn and winter, Lyme is a place of 'retirement' for the Harvilles and Captain Benwick. There is a time to go to the seaside. Those who go out of season find a very different place. (Think of Mrs Croft, having to spend a winter in Deal while her husband was at sea – the only time in her life 'that I ever fancied myself unwell' (I. viii).)
'The young people were all wild to see Lyme' (I. xi). 'Wild' is a word for the Musgrove girls: earlier in the novel they are 'wild for dancing' (I. vi). It is the sea that draws them, for the place is off the beaten track and largely (in November) shut up. Once they have arrived and booked in at their hotel, 'the next thing to be done was unquestionably to walk directly down to the sea'. It is likely that Austen herself had taken a November holiday in Lyme in 1803, in her late twenties, and would have had memories of the place out of season. She visited again the next summer, when she danced in the assembly rooms and bathed in the sea (Letters, 39). She walked for an hour on the Cobb with Miss Armstrong, a family friend. Her experiences might be behind Mary Musgrove's enjoyment of her stay in Lyme, supposedly justified by Louisa's injury. Pretending to remain in the town to help look after her sister-in-law, Mary 'had found more to enjoy than to suffer' (II. ii). She breathlessly tells Anne and Lady Russell that, 'She had been taken to Charmouth too, and she had bathed, and gone to church, and there were a great many more people to look at in the church at Lyme than at Uppercross.' Church attendance is made a seaside recreation. Bathing – it is November – might well mean in Lyme's indoor baths (Jefford's), built in 1804.
For Anne, the sea exerts a kind of spell. On their morning in Lyme, she and Henrietta Musgrove walk down to the sands before breakfast 'to watch the flowing of the tide' (I. xii). 'They praised the morning; gloried in the sea; sympathized in the delight of the fresh-feeling breeze—and were silent.' By the sea Anne comes back to life, 'the bloom and freshness of youth restored'. She comes back to what we might call sexual life. No wonder that Mr Elliot can ingratiate himself by talking to her of Lyme and agreeing in her 'lively' wish to visit it again (II. iv). With great meaning, Anne later tells Captain Wentworth, 'I should very much like to see Lyme again . . . So much novelty and beauty!' (II. viii). It is what happened to her there that draws Anne back to the place in her mind and conversation. Bad things happen at the seaside because it is a place of licence. In Austen's first four novels, it is distant from the main events and beyond the knowledge of the heroine. We have to imagine what goes on there. In Persuasion, we finally travel to the sea and find that licence can also be a kind of liberation.
SEVEN
Why Is the Weather Important?
'. . . though you will never own being affected by weather, I think every body feels a north-east wind.'
Emma, III. xiv
There is weather in English fiction before Austen, but she is the first novelist to mark the small changes in the weather that anyone might notice on any ordinary day. Partly this is circumstantial precision: the weather has to be minutely observed because each Austen novel follows a tightly defined chronology. As we pass in Emma from Christmas to midsummer, as Persuasion takes us from autumn in Somerset to winter in Bath, the patterns of the weather change too. Meteorology clues us in to the passing of the year. But it is more than this. Austen likes to make her plots turn on the weather. Having arranged her characters and defined their situations, having planned her love stories and hatched the misunderstandings that might impede them, she lets the weather shape events. It is her way of admitting chance into her narratives.
Look at any single episode in which the weather shapes some important encounter and you might hardly notice the role that Austen gives it. But note the pattern of other such weather-produced accidents, and you can see a design. Take the moment in Persuasion where Anne Elliot meets Captain Wentworth in Bath. She has just found out about Louisa Musgrove's engagement to Captain Benwick; Captain Wentworth, she realises, is 'unshackled and free' (II. vi). There is hope. It starts raining and she takes shelter in a shop with her companions, her sister Elizabeth, Mrs Clay and Mr Elliot. Through the shop window she suddenly sees Captain Wentworth in the street (II. vii). In a state of confusion she finds herself moving towards the door 'to see if it rained' – as if the weather was really what was on her mind. Then Captain Wentworth himself enters the shop. 'He was more obviously struck and confused by the sight of her, than she had ever observed before; he looked quite red.' They converse falteringly, while the rain creates a fuss and a bustle in which Lady Dalrymple's carriage is made available to Elizabeth and Mrs Clay, and Mr Elliot goes back and forth making arrangements. Suddenly brought together, Captain Wentworth and Anne hardly notice all the business – until Mr Elliot returns to whisk her off. Captain Wentworth has just been showing her his new umbrella, but is denied the chance to put it to gallant use. A little West Country rain creates the drama of the episode, in which Captain Wentworth has to take second place to Mr Elliot. Nothing like the weather to bring matters to a crisis.
Sense and Sensibility is kicked into life by a misjudgement about the weather: Marianne goes walking on the Devon hills with her younger sister Margaret, convincing herself that 'the partial sunshine of a showery sky' bodes well' (I. ix). 'Marianne's declaration that the day would be lastingly fair' is, of course, folly, revealed when 'a driving rain set full in their face'. Fleeing for home, Marianne trips and is rescued by the handsome Willoughby. It might seem a fortunate accident, the beginning of a romance, but at the root of this episode is Marianne's determination to delude herself about the weather. The plot of Pride and Prejudice is also made early to depend on the weather. When Jane is invited to visit Netherfield, Mrs Bennet famously requires that the horses that would pull the Bennet coach be unavailable. They must be being used on the farm. So Jane must travel on horseback 'because it seems likely to rain' (I. vii). Some amateur forecasting settles Jane's fate: she will have to stay the night, giving her all the more chance to win Mr Bingley's heart. And Mrs Bennet is not wrong; it does indeed rain hard. She duly takes the 'credit' for the climatic conditions, although the consequences are rather beyond her control: Jane catches 'a violent cold' and is confined to her bed.
Emma is probably the most weather-dependent of all Austen's novels. So often mentioned and so frequent an influence is weather in Emma that earth scientist Euan Nisbet was moved to make a meteorological analysis of its patterns in Nature magazine. 'Emma is weather. Meteorology shapes the novel'. In the very first chapter, Emma recalls for Mr Knightley's benefit how the match between the Westons was first suggested to her when she and Miss Taylor were caught in a light 'mizzle' on a walk through Highbury and Mr Weston had 'darted away with so much gallantry, and borrowed two umbrellas for us from Farmer Mitchell's'. This was Mr Weston's first sign of romantic inclination, according to Emma. And the evidence is that Emma, who spends the novel being so wrong about so much, was right about this. Would-be lovers love to make the weather their collaborator. Emma finds this to her cost when a slight snowfall flusters the guests into a hurried departure from the Westons' dinner party, and she finds herself entrapped in a carriage with a suddenly, drunkenly amorous Mr Elton. Later, in another encounter forced by the weather, heavy rain makes Harriet take shelter in Ford's shop, and thus occasions her awkward, emotional meeting with Robert Martin and his sister (II. iii). Harriet's feelings for Robert Martin are clearly reawakened.
Exposure to the weather was a basic fact of the author's life. 'Our Pond is brimful & our roads are dirty & our walls are damp, & we sit wishing every bad day may be the last', Austen wrote from Chawton in March 1816 (Letters, 137). Those who walk, particularly women, are always wondering about the weather. Miss Bates clucks about the possibility of rain on behalf of her weather-susceptible niece. 'Jane, you had better go home directly—I would not have you out in a shower!' (II. iii). Always walking, pale and strained, Jane Fairfax's vulnerability to the weather is no mere neurosis. She is truly exposed to the elements. But when it comes to letter collection, she is dauntless. Mr John Knightley, who has been out with his two boys, hopes that she was not caught out in the rain and she pretends not: 'it did not absolutely rain when I set out' (II. xvi). He teases her, having seen her setting out just as the rain was beginning, and assures her that when she is older she will never think a letter 'worth going through the rain for'. His teasing produces the nearest to a cri de coeur that we ever hear from Jane Fairfax, as she says that he has 'every body dearest' to him 'always at hand', while she 'probably, never shall again'. The post office, where letters wait for collection, 'must always have the power to draw me out, in worse weather than today'. Utterly constrained by her circumstances, the weather is one constraint she will not obey. But the tense expressiveness of this exchange is soon overtaken by much less significant weather-talk, as her walk in the rain becomes the topic first for Mr Woodhouse ('Young ladies should take care of themselves') and then Mrs Elton ('You sad girl, how could you do such a thing?').
The point of the exchange is that Jane Fairfax is indeed vulnerable, so the first-time reader should infer that she has some strong reason for persisting in her walking. We might think Mr Woodhouse rather readily frightened by the Surrey climate, but Austen makes a point of having Mrs Weston give advice, 'kindly and persuasively': 'The spring I always think requires more than common care.' Equally susceptible to the weather, and liable to be exposed to it, is Fanny Price in Mansfield Park. On a broiling July day she is twice sent by Mrs Norris on errands to her house in the village and is thoroughly 'knocked up' as a result (I. iii). Her vulnerability to the weather is a symptom of her greater defencelessness: she must follow her aunt's uncharitable orders. A volume later she has again been sent out on an errand by her aunt Norris when she is spotted from the parsonage, sheltering from the rain under a tree. Dr Grant appears with an umbrella and she finds that she must enter the house, to the relief of Miss Crawford 'who had just been contemplating the dismal rain in a very desponding state of mind' (II. iv). Fanny soon wishes to leave, so she and Mary Crawford engage in a debate about the state of the weather. Fanny says that the weather is now fair, but Miss Crawford demurs. 'I know a black cloud when I see it; and you must not set forward while it is so threatening.' It is the beginning of Miss Crawford's attempts to win Fanny round, to seduce her. She requires the weather to support her case, and throws in the offer of some harp music if she will stay.
Jane Austen's own letters to her sister invariably include accounts of what the weather has been like where she is, in Hampshire or Kent or London. It seems that such reports are expected, perhaps that it would be peculiar not to include some mention of recent weather. We should realise how determining the weather can be. 'How lucky we were in our weather yesterday!—This wet morning makes one more sensible of it,' wrote Austen in May 1813 (Letters, 84). She was lucky on this particular day because she had been on an outing to the Hog's Back in Surrey, travelling in a curricle – an open carriage – but the sense of having a life shaped by the weather is common and constant in her letters. Most often it is the sense of being hampered by the weather, as in a letter to her nephew Edward in July 1816 where she complains of unseasonal days of rain that have kept her indoors. 'It is really too bad, & has been too bad for a long time, much worse than anybody can bear, & I begin to think it will never be fine again' (Letters, 142). She adds a joke about her subjection to the climate. 'This is a finesse of mine, for I have often observed that if one writes about the Weather, it is generally completely changed before the Letter is read.'
Like the author, Elizabeth Bennet is attentive to the weather, for she is liberated by being out of doors. She visits her sick sister by walking across the fields in what the Bingley sisters call 'dirty weather', though this is a telling inaccuracy on the part of two cosseted ladies (I. vii). On Elizabeth's visit to the Collins marital home in the early spring, the weather is 'so fine for the time of year' that she has the 'great enjoyment' of frequent walks (II. vii). She loves to walk, while her sisters need to walk in order to get to the local town. To the Bennet girls the weather matters very much. In the period before the Netherfield ball, they spend four or five days imprisoned in their house because 'there was such a succession of rain as prevented their walking to Meryton once. No aunt, no officers, no news could be sought after' (I. xvii). Such is rural life, without the use of a coach at least. In Persuasion Mary Musgrove is bitter about the imprisoning effect of winter weather in Somerset. As she writes in a letter to Anne, 'What dreadful weather we have had! It may not be felt in Bath, with your nice pavements; but in the country it is of some consequence. I have not had a creature call on me since the second week in January' (II. vi). Even in Bath, where Mary thinks the weather makes no difference, a woman cannot go out on her own if it is raining much. When Anne is looking forward to meeting the Musgrove party, and especially Captain Wentworth, at the White Hart, the weather heightens her anxiety by preventing her for some time from attempting the walk (II. xi). In Emma, in contrast, the heroine is delighted to be trapped by the weather in the wake of the Mr Elton debacle. Immobilised for 'many days' by snow and rain, she can communicate with Harriet only 'by note' (I. xvi). Only men can scorn the weather, in special circumstances, like Mr Knightley riding back from London 'through the rain' to see Emma and declare himself (III. xiii). But men can be confined too, like Tom Bertram, trying to explain away the theatricals to his father in Mansfield Park: 'We have had such incessant rains almost since October began, that we have been nearly confined to the house for days together' (II. i). In Sense and Sensibility, the grumpy Mr Palmer finds the restrictive influence of bad weather a reason for his own grumpiness. 'Such weather makes every thing and every body disgusting. Dullness is as much produced within doors as without, by rain. It makes one detest all one's acquaintance. What the devil does Sir John mean by not having a billiard room in his house? How few people know what comfort is! Sir John is as stupid as the weather' (I. xx).
With everyone so susceptible to the weather, talking about the weather is not evidently banal. Marianne Dashwood is scornful of those who talk only of 'the weather and the roads' (Sense and Sensibility, I. x), but we need not share her scorn. The weather is the first topic of conversation between Elizabeth Bennet and Wickham, by no means unresourceful conversationalists (I. xvi). The weather can indeed be the refuge of the conversationally limited; so Lady Middleton in Sense and Sensibility can only talk about her children and the weather. Yet the first of these topics is made to seem the less truly communicative. The most intelligent of Austen's characters talk about the weather. When Edward Ferrars arrives unannounced near the end of Sense and Sensibility, Elinor, unable to express any of her true feelings or apprehensions, 'sat down again and talked of the weather' (III. xii). 'When Elinor had ceased to rejoice in the dryness of the season, a very awful pause took place.' In Persuasion, when Anne nervously engages in conversation with Captain Wentworth at the concert in Bath, wholly uncertain about his feelings towards her, they start with the weather (II. viii). In Emma, when Mrs Weston finds herself in a conversation with Mr Knightley about the likelihood of Emma marrying, she is relieved (because of her own hopes for her stepson as a possible husband) when he makes the 'quiet transition' to 'What does Weston think of the weather; shall we have rain?' (I. v).
Mr Weston himself talks about the weather in a rather peculiar way. When his son cancels his expected visit to Highbury, he consoles himself that a later visit will be better: 'better time of year; better weather' (I. xviii). All manner of things will be well. When his son later writes to announce his imminent arrival, Mr Weston duly invokes the weather to show that all is indeed for the best. 'I was always glad he did not come at Christmas; now we are going to have just the right weather for him, fine, dry, settled weather' (II. v). Listening to this, you should realise that there is invariably something a little misjudging about whatever Mr Weston says. You can recall his comment during the Randalls' dinner party, where he responds to Mr Woodhouse's panic at news of snow with the acknowledgement that 'he had known it to be snowing some time, but had not said a word, lest it should make Mr Woodhouse uncomfortable' (I. xv). In fact he gives an extra twist to Mr Woodhouse's anxiety by professing the hope that all the roads will be blocked so that his guests are compelled to stay. Mr Weston is sanguine, contented, optimistic, but though these are likeable characteristics, he is therefore often wrong-headed. He is at it again when news comes that Mrs Churchill is moving to Richmond. The time of year couldn't be better for Frank's constant visits, 'weather genial and pleasant, always inviting one out, and never too hot for exercise' (II. xviii). He is forever making the weather the mirror of his hopes, and always making out that everything is for the best. Anybody who makes the weather serve their hopes is to be suspected.
The weather is reality, and the novelist expects us to notice those who try to fit it to their purposes.
'The weather is mended, which I attribute to my writing about it,' wrote Austen in a letter to her sister in 1808 (Letters, 55). When you talk rubbish about the weather you are indeed not to be trusted. On the outing to Box Hill, Frank Churchill says that he was 'cross' on the day of the Donwell strawberry picking because 'The heat overcame me' (III. vii). 'It is hotter today,' points out Emma, to which Frank nonsensically replies, 'Not to my feelings.' He resorts to nonsense about the weather because he is covering the tracks of his lovers' quarrel with Jane Fairfax. Some people talk credibly about the weather, and some incredibly. The weather is reality, and the novelist expects us to notice those who try to fit it to their purposes. In Mansfield Park Mrs Norris indulges the meteorological ill will that has ever tempted the envious or the malign. Nettled by Fanny's invitation to dine with the Grants, she wishes bad weather upon her niece. 'And if it should rain, which I think exceedingly likely, for I never saw it more threatening for a wet evening in my life—you must manage as well as you can' (II. v). She tells her niece that she must not expect the Bertram carriage to be sent for, 'so you must make up your mind to what may happen'. She wishes on Fanny not just a soaking, but an evening of worrying about the weather – until Sir Thomas dispels all anxiety by telling her that his coach will take and return her.
Deluded and self-deluding, Marianne Dashwood is a great one for requiring the weather to conform to her desires. Her self-deceptive hopes of the weather, which led to that initial meeting with Willoughby, persist. In London she cannot understand why Willoughby has not written or called, until Mrs Jennings remarks that Sir John will not like to leave Devon if 'this open weather holds' (II.v). Marianne seizes on the thought gratefully: all keen huntsmen will be staying in the country. And then she naturally begins projecting her wishes on to the weather: 'it cannot be expected to last long . . . Frosts will soon set in, and in all probability with severity. In another day or two, perhaps; this extreme mildness can hardly last longer—nay, perhaps it may freeze to-night!' Marianne's talk of the weather comically epitomises her folly, for she speaks as if there were some reason for her wishes to come to pass – as if what is merely her desire were some fact in the external world. She is 'happy in the mildness of the weather, and still happier in her expectation of a frost'. Suddenly she is transformed into a keen, though hopelessly biased, meteorologist, 'busy in observing the direction of the wind, watching the variations of the sky and imagining an alteration in the air'. We know that there is some more human and disturbing explanation of his silence, but Marianne will have only the elements to blame. One delusion (the weather is the reason) becomes another (the weather is changing to bring him to her). We, like Elinor, are 'alternately diverted and pained'.
Her folly continues. At Cleveland she likes to wander in the grounds 'in free and luxurious solitude', and on her first day the morning is 'fine and dry' and she can indulge herself. However, 'Marianne, in her plan of employment abroad, had not calculated for any change of weather during their stay at Cleveland' (even though it is April).
With great surprise therefore, did she find herself prevented by a settled rain from going out again after dinner. She had depended on a twilight walk to the Grecian temple, and perhaps all over the grounds, and an evening merely cold or damp would not have deterred her from it; but an heavy and settled rain even she could not fancy dry or pleasant weather for walking (III. vi).
It is striking that only when she is penitent and recuperating, near the end of the novel, does she begin talking of the weather rationally (III. x). She will take walks with Elinor, she says, 'When the weather is settled, and I have recovered my strength'.
Yet the weather will not influence all alike. When hot weather comes to Mansfield Park, everyone (except Fanny) is out riding and determined to be pleased, 'the heat only supplying inconvenience enough to be talked of with pleasure' (I. vii). Fanny, meanwhile, roasted by Mrs Norris, is reduced to headaches and tearfulness. In Emma the hot June weather of the Donwell strawberry party is perceived differently by different characters. Mr Woodhouse is indoors with a fire; Mrs Elton is bringing on heatstroke with all her talking and strawberry picking; Emma finds the day delicious. Frank Churchill arrives late with a catalogue of complaints about the weather.
The heat was excessive; he had never suffered any thing like it—almost wished he had staid at home—nothing killed him like heat—he could bear any degree of cold, etc., but heat was intolerable—and he sat down, at the greatest possible distance from the slight remains of Mr. Woodhouse's fire, looking very deplorable. (III. vi)
As ever with him, this is a blind. He is agitated because he has fallen out with Jane Fairfax, whom he has met in the road walking home to Highbury. 'I am glad I have done being in love with him. I should not like a man who is so soon discomposed by a hot morning,' thinks Emma, foolishly – for she has not been in love with him and it is not the hot morning that has rumpled him. He is merely fixing his discontent on the weather. 'You will all be going soon I suppose; the whole party breaking up. I met one as I came—Madness in such weather!—absolute madness!' The weather has nothing really to do with his feelings.
The poets of Austen's lifetime were happy to use the pathetic fallacy. 'O there is blessing in this gentle breeze . . .' begins the greatest poem of the Romantic era, Wordsworth's The Prelude. The elements conspire to assure the poet that Nature restores and strengthens and delights him. We come near such discovery of human feelings reflected in the elements in Persuasion, where Anne is prone to find the fading autumn light of the first half of the novel an index of her own melancholy. As she waits on her own at Uppercross for Lady Russell's carriage to fetch her from her sister's house she muses on the likely (as she thinks it) betrothal of Captain Wentworth and Louisa Musgrove. She has an hour for such reflections, 'on a dark November day, a small thick rain almost blotting out the very few objects ever to be discerned from the windows' (II. i). This autumnal novel uses touches of weather which we hardly notice at first but which suggest the heroine's melancholy. When Anne arrives with Lady Russell in Bath, a place she dislikes, we get a 'dim view of the extensive buildings, smoking in rain' (II. ii). Anne's companion is alive to the prospect of her 'winter pleasures'; our heroine sees things differently.
The nearest to a pathetic fallacy that Austen truly hazards comes in Emma : 'The weather added what it could of gloom' (III. xii). Emma has found out about Frank Churchill's engagement to Jane Fairfax and is contemplating the possible pairing of Mr Knightley and Harriet Smith. The world is narrowing. 'A cold stormy rain set in' – unseasonal for July. 'The weather affected Mr. Woodhouse', requiring Emma ceaselessly to be attentive to him in order to keep him 'tolerably comfortable'. The evening of rain lengthens out like the long prospect of her future days with only her father for company. We should not merely think that Mr Woodhouse is foolish for letting the grim weather get to him. Commenting on recent 'terrible' weather in a letter to Martha Lloyd, Austen described its effect on Mrs Austen. 'My Mother slept through a good deal of Sunday, but still it was impossible not to be disordered by such a sky, & even yesterday she was but poorly' (Letters, 82). That 'impossible' does not sound sarcastic: grim weather was naturally grim for the spirits, and where a person was easily indisposed (Mr Woodhouse or Mrs Austen) it could easily make them 'poorly'. 'The weather continued much the same all the following morning; and the same loneliness, and the same melancholy, seemed to reign at Hartfield' (III. xiii). But then it shifts: 'the wind changed into a softer quarter; the clouds were carried off; the sun appeared; it was summer again' (III. xiii). Emma can escape into the shrubbery at Hartfield. The weather has liberated her from her gloom and self-absorption – and from her father. She has her 'spirits freshened' by the welcome fine weather and soon finds herself joined by Mr Knightley. 'He meant to walk with her, she found.' At the critical moment in their conversation, where he offers a revelation and she declines to know it, they reach the house and she decides to 'take another turn' around the garden. A new, benign climate blesses their exchange, and he gets the chance to tell her not that he wishes to marry Harriet – which was her fear – but that he loves her. It is the walk in the sudden fine weather that allows for Mr Knightley's proposal, apparently unpremeditated before he discovers the occasion. The shrewd reader will regard the final betrothal of Emma and Mr Knightley as inevitable, from the moment we know that he is the only person ever to find fault with her. But the best comedy recruits chance, and the lucky change of weather in Emma is there to let us imagine how it might have been otherwise.
EIGHT
Do We Ever See the Lower Classes?
'The man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget his name) shall inquire for yours too and bring them to you.'
Emma, II. xvi
It is usual to observe that Jane Austen's novels have no room for the labouring classes. Defenders will say that she is simply limiting herself to the world and the genteel classes that she knew; critics will suggest that the exclusion from her fiction of all except gentlemen and ladies shows a certain narrowness of the imagination, for she was certainly surrounded by members of the labouring classes. In Chawton when she arrived, the majority of the 400 or so inhabitants were forestry or agricultural workers. The charge of the critics is worth a careful answer, since Austen herself invites the reader to be unsettled by one of her own characters' absolute negligence of the lower orders. Henry Crawford in Mansfield Park has inherited a rich Norfolk estate. When he is trying to woo Fanny Price in Portsmouth, he talks of how he has been doing good on behalf of industrious families there. 'He had introduced himself to some tenants whom he had never seen before; he had begun making acquaintance with cottages whose very existence, though on his own estate, had been hitherto unknown to him' (III. x). His account is 'well aimed'. 'To be the friend of the poor and oppressed!' The exclamation mark gives us the force of Fanny's unspoken response. Yet his account also implies the carelessness of his landlordism before now and the invisibility to him of those beneath his social horizon (even if they are paying him rent).
Some of her characters acknowledge poverty. It is the arch-snob Emma Woodhouse who pays 'a charitable visit' to 'a poor sick family' in Emma (I. x). The account of the visit seems suspended between endorsement and satire: Emma is 'very compassionate' and has 'no romantic expectations of extraordinary virtue' – even if she does afterwards embark on some sermonising to Harriet. Yet there is no doubt of the 'wretchedness' of what she has seen. She has given money as well as counsel, and soon a child comes from the cottage with a pitcher to get broth from Hartfield. Later, when walking with Harriet and trying to divert her protégée's mind from thoughts of Mr Elton, she talks of 'what the poor must suffer in winter' (II. i). The rich are expected to relieve the poor. In Persuasion, Anne Elliot is ashamed to know that, with the Crofts installed in Kellynch Hall instead of her father and sister, 'the poor' are sure of 'the best attention and relief' (II. i). Having returned to Kellynch from Uppercross to stay with Lady Russell, Anne herself engages in more than one 'visit of charity in the village' (I. ii).
What is poverty? There is Mrs Smith in Persuasion: 'She was a widow, and poor' (II. v). She rents two rooms in a cheap part of Bath. Unable to walk, she relies on a servant (Mary) whom she shares with all the other occupants of her lodgings. She has to be rung for. Mrs Smith's very poverty seems to put her on a conversational level with those to whom Austen's characters do not usually talk. When Anne visits her after the concert, she already knows much about the gathering 'through the short cut of a laundress and a waiter' (II. ix). Suddenly you catch a world of chat and information passing beneath the hearing of genteel characters. 'Did you observe the woman who opened the door to you, when you called yesterday?' she asks Anne (II. ix). Anne of course noticed 'no one in particular' – when in fact it was Nurse Rooke, who observed her closely, knowing much that was said about Mr Elliot's relationship with her. Yet Mrs Smith's status, which has made her the conversational companion of members of the lower classes, is temporary. Her circumstances have been reduced by her husband's improvidence and Mr Elliot's nefariousness, and like some character from Victorian fiction, she is restored to deserving affluence at the end of the novel.
Another character reduced from gentility is Miss Bates in Emma. Mr Knightley explicitly says 'She is poor' (III. vii), but she and her ageing mother, living in a couple of upstairs rooms, themselves employ one maid-of-all-work, Patty, who cooks and cleans. Emma is a novel which lets you feel the embarrassment – or Hobbesian carelessness – of those who are luckily rich and are living close to those who are unluckily poor. Austen inserts some entirely unnecessary evidence of poverty in Highbury into one of Miss Bates's rambling monologues. She is trying to remember when she first heard that her niece had accepted Mrs Elton's arrangement of a governess's post, and recollects Mr Elton being called out of the room by 'old John Abdy's son' (III. viii). We find out from Miss Bates, ever particular, that the old man is a bedridden former clerk to the vicar (her father), and that she visits him. His son, an ostler at the Crown, is after parish relief for him, and must persuade Mr Elton into dispensing it.
The crucial distinction is between those who employ servants, and those who do not. Almost all the named characters who belong to the latter category in Austen's novels are themselves servants; to her first readers, as habituated to the presence of servants as the novelist, they would not have been invisible at all. Indeed, her novels rely on the readers 'seeing' these servants in a way that we have forgotten to do. Her characters are wise not to forget that they are often observed by servants. Colonel Brandon recalls how his planned elopement with Eliza, the woman he loved who was promised in marriage to his brother, was scotched by a servant. 'The treachery, or the folly, of my cousin's maid betrayed us' (II. ix). It is a foolish person who does not shape conversation to take account of the presence of servants. In Pride and Prejudice, Elizabeth and the Gardiners are relieved when Mrs Bennet withdraws to her room in the wake of Lydia's elopement, 'for they knew that she had not prudence enough to hold her tongue before the servants, while they waited at table' (III. v). Hearing the account of her mother's reactions when the news about Lydia was first broken, Elizabeth cries out that every servant must have known 'the whole story before the end of the day'. And when the servants know, so does the world. They are self-interested monitors, who will not necessarily protect those whom they watch. Lady Catherine de Bourgh boasts of having sent two servants with her niece to Ramsgate ('I am excessively attentive to all these things'), but they do not manage to prevent the planned elopment (I. xiv). In fact, the scheme is facilitated by a diabolical servant, Mrs Younge, the former governess to Miss Darcy
The reader who supposes that Austen's fictional servants form a class of devoted, silent attendants will miss many tricks. The fact that servants are also a problem is behind Mr Bennet's remark to his just-engaged daughter Jane that she and Bingley are 'so easy, that every servant will cheat you' (III. xiii). Servants have their own interests. It would have been odd for Austen's novels not to imagine difficulties with servants, for her own letters are full of them. Writing to her niece Anna in 1814, Aunt Jane pauses from detailed advice about her would-be novel to tell her important news. 'Your Aunt Frank's Housemaid has just given her warning, but whether she is worth your having, or wd take your place I know not . . . She leaves your Aunt, because she cannot agree with her fellow servants. She is in love with the Man—& her head seems rather turned' (Letters, 108). She goes on to detail her relations and previous service. Her letters sometimes hint at the shifting balance of power between servants and their less affluent employers. 'Mary's promised maid has jilted her, & hired herself elsewhere' (Letters, 24). Mary is her sister-in-law, evidently outbid for the services of a maid who knows her market value. The dismissal of servants is significant news. 'Mrs Digweed parts with both Hannah & old Cook, the former will not give up her Lover, who is a Man of bad Character, the Latter is guilty only of being unequal to anything' (Letters, 145).
Fellowship with servants is a warning sign. In Sense and Sensibility, cheerful, vulgar Mrs Jennings, mother of a minor aristocrat, is happy enough to travel with 'her maid' and 'take comfort' in her 'gossip' rather than enjoy the company of the Dashwood sisters (III. x). In Mansfield Park, it is a nice touch that Tom Bertram, recently returned to England from a year in the West Indies, writes to the gamekeeper before he writes to his brother (I. xii). Back in the household, he crassly insists on talking to Fanny and others about one of the horses 'and the opinion of the groom, from whom he had just parted' (I. xii). His sisters recruit their servants to their own cruelties. When the ten-year-old Fanny arrives at the great house of her aunt and uncle, they are the supporting cast to Maria's and Julia's unkindness. 'Her elder cousins mortified her by reflections on her size, and abashed her by noticing her shyness: Miss Lee wondered at her ignorance, and the maid-servants sneered at her clothes' (I. ii).
It is a nice piece of sociological realism on Austen's part that the character who complains the most about servants in her novels is the impecunious 'slattern' Mrs Price in Mansfield Park (III. viii). Within minutes of Fanny arriving after an eight-year absence, her mother is moaning about the failings of Rebecca, complaints with which her daughter Susan readily falls in (III. vii). Soon Rebecca herself is squabbling with eleven-year-old Sam over carrying Fanny's trunk. Fanny discovers that Rebecca is 'the upper servant', there also being 'an attendant girl' of 'inferior appearance' called Sally (III. vii). When Mrs Price does think to ask about the lives of her sisters at Mansfield Park, it is a route to her favourite topic of discontent. 'How did her sister Bertram manage about her servants? Was she as much plagued as herself to get tolerable servants?' (III. vii) Then she is away, into a disquisition: 'the shocking character of all the Portsmouth servants, of whom she believed her own two were the very worst, engrossed her completely'. She has taught not only fourteen-year-old Susan but even five-year-old Betsey to complain endlessly about Rebecca. 'I am sure the place is easy enough,' observes Mrs Price, giving us an indication why the spatial and economic proximity of servants to their employers is a likely cause of mutual disgruntlement. Rebecca is 'never where she ought to be', which is not the narrator's information but a report of the constant complaint. Even in these cramped lodgings, she cannot ever be in the right place. It is her ordeal rather than her fault. 'Whatever was wanted, was halloo'd for, and the servants halloo'd out their excuses from the kitchen' (III. viii).
Rebecca is a fright, as we know when Fanny sighs with relief that Mr Crawford has not sampled 'Rebecca's cookery and Rebecca's waiting' (III. x). Fanny has to survive on surreptitiously purchased biscuits and buns, for she is not equal to 'Rebecca's puddings, and Rebecca's hashes', served on 'half-cleaned plates' with 'not half-cleaned knives and forks' (III. xi). When Mrs Price is walking out with her family on a Sunday, her greatest possible torment is to see 'Rebecca pass by with a flower in her hat' (III. xi). This is the one day when she has not pretence of power over her and the thought that she has a better life is just too aggravating. When Mrs Price goes for her weekly walk on the ramparts she meets acquaintances for news and 'talked over the badness of the Portsmouth servants'. It is almost the only topic on which she is able to fix her mind. When she is first told of her niece Maria's presumed adultery, she barely has time to hope that it is not true, 'it would be so very shocking!', before she starts noticing that Rebecca has not cleaned the carpet and recruiting young Betsey in her laments (III. xv). Austen's first readers, themselves reliant on servants, would have been able to relish the background drama of Mrs Price's exasperation at her servants.
For the more privileged, there is the pleasure of complaining about other people's servants. In Emma Mrs Elton condemns 'Donwell servants, who are all, I have often observed, extremely awkward and remiss.—I am sure I would not have such a creature as his Harry stand at our sideboard for any consideration. And as for Mrs. Hodges, Wright holds her very cheap indeed.—She promised Wright a receipt, and never sent it' (III. xvi). In Persuasion, Mary Musgrove complains to Anne that her mother-in-law's upper house-maid and laundry-maid 'are gadding about the village, all day long. I meet them wherever I go' (I. vi). Her own servant Jemima has told her that 'they are always tempting her to take a walk with them', but luckily, according to Mary, Jemima is 'the trustiest, steadiest creature in the world'. The character who thinks that their own servant is wonderful belongs with the character who thinks that all their servants are useless. For of course Mrs Musgrove tells Anne that the aforementioned Jemima, Mary's nursery-maid, 'is always upon the gad'. 'I can declare, she is such a fine-dressing lady, that she is enough to ruin any servants she comes near.' She invites Anne to report 'any thing amiss' that she observes herself. By allowing these confident confidences to mirror each other so exactly, the novel invites us to imagine both employers beguiled by their own servants – critics who are really dupes.
The reader is equally invited to recoil from the character who is unpleasant to servants. General Tilney in Northanger Abbey gets angry with his servant, William, for not opening a door for Catherine when she rushes in to their Bath apartment. If Catherine had not intervened, he might have lost 'the favour of his master for ever, if not his place' – even though he is entirely blameless (I. xiii). The General's anger is always just under the surface in the novel, and here we are asked to suspect how he might regularly vent his fury on his servants. In Sense and Sensibility a whole political economy of employer–servant relations is satirically implied by Mrs John Dashwood's recollection of her mother being 'clogged' by the requirement in her husband's will to pay annuities to three 'old superannuated servants' (I. ii). 'Twice every year, these annuities were to be paid; and then there was the trouble of getting it to them; and then one of them was said to have died, and afterwards it turned out to be no such thing.' The detail mentioning how wearisome it was even to have to convey the funds is beautiful. Even better is the farce of wishfulness implied by the rumour of the death of one of these hapless ex-retainers, sparking the evident disappointment of the family when he or she was discovered to be living still. It was 'unkind' of her father to require the payment, judges a woman who has all the kindness of a Goneril. The utterly mean-spirited Mrs Ferrars is legally obliged to pay the annuities, and we are left in no doubt that she would otherwise have given the former servants nothing. In which case, the unfortunate ex-employees would almost certainly have had to eke out their final years on poor relief. Being considerate to ex-servants is always virtuous, and in Sense and Sensibility the virtue is rather obviously rewarded. Colonel Brandon manages to find his sister-in-law Eliza, an impoverished fallen woman, because of his paternalistic care. 'Regard for a former servant of my own, who had since fallen into misfortune, carried me to visit him in a spunging-house, where he was confined for debt; and there, in the same house, under a similar confinement, was my unfortunate sister' (II. ix).
A sure sign that Lady Denham in Sanditon is (as the heroine thinks) 'very, very mean' is her pride in not paying her servants more (Ch. 7). Other Austen characters like to be above the economic system that binds their servants to them. Lady Bertram is amazed and relieved to find that, in her husband's absence, Edmund is capable of 'settling with the servants' (I. iv). We are left to imagine how irksome such everyday negotiations would be for her. In contrast, her sister Mrs Norris loves to talk about talking to servants. Her excuse for sending Fanny on endless errands in the heat of the day is that she has been doing just this. 'I was talking to Mr. Green at that very time about your mother's dairymaid, by her desire, and had promised John Groom to write to Mrs. Jefferies about his son, and the poor fellow was waiting for me half an hour' (I. vii) She is too busy bossing the servants to get a servant to do the errands. This is officiousness and the mere exercise of power, of course. When Sir Thomas returns unexpectedly from Antigua, she pesters him to eat something, for if he asked for food 'she might have gone to the house-keeper with troublesome directions, and insulted the footmen with injunctions of despatch' (II. i).
Austen's monsters are invariably attentive to the lower orders, for thus they exercise their self-importance.
There are plenty of servants in Mansfield Park and, hardly noticed by the other characters but noticed by the attentive reader, Mrs Norris is invariably in among them. The very fact that she is keen to call servants by name is a sign of her interfering bent. When bustling over the arrival of tea she suggests that Lady Bertram 'hurry Baddeley a little, he seems behind hand to-night' (I. i). She refers to the inferior coachmen as Stephen and Charles (II. ii). She has a special interest in servants. On the visit to Sotherton we find that she has 'fallen in with the housekeeper' (I. ix) and on the return journey she talks of how 'good old Mrs. Whitaker' has well nigh forced a cream cheese upon her (I. x). She later calls her 'a treasure', apparently on the grounds that she never allows wine at the servants' table and has sacked two housemaids 'for wearing white gowns'. (White was the most fashionably elegant colour for a woman's dress, and therefore presumptuous in a mere servant.) A woman after her own heart. In her company she meets the benighted Sotherton gardener, and has soon 'set him right as to his grandson's illness, convinced him it was an ague, and presented him a charm for it' (I. x). She has never, of course, seen the ailing grandson. That 'convinced him' is the perfect touch, letting you imagine the force of Mrs Norris's assertion and the helpless need of the elderly retainer to concur. And what about the charm? Does Mrs Norris carry a supply of these? Naturally she gets a plant out of him, for he must see the kind of person that she is. Although this man never speaks and is never named, you glimpse how his life must be spent falling in with the inclinations of his betters.
Mrs Norris's professed solicitousness for the servants should encourage a contrary reading. Back at Mansfield, where she is 'cross because the house-keeper would have her own way with the supper', she is, in reality, in a war for power with the senior servants (II. ix).Vaunting herself to her brother-in-law for her encouragement of the connection with the Rushworths, she narrates the sufferings of the 'poor old coachman', who has been afflicted with 'the rheumatism which I had been doctoring him for, ever since Michaelmas' (II. ii). And then, decisively, 'I cured him at last.' Leaving the dinner at the Parsonage, she chivvies Fanny, 'Quick, quick. I cannot bear to keep good old Wilcox waiting. You should always remember the coachman and horses' (II. vii). In fact she is only interested in bullying her niece. All the small examples of her talk about servants are there to let you imagine the quotidian meddling and bullying that these servants must endure. They are not her servants, of course. Mansfield Park has a large retinue of retainers who dine in their own Hall. They are not paid by Mrs Norris, they are just her potential victims. Christopher Jackson is favoured by Sir Thomas, so it is no suprise when Mrs Norris tells us that 'the Jacksons are very encroaching, I have always said so' (I. xv). She is boasting of having intercepted the hapless ten-year-old Dick Jackson on his way to the Servants' Hall with a couple of pieces of wood for his father. She calls the Jackson parents 'Mother' and 'Father', with a kind of officious familiarity that is her special tone. By her own account, she speaks sharply to their ten-year-old son, 'a great lubberly fellow', and sends him off, perhaps in tears (he 'looked very silly' in response to her harshness).
Austen's monsters are invariably attentive to the lower orders, for thus they exercise their self-importance. The Collinses' housemaids have to suffer the admonishments of Lady Catherine de Bourgh whenever she calls (II. vii). The local cottagers have to suffer her attentions when she arrives to 'scold them into harmony and plenty'. Mrs Elton brandishes her servants in conversation, unnecessarily telling Emma how Wright (presumably her housekeeper) will always dish up enough to allow Jane Fairfax a portion. Later she offers to have Jane Fairfax's letters fetched from the post office for her by 'the man who fetches our letters every morning (one of our men, I forget his name)' (II. xvi). Her amnesia is itself a boast. Talking of her servants is her way of showing off: 'it is a kindness to employ our men'. Clearly any intelligent servant would do well to avoid unnecessary encounters with either of these two, but we are expected to notice that even employers who think of themselves as considerate can be oppressive. In the background of Emma is the little drama of Mr Woodhouse's relations with his servants, all the more resonant because this rich and sedentary man imagines himself the kindest of masters. His is an ordinary kind of hypocrisy. He provides his carriage and his coachman James to carry Mrs and Miss Bates and Mrs Goddard back and forth frequently from their homes to Hartfield, though if the trips had been 'only once a year', the narrator tells us, he would have worried about his servant and his horses (I. iii). He is serving his own pleasures, naturally, as Miss Bates and Mrs Goddard are his powerless, recruited companions. At the Coles' party, we find out from Emma that she would like to have the Woodhouse coach used sometimes by friends like the Bateses, but she cannot think of it because of Mr Woodhouse's concerns for James. Mr Knightley concurs (II. viii). As soon as Mr Woodhouse's own gentle selfishness is not being indulged, he starts worrying about his servant. He is always mentioning James – 'James will take you very safely' – as if being coachman in the lanes of Surrey were a dangerous posting (II. vii). He worries away about James, though when it snows it is Mr Knightley who goes out to talk to both coachmen to find out their opinions of the ease of a return journey (I. xv).
Austen slyly lets you glimpse the irksomeness of life as one of Mr Woodhouse's servants in his very praise of their virtues. Discovering that Emma has sent the Bateses a hind-quarter of pork, Mr Woodhouse discourses on the dangers of eating this meat, unless 'very thoroughly boiled, just as Serle boils our's' (II. iii). Serle, the invisible Hartfield cook, features in Mr Woodhouse's conversation as a prodigy of culinary skill. 'Serle understands boiling an egg better than any body. I would not recommend an egg boiled by any body else' (I. iii). This fragment of dialogue is a little miracle of absurdity, suggesting something of Serle's skills at managing her employer's expectations (Serle's gender is never specified, but only peculiarly grand or fashionable households usually employed expensive male cooks). We know that life in the Hartfield kitchen must be determined by Mr Woodhouse's endless fussiness, but perhaps that Serle has simply become skilled at pretending to pander to her master's nervous demands. The subtext of all Mr Woodhouse's kind remarks about his servants is that they have to put up with all his fussing. We have to infer this from his own comments, as when he delivers his 'great opinion' of James's daughter Hannah, recently appointed as a maid to the Westons (I. i). 'Whenever I see her, she always curtseys and asks me how I do, in a very pretty manner; and when you have had her here to do needlework, I observe she always turns the lock of the door the right way and never bangs it. I am sure she will be an excellent servant.' His praise manages to be both weak-minded and imperious. In his implied dealings with servants we can imagine what Austen calls his 'gentle selfishness' – a choice oxymoron for his self-pleasing exhibition of consideration for others. His ordinary expectations are probably high. Austen allows us the little detail of his ordering Emma's maid, the cook and the butler to wait up for her when she goes out to the Coles'.
There are plenty of servants to go round at Hartfield. Mr Woodhouse must have at least six or seven: a butler, a cook, a coachman, at least one gardener, a lady's maid, a kitchen maid, another general maid, perhaps another manservant who doubles as an extra coachman – and all for himself and his daughter. The number of servants you employ is a sign of your status, as when we hear in Emma of the rise of the Coles, resented by our heroine. 'With their wealth, their views increased; their want of a larger house, their inclination for more company. They added to their house, to their number of servants, to their expenses of every sort' (II. vii). Further down the social scale, the Martins 'have no indoors man', Harriet Smith tells Emma, though 'Mrs. Martin talks of taking a boy another year' (I. iv). This is Harriet awkwardly trying to puff the Martins' social standing and succeeding in doing the opposite. When Mr and Mrs John Dashwood stage a London dinner in Sense and Sensibility, the servants are part of the show. 'The dinner was a grand one, the servants were numerous, and everything bespoke the Mistress's inclination for shew, and the Master's ability to support it' (II. xii). In Bath, the Elliots rent a house in Camden Place, out of the fashionable swim. They can just manage a flourish of servants. When Mr Elliot visits on Anne's first evening in Bath, he is admitted 'with all the state which a butler and foot-boy could give' (II. ii). But when Elizabeth contemplates inviting the Musgrove party for dinner, she cannot bear their witnessing 'the difference of style, the reduction of servants, which a dinner must betray' (II. x). So instead she asks them 'for an evening', avoiding the need for serving and waiting at table that would reveal the small numbers of their servants.
Austen's readers would have known what a modest number of servants was. When the Dashwoods move to Devon, Elinor's wisdom 'limited' them to three servants, who are duly whistled off from Sussex (I. v). These three are presumed to have some loyalty to the Dashwoods, being 'speedily provided from amongst those who had formed their establishment at Norland' ('speedily' implying ready volunteers). Talking to Elinor, Mrs Jennings later begins to imagine a modestly happy existence for Edward and Lucy, on perhaps five hundred a year, in 'such another cottage as yours—or a little bigger—with two maids and two men' (III. i). And she begins to allot her own maid Betty's 'out of place' sister to them. When she hears that Edward has been disinherited she rapidly alters her calculations. 'Two maids and two men indeed!—as I talked of t'other day.—No, no, they must get a stout girl of all works.—Betty's sister would never do for them now' (III. ii). At the end of the eighteenth century, it would have been normal for a member of the country gentry of modest means to employ four or five servants. The Rev. William Gilpin, on £700 per year, had four permanent servants. As the Austens planned their move to Bath in January 1801, Jane told her sister, 'My Mother looks forward with as much certainty as you can do, to our keeping two Maids—my father is the only one not in the secret' (Letters, 29). This would have meant having four servants in total. But several households in Austen have many more. At Mansfield Park there seem to be hordes. Fanny is saved from the advances of Mr Crawford one evening by the appearance of Baddely (the butler) with tea, heading a 'procession' of 'cake-bearers' and those carrying the tea-board and the urn. The Bennets have a housekeeper (Hill), a butler (III. vii), a cook and two housemaids (III. viii). There are probably more: a manservant, a gardener, a kitchen maid. Northanger Abbey is full of servants (remember that the General is proud of his 'offices'). Catherine Morland, having sneaked into Mrs Tilney's room, hears footsteps. 'To be found there, even by a servant, would be unpleasant . . .' (II. ix). Later, upset by the letter in which her brother tells her how Isabella has jilted him, she cannot retreat to her own room because 'the house-maids were busy in it' (II. x). Surely the ubiquitous servants are the 'voluntary spies' Henry invokes (II. ix).
We can imagine how they talk about what they see and hear. Only occasionally are their voices recorded: the old coachman in Mansfield Park, praising Mary Crawford's 'good heart for riding' and remembering Fanny's fearfulness (I. vii); the butler Baddeley politely contradicting Mrs Norris, with 'a half-smile' that speaks his delight in having to do so (III. i). We should, however, guess at the talk of servants. In Persuasion, one clue as to the identity of the unknown 'gentleman' at the inn in Lyme is the fact that his servant has been chatting to the waiter about his master's prospects: 'he did not mention no particular family; but he said his master was a very rich gentleman, and would be a baronight some day' (II. xii). The fortunes of servants depend on those of their masters and mistresses – and the waiter's blissful mispronunciation turns the rank of which Sir Walter is so vain into the slurred calculation of one of the lower orders. Baronet – Knight – some such thing: only the promise of increased wages and better premises is likely to matter.
In the persons of servants, the lower orders are ever-present in Austen's fiction. The novelist expects the reader to 'see' them (often the male servants will be dressed in livery). As Elizabeth Bennet acknowledges with pain, family troubles take place in a domestic theatre with an audience of servants. 'What praise is more valuable than the praise of an intelligent servant?' asks the narrator of Pride and Prejudice, in effect echoing Elizabeth's thought (III. i). There is nothing like the verdict of a servant, for the servants see everything, and we as readers should see them watching and listening.
NINE
Which Important Characters Never Speak in the Novels?
He had a pleasing face and a melancholy air, just as he ought to have, and drew back from conversation.
Persuasion, I. xii
'Oratio imago animi. – Language most shows a man: Speak, that I may see thee', wrote the dramatist Ben Jonson, elaborating a Latin idiom. The great novelists of the nineteenth century, including Jane Austen, learned to make us discern a character through his or her speech. The rather few critics who have written on speech in Austen's fiction have discovered how each of her speakers seems to have their own idiolect – a way of speaking that is individually distinctive. In the art of creating idiolects the novelist is like the dramatist, but in the presentation of conversation the novelist has an extra resource: she can report dialogue without quoting it. In any particular scene a character might be speaking without his or her words actually being given to us. Austen, one of the greatest of all writers of dialogue, also developed a technique that is not usually noticed: the selective denial of quoted speech to particular characters.
Sometimes this denial is like a little joke that must have delighted the author exactly because it is difficult to spot. Such seems to be the case with Captain Benwick, the grieving poetry-lover in Persuasion. On her visit to Lyme with Captain Wentworth and the Musgroves, Anne Elliot spends much of her time deep in talk with this mournful naval officer, yet not a word that he speaks is ever quoted. We are given a good idea of their topics of literary conversation, we are invited to imagine him plangently reciting lines from the poems of Scott and Byron 'which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness', but we are never allowed actually to hear him speak (I. xi). Captain Benwick belongs to a special class of Austen's characters: those who may play an important part in the story, may often be present on the page, may even be talking a good deal – but do not enter the novel's recorded dialogue. The effect is extraordinary, and surely affects readers who are not necessarily conscious of Benwick's speechlessness. The fact that we never hear him speak means that he never quite achieves singularity. We are left with the suspicion that he is performing by rote. The author's buried joke is that all his outpouring amounts to no real expression of individual feeling or opinion.
And outpouring it seems to be. Anne Elliot and the Musgroves have already been told Captain Benwick's sad history by Captain Wentworth before they meet him at Lyme. He is still distraught at the death of Fanny Harville, to whom he was engaged. When he is first encountered, he is described as a young man with 'a pleasing face and a melancholy air', who 'drew back from conversation' (I. xi). Yet his avoidance of conversation does not mean that he does not want to talk. Au contraire. On her first evening in Lyme, Anne gets Captain Benwick for company and finds that, though he is 'shy', he eventually has plenty to say– notably about his 'taste in reading' (I. xi). In fact, 'he did not seem reserved', and soon he is talking about poetry and repeating the appropriate chunks of Scott and Byron that he has got by heart. He has found out the lines that seem to dignify his own feelings. Anne spends most of the evening with him (not without motive: she is keen to avoid the conversation of Captain Wentworth). But, being full of quotations himself, he says nothing that the author thinks worth quoting.
The next day Captain Benwick seeks Anne out and he is soon talking again, disputing over books (I. xii). Captain Harville is grateful to her for 'making that poor fellow talk so much'. He has been silently brooding over his books, it seems, while 'shut up' with the unbookish Harvilles. Now Anne has done the 'good deed' of a thoroughgoing therapist and given him the chance to talk. The sense is delicately given that Anne is becoming rather the victim of this silent man who has so quickly discovered the consolation of talk. As the party walks along the Cobb for a last time before leaving, 'Anne found Captain Benwick again drawing near her.' Of course he is going to talk and recite some more, but Austen is not going to tax the reader with what he says. Her heroine's response is charitable rather than delighted: 'she gladly gave him all her attention as long as attention was possible'. Not enough attention for any of his words to lodge.
When Charles Musgrove returns from Lyme and tells Anne about Captain Benwick, it is about him talking. '"Oh! He talks of you," cried Charles, "in such terms . . . His head is full of some books that he is reading upon your recommendation, and he wants to talk to you about them . . . I overheard him telling Henrietta all about it"' (II. ii). He keeps being talked about as talking, but his own words are kept from us. Charles vaguely remembers something he might have said about Anne – 'Elegance, sweetness, beauty' – but not any actual statement. He will never actually speak to us. The 'poor fellow' is sad, no doubt of it, but by declining, among all his effusions, to give us his own words, Austen animates our doubts about all his feelings. It is funny and it is narratively cunning, for Captain Benwick's rapid tumble into an engagement with Louisa Musgrove will provoke Anne's dispute with Captain Harville about the retentiveness of men's and women's feelings, prompting Captain Wentworth to his declaration. We should already know from the absence in the novel of Benwick's own speech that there has been something self-pleasing in his discussion of the poetry of feeling. After his engagement to Louisa becomes official, Charles Musgrove describes him sitting next to his inamorata, 'reading verses, or whispering to her, all day long' (II. x). His conversation is more like a private flow of discourse. He has to be dragged into exchanges with other men. Charles Musgrove observes, 'when one can but get him to talk, he has plenty to say', but we will have to take his word for it.
There is sometimes something comical in Austen's refusal to let a minor character be heard. Mr Musgrove in Persuasion is often present but never gets a word in – in contrast to the loquacious Mrs Musgrove. Benevolent and affluent, he is led by the inclinations of his wife and daughters. Comparably in Pride and Prejudice, Miss de Bourgh, Lady Catherine's daughter, hardly has the right to be given any words of her own. During her stay in Kent, whenever Elizabeth meets Lady Catherine, Miss de Bourgh is always of the company, yet she is incapable of contributing anything to the dialogue. Lady Catherine's daughter 'spoke very little', we are told, but in fact she speaks to us not at all: she is made entirely silent by the novel. Austen contrives a deliberate impression of her nothingness that is comic because the young woman is otherwise so privileged, and because her mother is so persuaded of her accomplishments. When Elizabeth joins her table for cards she finds it 'superlatively stupid', with talk about the game that is simply too tedious to relate (II. vi). When Elizabeth and Maria Lucas take their final leave before returning to Hertfordshire, she 'exerted herself so far as to curtsey and hold out her hand to both' (II. xv). She is, of course, the stooge to her endlessly talking, endlessly commanding mother, and we can feel as we read that she has been stunned into non-expression.
The other unspeaking young woman in the book is Georgiana Darcy. When she is first introduced by her brother, Elizabeth sees that she is 'exceedingly shy' and finds it difficult 'to obtain even a word from her beyond a monosyllable' (III. ii). When we next meet her she is attended by those baleful sisters Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst, who are watching over her exchanges with Elizabeth, and she therefore has the more reason for restraint. Like Miss de Bourgh she has a paid companion, a genteel lady called Mrs Annesley, who is employed to do some of the talking for her. Elizabeth thinks that Miss Darcy looks 'as if she wished for courage' to join in the conversation, and sometimes she does 'venture a short sentence, when there was least danger of its being heard' (III. iii). The impression of her reticence is strongly conveyed by Austen's decision never to quote her. When her brother appears, Miss Darcy 'exerted herself much more to talk', but who knows what she said? Miss Bingley mentions the militia, hoping to mortify Elizabeth with memories of Wickham, while unaware of Miss Darcy's 'meditated elopement' with him. Elizabeth is a match for this thrust, covering for Miss Darcy's embarrassment. 'Georgiana also recovered in time, though not enough to be able to speak any more.' Her wordlessness is her timidity, but something else too. The reminder that she was close to being deceived into elopement with Wickham is also a further explanation of her speechlessness. Her awkwardness, we are told, proceeds 'from shyness and the fear of doing wrong' and she is painfully aware that she has indeed come perilously close to 'doing wrong'. Her near-seduction by Wickham has robbed her of the capacity to speak for herself.
Pride and Prejudice has a high proportion of dialogue, so the non-contribution of these characters to the conversations that swirl around them should be noticeable to the other characters. In contrast, there are silent characters in Austen whose silence is a fact for the reader but not for the other characters. These are characters whose silence the novelist has elaborately arranged. A rival to Captain Benwick as a kind of authorial joke is Mr Perry, the local apothecary in Emma. Never has a character had so much of their speech reported by other characters without any of it ever being quoted by the author. Mr Woodhouse is endlessly citing his judgements, and his dialogue is punctuated with 'Perry said . . . Perry tells me . . .' There is nothing that Mr Woodhouse likes to tell any companion more than what Mr Perry has supposedly said – but in the novel Mr Perry actually says nothing. It is as if this absence from dialogue mimics ths successful quack's wise practice, which must be to go along with whatever such a wealthy hypochondriac wants to believe. Who knows whether Mr Perry has said most of the things that Mr Woodhouse attributes to him? The novelist keeps him from speaking, imitating his own canny reticence. Mr Perry's silence (despite all those reports of his sentiments) must have tickled his creator. It is what allows you to imagine his life – and even his thoughts – as the well-remunerated stooge of the Highbury gentry. They have come to rely on him, and to reward him financially for their reliance. He is their echo. When Harriet Smith becomes interested in riddles, Mr Woodhouse even consults 'his good friend Perry' in search of an example, though the apothecary 'did not at present recollect any thing of the riddle kind' (I. ix). Mr Woodhouse is slavish in his reliance, but it is not only he who reports what Mr Perry has said; everyone else in Highbury seems to repeat Mr Perry's comments. Mr Perry is naturally the origin of much village gossip, being constantly on the move from one person's house to the next. When Harriet Smith, for instance, gives Emma her account of Mr Elton's mission to London to have Emma's picture of her framed, the apothecary is her original source. Harriet has been told by Miss Nash, head-teacher at Mrs Goddard's school, who has heard about it from Mr Perry. In Harriet's account, Mr Perry is as loquacious as ever. He has met Mr Elton on the road and, realising that he was going to miss their whist club for the sake of this romantic errand, 'had remonstrated with him about it, and told him how shabby it was in him . . . and tried very much to persuade him to put off his journey' (I. viii).
Everybody hears Mr Perry talking except the reader. Even when he is actually present his speech is kept from us. In the one chapter told from Mr Knightley's point of view (III. v), two parties, consisting of most of the novel's main characters, meet and walk up to Hartfield to visit Mr Woodhouse. 'As they were turning into the grounds, Mr. Perry passed by on horse-back. The gentlemen spoke of his horse.' It is a crucial encounter, leading to Frank Churchill's 'blunder' in mentioning the likelihood of Mr Perry 'setting up his carriage'. Mr Perry is riding a horse, but is evidently making so much money from the hypochondriacs of Highbury that he can accede to his wife's desire for a carriage. Frank Churchill is au fait with this development because of his secret communication with Jane Fairfax, and is therefore in difficulties when asked by Mrs Weston how he knows. Mr Perry, the local go-between, is as important as ever in this episode, yet we are not going to hear if he really has a voice of his own. Only once do get close to hearing him, when he comes to Hartfield after having called on Jane Fairfax, who is ailing because she has broken off her engagement with Frank Churchill. Mr Perry tells Emma that his new patient's health 'seemed for the moment completely deranged', and that 'Her spirits seemed overcome' (III. ix). Even here Austen is determined to keep us from his actual speech, giving us his diagnosis in elaborately reported mode. On another occasion we seem to get a preserved specimen of his actual advice, when Emma is trying to answer her father's anxiety about the health-damaging consequences of the forthcoming ball at the Crown. He need not worry because Mrs Weston will be in charge of arrangements, 'Our own dear Mrs Weston, who is carefulness itself' (II. xi). Grasping for evidence of her former governess's care for people's health, she asks her father to recall what Mr' Perry said 'so many years ago' when she had measles. 'If Miss Taylor undertakes to wrap Miss Emma up, you need not have any fears, sir' (II. xi). This is not him speaking, but it purports to be a quotation remembered down the years – and, if it is such, what a blissfully idiotic sentiment it is! As if wrapping up were a cure for measles, that common killer of children in the nineteenth century, and as if Miss Taylor's wrapping-up skills were uniquely infallible.
The other important example of speechlessness in Emma is equally carefully arranged by the novelist, though not such a source of mischievous pleasure. It is Robert Martin, loving suitor and (despite Emma's stupid endeavours) destined husband of Harriet Smith. Soon after we and Emma have first been told about Robert Martin by the obviously enamoured Harriet, he meets Emma and Harriet out walking in Highbury. He is himself on foot, so there is the opportunity for conversation. The novel imitates Emma's own unfriendly distance from him, as she walks a few yards ahead 'while they talked together' (I. iv). The exchange between himself and Harriet has to be brief, 'as Miss Woodhouse must not be kept waiting' – unwilling to allow their intimacy to prosper, Emma has made it evident that her friend must leave. Having curtailed their conversation, which was clearly a pleasure to both of them, she embarks on her critique, which includes a slur on 'the uncouthness of a voice, which I heard to be unmodulated as I stood there'. What is this 'uncouthness'? Is there anything real in Emma's description? Are we to guess that Robert Martin might have a regional accent? We cannot know. Emma compares his manner 'of speaking; of being silent' unfavourably with Mr Weston and Mr Elton. Harriet accepts the implied denigration, but a reader who knows Mr Weston's tactless geniality and Mr Elton's hypocritical politesse will doubt that he so obviously comes off second best.
What he says remains for us to guess at. Austen cannot let us hear him, just as Emma cannot allow truth or goodwill to enter her estimate. The silencing of both Robert Martin and one of his sisters, whom we also later meet, is a consequence of seeing the people and events of the novel so much through Emma's eyes. Emma does not want to hear them as the people they are, rather than the characters she has invented. The Martins as a family remain deprived of speech by the novel because Austen is wryly loyal to Emma's determination that they be considered unworthy of her companion's attention. Naturally Austen is not following her heroine's prejudices, but exposing them. The technique allows her to expose these prejudices not just to the reader but to the heroine herself. The perfection of this is when Austen has Harriet report her first encounter with Robert Martin and his sister Elizabeth after she has rejected his offer of marriage (II. iii). Arriving highly 'agitated' at Hartfield, she tells Emma that she was taking shelter in Ford's shop when the Martins entered. In her longest speech of the whole novel, Harriet describes, 'unchecked' by Emma, the confusing encounter, in which both sister and brother speak to her, hesitantly but kindly. All of the speech is Harriet's: flustered, foolish, inarticulate, yet entirely truthful. We cannot know what Robert Martin has said – 'so he came and spoke and I answered' – but even Emma, listening, recognises the signs of 'real feeling'. Harriet adds that as she set off he came out of the shop to warn her that the likeliest route back to Hartfield was half-flooded. It is a subtle touch, demonstrating a kind of awkward tenderness, especially given his awareness that Harriet must be returning to the house of her manipulator.
Mr Knightley reports his conversations with Robert Martin in reliable detail but he never quotes him. Marilyn Butler calls Robert Martin Mr Knightley's 'wholly silent alter ego' – silent because he 'acts, and simply is, with the solidity that comes from well-defined involvement with a physical world'. Yet he is not really silent; it is the novel that keeps him so, in compliance with its heroine's inclination. Finally, with Emma engaged to Mr Knightley, she accepts Harriet's forthcoming marriage to Robert Martin with thankful relief. 'It would be a great pleasure to know Robert Martin' (III. xviii). He has not been allowed to speak because Emma has excluded him from social acceptance. He has been unknowable because Emma has foolishly preferred him that way. But in the future she will be able to hear him and speak to him.
Declining to quote a character is a kind of diminution of him or her.
Speechlessness is not always as complete as Robert Martin's or Mr Perry's. Mrs Philips in Pride and Prejudice, Mrs Bennet's sister, looks as though she will be another such, until she belatedly and farcically struggles into the novel's dialogue. Until very late in the proceedings, Austen relishes her speechless garrulousness. For two chapters of the first volume of the novel, when she entertains the Bennet girls at her house in Meryton on two consecutive days, with Mr Collins, Mr Wickham and Mr Denny, she is present throughout, and constantly talking, but nothing she says is quoted (I. xv–xvi). The paradox is delicious, for she makes quite a noise. On the first occasion, Mr Denny and Mr Wickham decline to accompany the Bennet filles into Mr Philips's house when invited by Lydia, 'in spite of Mrs Philips throwing up the parlour window, and loudly seconding the invitation'. She is very loud, but has nothing to say. On the second occasion, what she talks about is reported to us, but not a word quoted. The joke of Mrs Philips's absence from the novel's dialogue is that she is a dedicated talker (she is, after all, Mrs Bennet's sister). Listening to Mr Collins's endless description of 'the grandeur of Lady Catherine and her mansion' (I. xvi) – which we are mercifully spared – we see her 'resolving to retail it all among her neighbours as soon as she could'. She is a specialiser in gossip. After Lydia's fall from virtue, she visits the Bennets frequently, ostensibly to cheer them up, but in fact to report 'some fresh instance of Wickham's extravagance or irregularity' (III. vi). Once her sister has told her of Jane's engagement to Mr Bingley, 'she ventured, without any permission, to do the same by all her neighbours in Meryton' (III. xiii).
But then Austen springs a little surprise. Having barred Mrs Philips from direct speech for so long, she finally lets her enter the novel's dialogue. She is allowed to tell her sister a piece of gossip that she has heard from Mrs Nicholls, the housekeeper at Netherfield, when she spots her in the street in Meryton and goes out of her house to accost her (III. xi). Mrs Bennet has just reminded her sister that 'we agreed long ago never to mention a word about it' ('it' being Mr Bingley's relationship with Jane Bennet). The reminder is quite enough to loosen Mrs Philips's tongue: 'You may depend upon it . . .' What follows is a choice morsel of news about the number of ducks that Mrs Nicholls has ordered from the butcher for her impending house guests. This is the quintessence of Mrs Philips's contribution to conversation. In order to get this comic effect, Austen has made her one of the special family of her characters allowed to speak in our hearing just once. She belongs with her opposite, Mrs Bates in Emma, who does sometimes speak but whose actual words always have to give way to the flow of speech from 'her more active, talking daughter' (I. i). Just once she is forced to speak so that we too can hear her. When Emma penitently visits the Bates household after the disastrous Box Hill trip, Miss Bates, to whom she has spoken so cruelly, has bustled into the adjoining room with Jane Fairfax (III. viii). We imagine that she is trying to calm her niece, who has just agreed to a position as governess and is certainly in no frame of mind to be entertaining such a visitor. So Mrs Bates speaks because she has to, hardly covering the painful confusion of family affairs. 'I am afraid Jane is not very well . . . but I do not know; they tell me she is well. I dare say my daughter will be here presently . . .'
The sour, mean Mrs Ferrars in Sense and Sensibility is 'not a woman of many words; for, unlike people in general, she proportioned them to the number of her ideas' (II. xii). Disdainful of Elinor, she says nothing to her and Austen repays the compliment by declining to quote her. Only at the end of Mrs John Dashwood's London dinner party, where we first meet her, do we get a couple of utterances that epitomise her. Shown the screen that Elinor has painted she manages a neglectful 'Hum . . . very pretty', and when Marianne asks why her hostess is celebrating Miss Morton's painting skills over Elinor's, she retorts 'Miss Morton is Lord Morton's daughter.' As if this were to say everything necessary about the regard one should have for such a person. Declining to quote a character is a kind of diminution of him or her. We and Elizabeth spend many hours in the company of Mr Bingley's brother-in-law Mr Hurst in Pride and Prejudice, without there being any word of his worth transcribing. Yet Austen cannot quite leave him silent. He manages one whole sentence and then a couple of words. When Elizabeth, staying at Netherfield, prefers a book to joining in a game of loo he is provoked to utterance. 'Do you prefer reading to cards? . . . that is rather singular' (I. viii). At last he is roused to real feeling. Later, when Jane is sufficiently recovered to appear in the drawing room to be greeted by everyone, he manages a throttled 'very glad' (I. xi). It is the merest semblance of politeness.
More complicated and unsettling is the speechlessness of Dr Grant for much of Mansfield Park. He is often present, and he is often talking. He likes to do so. He is a man of the world who is pleased to discourse on politics with Mr Crawford, or money with Edmund Bertram (II. v). When Tom Bertram wants to cover for a conversational faux pas, he relies on Dr Grant's readiness to opine on momentous matters. 'A strange business this in America, Dr. Grant! What is your opinion?' (I. xii) He is invariably described as involved in conversation. 'Dr. Grant laughingly congratulated Miss Crawford . . . Dr. Grant was in the vestibule, and as they stopt to speak to him . . . leaving Dr. Grant and Mrs. Norris to dispute over their last play . . . observed by Sir Thomas, who was standing in chat with Dr. Grant . . .' Yet his actual words are carefully avoided, even on occasions when every other character present has some of his or her speech quoted. Slowly we gain the impression of a man who is not worth quoting, not because he is dull and stupid, like Mr Hurst, but because his self-concern excludes him from the plot. Mansfield Park is a novel where so much conversation, thanks to the Crawfords, is a matter of manoeuvre and manipulation. Dr Grant's absence from direct speech confirms his unconcern about the flirtation and amorous rivalry being staged around him. We have this confirmed on the two occasions when we are allowed to hear his actual words, for when he is quoted it is on food. Early in the novel he tells Mrs Norris over dinner that the apricot tree that she planted in the Parsonage garden (which she remembers cost seven shillings) produces worthless fruit. They no more have the flavour of 'a moor park apricot' than 'these potatoes' (I. vi). Mrs Grant must quickly placate the outraged Mrs Norris. He speaks directly again for the only time, to his wife, on the subject of what Edmund and Fanny might have to eat for dinner with them. 'A friendly meeting, and not a fine dinner, is all we have in view. A turkey, or a goose, or a leg of mutton, or whatever you and your cook chuse to give us' (II. iv). It is the faux carelessness of a man who always thinks keenly of food.
Austen enjoys the effect of making a speechless character speak, but she does the opposite too: she silences a character who once had plenty to say, Fanny Price's younger sister Susan in Mansfield Park. When Fanny returns to her family home in Portsmouth, she finds it, as has often been noticed, a place of cacophony. One of the voices belongs to Susan, whom Fanny first hears answering back when admonished by her mother. '"I was upstairs, mama, moving my things," said Susan, in a fearless, self-defending tone, which startled Fanny. "You know you had but just settled that my sister Fanny and I should have the other room; and I could not get Rebecca to give me any help"' (III. vii). Fanny finds her sister quite ready to defend her corner, later arguing over the possession of a knife left to her by another sister who died. But then Fanny and Susan become intimate and something peculiar happens: Susan never speaks again. She is absorbed into quietness. One of Austen's greatest skills is the fashioning of appropriate habits of speech for her characters; one of her nicest tricks is to stop her characters from speaking.
TEN
What Games Do Characters Play?
'What shall I do, Sir Thomas? Whist and speculation; which will amuse me most?'
Mansfield Park, II. vii
Jane Austen makes her characters play games because, we might say, this was one aspect of the social world she knew. She made her characters play the games – especially the card games – that she played herself. Yet she is up to something else as well. Her books do not just feature games because, in her day, these filled the long evenings in provincial England. In her novels, games serve a novelist's purposes. Because most of her first readers would have been able to recognise the particular games that are mentioned, they would have been able to see the arrangements of space and the conversational groupings that the games produced. For the first purpose of games in her novels is to divide and dispose her characters. Card playing joins people and separates them. Describing a sociable evening in Kent to her sister, Austen reported that '. . . one Card Table was formed, the rest of us sat & talked' (Letters, 55). Some play cards, and some do not; or some play one game, and some another. In a different letter, Austen describes how fourteen sat down to dinner at Ashe Rectory, home of the Lefroy family, in November 1800. After the meal 'There was a whist & casino table, & six outsiders' (the whist and casino games each taking four players) (Letters, 27). The outsiders have to entertain themselves. 'Rice & Lucy made love, Mat: Robinson fell asleep, James and Mrs Augusta alternately read Dr Jenner's pamphlet on the cow pox, & I bestowed my company by turns on all'.
Austen's humorous picture of herself drifting from one conversational partner to another while half her fellow guests are fixed to their card tables is reminiscent of Elizabeth Bennet's behaviour during an evening of cards at Netherfield. In Pride and Prejudice, the Austen novel that most frequently sits its characters down to cards, the first game is one in which all the characters present play, except for Elizabeth, who is thereby free to tease. She is staying with the Bingleys because Jane is ill, and is summoned from her sister's sickroom for evening coffee. Entering the drawing room she finds 'the whole party' – Mr Darcy, Mr Bingley, his two sisters and his brother-in-law Mr Hurst – 'at loo' (I. viii). She is invited to join the game (loo must have at least five players, and can have more), 'but suspecting them to be playing high she declined'. Loo, the wise reader would know, had acquired an ill repute as the ruin of keen players. There is a pool of money – or chips – to pay out the winners of tricks, but any player who chooses to stay in and does not win a trick is 'looed', and must pay a forfeit into the pool for the next round. In some versions of the game, the forfeit is limited; in Unlimited Loo, the forfeit is equivalent to the amount currently in the pool. This can lead to the size of the pool, and subsequent forfeits, multiplying hugely. Clearly Elizabeth senses that her hosts might be playing just this version of the game, suitable only for those without any money worries.
Elizabeth says that she will 'amuse herself' with a book, prompting some hostile responses.
Mr. Hurst looked at her with astonishment.
'Do you prefer reading to cards?' said he; 'that is rather singular.'
'Miss Eliza Bennet,' said Miss Bingley, 'despises cards. She is a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else.'
With characteristic ill manners, Miss Bingley accuses Elizabeth of bookish sniffiness about cards. In fact, our heroine plays cards on several occasions in the novel. Her hidden concern about the amounts of money being wagered leaves her the one mobile character in the scene. Everyone except Elizabeth is fixed around the card table. The conversational exchange that follows is shaped by this fact, and Elizabeth's freedom to drift around the room, to move away from the 'party' or to join it, enables her to express her mischievous freedom in dialogue. The Bingleys talk while they play, and when the subject turns to Pemberley, Mr Darcy's home, Elizabeth finds her attention tugged away from her book and she crosses to the players: 'she drew near the card-table, and stationed herself between Mr. Bingley and his eldest sister, to observe the game'. Observing the game is her pretext. Soon conversation moves from Mr Darcy's sister Georgiana to the common extent of female 'accomplishments', and Elizabeth joins in teasing dispute with Darcy about his lofty expectations of young women. It is a famous little exchange, in which the mutual attraction of the speakers is expressed by their ostensible opposition – and all the more brilliantly for Elizabeth's apparent ignorance of her own motives. (Why does the mention of Pemberley drag her away from her reading?) Everyone but Elizabeth must talk with half a mind on their cards, while she darts her ripostes among them.
Mr Hurst call them to order, 'with bitter complaints of their inattention to what was going forward'. Conversation is stopped, and Elizabeth soon leaves the room. For her, watching play is no entertainment to compare with playful dialogue. Not so Mrs Hurst, Bingley's sister. The next day, when her brother and her husband are playing the two-handed game of piquet, she dutifully sits 'observing their game' (I. x). This game splits the two men off from Darcy and Miss Bingley, the former attempting to write a letter while the latter tries to insinuate her attentions. Without cards, Mr Hurst is without resources. In the evening, when his 'petition' to play again is rejected ('Mr. Darcy did not wish for cards'), he has 'nothing to do, but to stretch himself on one of the sophas and go to sleep' (I. xi). Cards are the only refuge of the conversationally null. In Sense and Sensibility, Lady Middleton is always wanting to play cards, being incapable of conversation. When her husband goes off to his club in Exeter, Elinor, Marianne and Margaret are invited for dinner to preserve her 'from the frightful solitude which had threatened her' (II. i). After tea, the card table is brought in and Lady Middleton proposes 'a rubber of Casino'. Marianne declines in uncivil fashion – 'you know I detest cards' – and goes off to play the piano. Elinor wants to speak in confidence to Lucy Steele, who has at their last meeting revealed her secret engagement to Edward Ferrars. Lucy is, ingratiatingly, completing the filigree basket she is making for Lady Middleton's daughter, so Elinor proposes to 'cut out' of the card game to help Lucy with her basket. Casino allowing for a variable number of players, the reduction to four (Lady Middleton, Mrs Jennings, the elder Miss Steele and Margaret Dashwood) is easily accommodated, while the game separates the rest of the company from Elinor and Lucy (the piano music helping to cover their sotto voce exchange).
When Elinor and Marianne attend Lady Middleton to a large, smart London party, she soon sits down to casino, freeing the sisters from the nothingness of her conversation, but also allowing Marianne to experience the shock of meeting Willoughby without having her as a spectator (II. vi). At parties and balls, card games are for those who will not dance. At the ball at the Crown in Emma, the heroine is disappointed to see Mr Knightley in the company of 'the husbands, and fathers, and whist players', removed from physical display. These men pretend to take an interest in the dancing just until 'their rubbers were made up' (III. ii). Whist is what men do when they are no longer young or attractive – when they are unsexed. Emma's scorn of cards is rather different from Marianne's. Marianne prides herself on transcending triviality; Emma, who elsewhere enjoys games, regards cards as the unimaginative time-filling of her fellow villagers. Visiting the Bateses for the first time in the novel, Emma intends to avoid the topic of Mr Elton as much as she can, and instead 'to wander at large amongst all the Mistresses and Misses of Highbury and their card-parties' (II. i). In her mind – which is where this sentence is placed – card parties are equally the empty distraction of Highbury women and the empty substance of Miss Bates's usual chat. Highbury seems addicted to cards. At the Crown Inn, the former ballroom is now used only 'to accommodate a whist club established among the gentlemen and half-gentlemen of the place' (II. vi). Such a club existed in Austen's early unfinished novel draft The Watsons, where the wealthy Mr Edwards belongs to 'a quiet little Whist club that meets three times a week at the White Hart'. Here too it is clearly the respectable time-filling activity of dull men in a provincial town or village. Meanwhile the women in Emma visit each other's homes for those card parties. 'We were just going to cards,' says Miss Bates of a typical Highbury afternoon, to mark the time when a triumphant Mrs Elton arrives to announce Jane Fairfax's acceptance of the governess's post (III. viii). Newly arrived in the village, Mrs Elton needs to signal her superiority at these gatherings, and does so not by refusing to join them but by being shocked by 'there being no ice in the Highbury card parties' (II. xvi).
In Persuasion, Anne Elliot's lack of enthusiasm for card games is made to seem a symptom of her integrity and her inwardness. She makes a big show, for Captain Wentworth's sake, of her lack of interest in the evening card party at Camden Place, where Mr Elliot will be a guest: 'I am no card-player' (II. x). But it is not merely show. Captain Wentworth recalls his intimate knowledge of her eight years earlier: 'You did not use to like cards; but time makes many changes.' Her attitude to card games weirdly becomes the test of her consistency as a character. '"I am not so much changed," cried Anne', as if a new-found liking for card games would indicate a falling into conventional role playing. Her avoidance of card games is a sign of her distance from the novel's other characters: even her friend and admirer Lady Russell is a card player. Yet it is a matter of self-image rather than of Austen's attribution. By the time of her sister Elizabeth's 'card-party', Anne, engaged once again to Captain Wentworth, is too happy to worry that it is 'a commonplace business, too numerous for intimacy, too small for variety' (II. xi). Perhaps she is prepared to play cards after all.
Austen herself cannot have thought it all so pointless. In her letters she specifically mentions playing brag, casino, commerce, cribbage, quadrille, speculation, vingt-un and whist. When she writes to her sister she sometimes specifies her own successes at the card table (e.g. Letters, 45) or reports the triumphs of others (Letters, 56). Playing well is pleasurable, and playing badly is irritating. On one occasion she complains that her teenage nephew Edward 'acquitted himself to admiration in every particular except selling his Deals at Vingt-un' (Letters, 149). He is almost perfect, but smooth play at vingt-un is a real social skill that he has not quite acquired. So we should not assume that we need share Emma's scorn. Mr Perry is naturally aggrieved when he finds that Mr Elton intends to skip the next gathering of the Highbury whist club at a moment's notice (I. viii). He is off to London on his mission to get Emma's portrait of Harriet framed. What will they do? He is 'their best player' (a fact that might itself suggest the vicar's powers of calculation). Harriet and Emma are delighted to hear that he has given up his card game for his gallant undertaking, but they should instead see this selfishness as another sign that he is not a man to be trusted.
Whist is usually played for money in Austen's novels. We are invited to notice which games involve gambling and which do not, whilst realising that playing for modest sums of money was normal for Austen and should not seem inherently bad. At the first ball in Mansfield Park, Mrs Norris tries to get Tom Bertram to join a rubber of whist where they are playing for half-crowns (2s 6d), but tempts him by suggesting that he and Dr Grant might like to play for half-guineas (10s 6d). Characteristically, she convicts herself of impropriety and him of a love of gambling. After the abortive outing to Bristol in Northanger Abbey, Isabella Thorpe finds solace in 'a pool of commerce' with James Morland and her brother (I. xi). This does not reveal her character because the game is played for money, but because it involves bartering and bargaining. The object is to 'make your hand' by exchanging some of your own cards with those on the table, or by 'buying' an extra card. Being all about trading what you have for what you think might be better, it is just the game for her – an imitation of the business of her life. It is a game that Austen herself played with her friends the Digweeds (Letters, 27) and with an unidentified admirer of her sister dubbed 'Le Chevalier', while on holiday in Lyme (Letters, 39). Commerce is mentioned again as being played in the Austen household – evidently for money (Letters, 56). Indeed, when Austen finds that a visit to Mrs Maitland in Southampton has become 'a thorough party', with 'a quadrille & a Commerce Table', she has to back out. 'There were two pools at Commerce, but I would not play more than one, for the Stake was three shillings, & I cannot afford to lose that, twice in an evening' (Letters, 57).
It is respectable enough to play cards for money it seems. When Mr Collins accompanies the Bennet sisters to their aunt's house in Meryton, he declares himself inexpert but glad to play, as the game is appropriate for someone 'in my situation of life' (I. xvi). A few pages later he has lost every point (quite an achievement) and the total of five shillings, and is solemnly assuring Mrs Philips 'that he considered the money as a mere trifle'. While he is playing whist there is a 'nice comfortable noisy game of lottery tickets' for the rest of the company (I. xv). This seems to be played for 'fish' – tokens of winnings rather than real money. 'Mr. Wickham did not play at whist', leaving him free to tell his lies about Darcy to Elizabeth, safely separated from the whist players and cocooned by the hubbub of the lottery game. Lydia is engrossed in the latter and has conveniently ceased to pay him any attention. Mr Wickham seems to be playing too, but has the 'leisure' to converse with Elizabeth. The reluctance to play whist is nicely contrived given what we later find out about his real appetites. When he takes Lydia with him to London he leaves Brighton with gambling debts of 'more than a thousand pounds' (III. vi). 'A gamester!' cries Jane. He must have glanced at the Meryton whist game with an expert's cold eye. On the walk back to Longbourn, Lydia can talk of nothing but 'the fish she had lost and the fish she had won', marking her out as just the likeliest future partner for Wickham.
So even when everyone plays at something, cards can separate groups out from each other. Later in Pride and Prejudice, at Rosings there are cards after dinner and tea with Lady Catherine de Bourgh. Lady Catherine, Sir William Lucas and Mr and Mrs Collins play quadrille, so Elizabeth is condemned 'to play at cassino' at a separate table with Maria Lucas, Miss de Bourgh (who has chosen the game) and her companion Mrs Jenkinson (II. vi). After the preceding pages of gloriously antagonistic exchanges between Elizabeth and Lady Catherine, we are now condemned to novelistic silence. 'Their table was superlatively stupid. Scarcely a syllable was uttered that did not relate to the game.' A great deal is said at the other table, but as Elizabeth is no longer part of the talk, it is not worth quoting. Cards at Rosings are a kind of tyranny: Lady Catherine and her daughter decide on the games, which go on 'as long as they chose'. In Mansfield Park it is the self-indulging Dr Grant who dictates terms. After dinner and tea at the Parsonage, the whist table is 'formed really for the amusement of Dr. Grant, by his attentive wife, though it was not supposed to be so' (II. v). The presumption seems to be that Fanny will not play, while Mary Crawford is 'too much vexed' by discussion of Edmund's future living to be involved and turns to her harp. The players must be the Grants, Henry Crawford and Edmund Bertram; with Edmund separated from Mary Crawford the drama drains from the scene.
Some games are for clever people, and some are for the empty-headed.
A little later in Mansfield Park, the Parsonage is the setting for another after-dinner card game, the most carefully choreographed in all Austen's fiction. Fanny and her recently arrived brother William accompany the Bertrams to dinner with the Grants. After dinner there is to be a whist table again, with enough people left over for 'a round game' (a game accommodating any number of players). Sir Thomas takes to whist with Mrs Norris and the Grants; the others play speculation (II. vii). As ever, the novelist's purpose is to separate some players from others. Sir Thomas and Mrs Norris are evidently absorbed in their play: they win a game by the odd trick, 'by Sir Thomas's capital play and her own, against Dr. and Mrs. Grant's great hands'. This is Mrs Norris's triumphant self-vaunting, mingled with her sycophancy to her brother-in-law. Whist is the perfect chance to combine her aggression and her pretence of allegiance to her sister's rich family, and it is the chance to win some money. Meanwhile, unnoticed by these players, the remaining characters play a game that elaborately enacts the different competitors' undeclared wishes.
Speculation is a complicated game that is no longer familiar to us. It might have been a private joke to make Mary Crawford the self-thwarting conqueror of the speculation table in Mansfield Park, for it was a game that the author herself championed in her family. When Edward Austen's bereaved sons Edward and George travelled from school in Winchester to stay with Aunt Jane and her mother in Southampton, after the death of their mother in October 1808, they had to be diverted from grief, as she told her sister Cassandra. 'We do not want amusements; bilbocatch, at which George is indefatigable, spillikins. Paper ships, riddles, conundrums, and cards, with watching the flow and ebb of the river, and now and then a stroll out, keep us well employed' (Letters, 60). Speculation worked best. 'I introduced speculation, and it was so much approved that we hardly knew how to leave off' (Letters, 60). Two months later, when the boys had returned to their father in Kent and had Cassandra staying with them, Jane Austen was writing to her sister saying, 'I hope Speculation is generally liked' (Letters, 64). Evidently Cassandra wrote back saying that they preferred brag: 'it mortifies me deeply, because Speculation was under my patronage' (Letters, 64). 'When one comes to reason upon it, it cannot stand its ground against Speculation.' She even composed some doggerel verses in praise of speculation to be conveyed to her nephew Edward (Letters, 65).
It was a relatively new game, which Austen had to explain to her nephews just as the Crawfords had to explain it to Fanny and the entirely uncomprehending Lady Bertram. In The Watsons, composed in 1805, Mrs Watson testifies to its fashionable standing in her suburban world: 'Speculation is the only round game at Croydon now'. Dickens mentions it in Nicholas Nickleby (1839), where it is made analogous with the financial risk-taking that ruins Nicholas's father. 'Speculation is a round game; the players see little or nothing of their cards at first starting; gains MAY be great—and so may losses.' The joke of the analogy suggests the author's confidence that readers will know of the card game. Fanny has no previous experience of it, but quickly grasps its principles – well enough to try to play for her brother to win. In her playing of the game we see a paradox of her character distilled: she is an ingénue who quickly perceives the subtleties that more worldly characters miss. Every player emerges in character. In particular, the game is a carefully arranged vignette of the Crawfords' schemes and efforts at manipulation. The comic summary of this is Lady Bertram's: 'I am never to see my cards; and Mr. Crawford does all the rest' (II. vii). He is the arch-manipulator, while his sister is the restive gambler, staking more on victory than it can ever be worth. In speculation, players may bid to buy what they suppose might be a winning card in the possession of another player. So a player may 'buy' a card that does not win, or may pay more for a card than it gains.
It is not exactly a proper competition at all, as Mr Crawford intervenes to prevent Fanny selling her queen to her brother William for a low price and to try to ensure that she will win. 'The game will be yours, turning to her again—it will certainly be yours': this is more insistence than prediction. Henry Crawford is ingratiating himself with Fanny; Mary Crawford is testing herself against Edmund. The point of the game for the novelist is that it allows two simultaneous activities (for those with the wits): playing and talking. We keep noticing this because the dialogue calls attention to it via the instructions that Crawford gives in parentheses to Lady Bertram; he can keep two activities in his mind, where she can hardly manage one. He is playing the game and, for his sister's benefit, asking Edmund about his future home at Thornton Lacey. Mary Crawford is playing – and listening. The card game and the topic of Edmund's future are intimately connected, though the Bertrams cannot see this. Indeed, in little flashes of audacity the Crawfords glancingly declare themselves. 'I never do wrong without gaining by it,' says Henry (about losing his way); 'No cold prudence for me,' announces Mary (of her play). Everything really is a game for them, and all the better if they can flaunt their schemes in front of those whom they deceive.
Speculation is the electricity that courses through the company, and seems a good word too for the activity of the reader – for the engagement of not just our interest but our intelligence. Austen herself uses the word for what is going on the minds of her characters. Sir Thomas tells Henry Crawford of Edmund's aspirations to dedicate himself to his duties as a parish priest, considerably irking the listening Mary Crawford. 'All the agreeable of her speculation was over for that hour. It was time to have done with cards if sermons prevailed, and she was glad to find it necessary to come to a conclusion and be able to refresh her spirits by a change of place and neighbour.' Her speculation, about the possibility of marriage to Edmund, has been rather thwarted than encouraged. 'If I lose the game, it shall not be from not striving for it,' she announces, as if she really is saying something about herself rather than the game. Yet it is the treatment of all her social exchanges as subtle game-playing that robs her of any final triumph. 'The game was hers, and only did not pay her for what she had given to secure it.' Speculation, which she and her brother are using for their manipulative purposes, becomes a metaphor for what she loses by being so manipulative. She wins by paying more than she can gain.
Some games are for clever people, and some are for the empty-headed. In Emma, the clever and the empty-headed play together. Mr Woodhouse loves games – his piquet with Mrs Goddard (II. vii) and, especially, his backgammon. Backgammon is just right for him, relying enough on chance to offer him the occasional opportunity of victory, especially if the other player is guileful enough to help him win. No wonder it is also the game that Mr Bennet plays with Mr Collins (Pride and Prejudice, I. xv). We learn from Miss Bates that during the Highbury balls Mr Woodhouse passes the evening with 'a vast deal of chat, and backgammon' with Mrs Bates (III. ii). When, late in the novel, a chastened Emma looks back to the trip to Box Hill, considering it as a morning 'totally bare of rational satisfaction', she thinks that 'a whole evening of backgammon with her father was felicity to it' (III. viii). Here at least she is doing something unselfish, 'giving up the sweetest hours of the twenty-four to his comfort'. The hours and hours of backgammon with Mr Woodhouse lie in wait for her if she really is committed to avoiding marriage, as she claims.
This image of an almost eternal backgammon game with Mr Woodhouse is all the more powerful because of Emma's native love of intriguing play. Emma is a novel in which game playing is exciting enough to seem dangerous. 'A most dangerous game' is just the phrase that Mr Knightley chooses to describe Frank Churchill's flirtation with Emma, designed to distract her from his attachment to Jane Fairfax. Game playing is an activity into which Mr Elton, 'invited to contribute any really good enigmas, charades, or conundrums that he might recollect', is disastrously recruited (I. ix). Perceiving the game-playing ethos of Highbury, he submits his notorious puzzle (a 'charade', in the vocabulary of the day). Harriet duly fails to understand it; more dangerously, Emma duly misinterprets it. In a letter of 1816 Austen describes friends 'taking kindly to our Charades, & other Games', and she and her family enjoyed just the word games to which Mr Elton takes with such alacrity (Letters, 145).4 Harriet has enjoyed 'merry evening games' with the Martins, but her games with Emma will be rather more hazardous. Emma likes to treat life as a game or puzzle. 'She is a riddle, quite a riddle!' she says to herself about Jane Fairfax, amazed that she should be willing to spend time with Mrs Elton (II. xv). Emma draws other characters into games; even her slow-witted father tries to join in the business of charades. On Box Hill Mr Weston foolishly tries to please Emma with his fatuous word game, the answer to which is a pun on her name, before Frank Churchill, 'ordered by Miss Woodhouse', proposes the game of clever utterances that end in such ill feeling (III. vii). At the novel's heart is the anagram game played at Hartfield, in which messages are being sent by Frank Churchill to Jane Fairfax, and misdirecting signals being sent by him to Emma. The game is Frank Churchill's idea – 'We had great amusement with those letters one morning. I want to puzzle you again' – but Emma is 'pleased' with the suggestion (III. v). In fact, Frank Churchill is playing a 'deeper game' than Emma knows. The judgement is Mr Knightley's, for the whole game chapter is narrated from his point of view. He sees the players and watchers round that table – Emma, Frank Churchill, Jane Fairfax, Miss Bates, Harriet Smith, Mr and Mrs Weston, Mr Woodhouse – and sees how little most of them understand of what is going on in play. As ever, the game brings characters together precisely in order to divide them.
ELEVEN
Is There Any Sex in Jane Austen?
'We both know that he has been profligate in every sense of the word . . .'
Pride and Prejudice, III. v
Keith Nearing, the twenty-year-old protagonist of Martin Amis's novel The Pregnant Widow, spends a summer at a luxurious Italian castle having somewhat unenthusiastic sex with his girlfriend, Lily, dreaming of having sex with his girlfriend's friend, Sheherazade, and reading his way through the English Novel. One week is spent on Jane Austen, the sexual implications of whose plots become the matter of his pillow talk. With the apparent licence of his creator, he tells Lily about the sex that actually takes place between the lines of these supposedly prim books. At the end of Northanger Abbey, according to Keith, Frederick Tilney beds Isabella Thorpe. 'She persuades herself that he's somehow going to marry her. After.' 'So she's ruined. She's lost,' suggests Lily. 'Utterly,' confirms Keith. Later he goes on to other Austen novels. 'Mansfield Park's got two fucks. Henry Crawford fucks Maria Bertram. And Mr Yates fucks her sister Julia. And he's an Honourable.' Amis's novel doubles as an hommage to the Great Tradition of English fiction, and Keith's curt summaries are declarations that Austen's novels are not the proper and passionless affairs that some have thought.
There are characters who have sex in Austen's novels, but not all these ones. Catherine Morland's brother James is jilted by her 'friend' Isabella Thorpe, who thinks Captain Frederick Tilney a more alluring prospect. Henry and Eleanor Tilney tell Catherine, however, that Frederick would be unlikely to marry an impecunious girl like Isabella. And sure enough he soon abandons her to flirt for a couple of days with one Charlotte Davis, before going back to his regiment. Isabella returns from Bath to Putney, writing Catherine a letter that is designed to prepare the ground for a revival of her relationship with James. Catherine now realises that Isabella is 'a vain coquette' (II. xii), but she does not for a moment think her 'ruined'. Henry Tilney confirms that his brother undertook the flirtation 'for mischief's sake', but expresses none of the dismay that would have been excited by a sexual liaison. If they have had sex, the author knows nothing of it. As for Julia Bertram, she does elope with the Hon. John Yates – to Scotland, where she can marry her paramour without parental consent. She has certainly slept with him by the end of the novel, but as a wife with her husband.
Amis's novel is alert to the sexual coding to be found in Austen – what it means when Catherine Morland's figure gains in 'consequence'; why the word 'stout' might be used of Lydia Bennet – but it also follows a trend of both recent film adaptations and some recent academic criticism, discovering more sex implicit in Austen than narrative logic allows. Keith Nearing's inaccuracy is a fault precisely because Austen does require her reader to think about sex. She requires us, for instance, to think about Lydia Bennet having had sex, repeatedly and, we must infer, enjoyably. Lydia has lived with Wickham for almost a month before their marriage. When Mr Darcy discovers the couple cohabiting he talks to Lydia and tries 'to persuade her to quit her present disgraceful situation', but she is having none of it (III. x). According to the letter written to Elizabeth by her uncle, Mr Gardiner, 'She was sure they should be married some time or other, and it did not much signify when.' The Wickhams arrive at Longbourn on their wedding day, already knowing each other intimately. Elizabeth notes that Lydia is 'exceedingly fond' of her new husband (III. ix). Not only is she sexually unabashed, she is, it seems, sexually gratified. Mr Collins solemnly regrets 'that their living together before the marriage took place, should be so generally known' (III. xv). He and the foolish Mary Bennet adopt a language of moral absolutism about this. The 'lesson' Mary finds is 'that loss of virtue in a female is irretrievable—that one false step involves her in endless ruin' (III. v). Elizabeth reacts with 'amazement', but not because she has never heard such sentiments before: the novels of Samuel Richardson, which, according to her brother Henry, Jane Austen so admired, proceed on exactly Mary's assumption. The eponymous heroine of Pamela (subtitled 'Virtue Rewarded') took her 'virtue' to be synonymous with her virginity. 'Arm yourself, my dear Child, for the worst; and resolve to lose your Life sooner than your Virtue,' writes her father when he hears of her master's seductive advances. Elizabeth is presumably 'amazed' because her sister so smugly parrots the formulae of novelists and conduct book writers. It is on a par with Mr Collins's 'The death of your daughter would have been a blessing in comparison of this' (III. vi).
Lydia's sexual adventures naturally become the stuff of local gossip. The narrator comments drily on responses in the 'neighbourhood' at the news of Lydia's planned marriage. 'To be sure, it would have been more for the advantage of conversation had Miss Lydia Bennet come upon the town; or, as the happiest alternative, been secluded from the world, in some distant farmhouse' (III. viii). Local schadenfreude, that is to say, would have been best satisfied by Lydia becoming a prostitute, as she might have done in a Victorian novel. Lydia is highly unusual in the fiction of her day and earlier in going to bed with a man before marriage and emerging unbowed. Her punishment of being sent to live in Newcastle is mild by the standards of other novels. Her youth – she is sixteen less than two months before her elopement – makes her immunity the more striking. But though she escapes unbowed, Austen cannot resist telling you about the future of the Wickhams' relationship. 'His affection for her soon sunk into indifference; her's lasted a little longer' (III. xix). 'Affection' here surely means something like sexual interest. Passion's trance passes rapidly, as it does in Mansfield Park: Mrs Rushworth has been willing to go off with Mr Crawford because 'she loved him', but he has ceased to be interested after 'a very few months' (III. vii).
She was not to be prevailed on to leave Mr. Crawford. She hoped to marry him, and they continued together till she was obliged to be convinced that such hope was vain, and till the disappointment and wretchedness arising from the conviction rendered her temper so bad, and her feelings for him so like hatred, as to make them for a while each other's punishment, and then induce a voluntary separation.
Mrs Rushworth's first sexual passions are, we infer, the more powerful because she can compare Henry Crawford's caresses with those of her unappealing husband. Sexual intoxication ends with the repeated inflicting of that 'mutual punishment' which, we have just heard, she will suffer interminably in her adulteress's imprisonment with Mrs Norris. The author is doing plenty of punishing, and imposing just the exile – 'an establishment . . . remote and private' – that the denizens of Meryton might have liked for Lydia Bennet.
After eloping, Wickham and Lydia go to stay in London lodgings recommended by the corrupted Mrs Younge, presumably calling themselves man and wife. For those who wish to stay close to home, having illicit sex would not be easy. In Northanger Abbey Henry Tilney corrects Catherine's Gothic fantasy about his father having murdered his mother by reminding her of the 'voluntary spies' who surround them (II. ix): these must mostly have been servants, constant observers of their masters' and mistresses' improprieties. Surveying his case histories of divorce from the late seventeenth to the mid-nineteenth centuries, as detailed in court records, Lawrence Stone draws one unambiguous lesson: 'All stories of female adultery in high society prove that it was virtually impossible for persons surrounded day and night by servants who waited on them hand and foot to conduct a love-affair without it becoming known below stairs.' In Mansfield Park it is a servant who knows just what has been going on between Henry Crawford and Mrs Rushworth, and who sharpens the crisis. Sir Thomas's friend Mr Harding tries to make it possible for Mrs Rushworth to return to the marital home, but it is not easy. 'The maid-servant of Mrs. Rushworth, senior, threatened alarmingly' (III. xvi). Clearly she is threatening to make public her knowledge of the relationship, and is in a position to give an account considerably more lurid than what has already been offered in the newspapers. She 'had exposure in her power'. When Mary Crawford talks to Edmund of the 'folly' of her brother and his sister, she shakes her head in a worldly way about Maria's cardinal error – 'her putting herself in the power of a servant'.
Usually, in order to seduce a genteel young woman in an Austen novel one must elope with her. In Sense and Sensibility we discover that Willoughby has eloped with the sixteen-year-old Eliza from Bath. She disappears for eight months before Colonel Brandon, her guardian, finds her: she has a baby, and she and her child are 'removed . . . into the country' (II. ix). Willoughby has since abandoned Marianne, but, Colonel Brandon muses, 'who can tell what were his designs on her?' In a confession scene with Elinor, late in the novel, Willoughby admits that he was once a 'libertine' but claims that he truly loved Marianne (III. viii). He persuades Elinor to think better of him than she did after hearing Colonel Brandon's story. Yet, while professing guilt, he cannot contemplate marrying the girl he has seduced and is free to forget her. Encoded in Sense and Sensibility is the suggestion that acceptance of gentlemen's sexual indiscretions was widespread. Mrs Jennings's stage whispers about Colonel Brandon's supposed 'natural daughter' acknowledge that, while 'young ladies' were supposed to be appalled by such a thing, it was a norm (I. xiii). (In the first edition of Sense and Sensibility, Austen tells us that 'Lady Middleton's delicacy was shocked' by the mention of 'so improper a subject', but this is excised from the revised second edition.) Despite Elinor's resistance, Mrs Jennings persists in believing in the existence of Colonel Brandon's 'love-child' (II. viii). This phrase was a novel one in 1811 (the OED records the first use in English as 1805) and would have had a peculiar weight with the novel's first readers. Mrs Jennings finds all too readily a modish euphemism for a sexual indiscretion. The girl to whom she refers is in fact the illegitimate daughter of Colonel Brandon's now-dead sister-in-law. 'I called her a distant relation; but I am well aware that I have in general been suspected of a much nearer connection with her' (II. ix). He is too honourable to say anything publicly to scotch this rumour.
Austen's stories rely on an acknowledgement of men's sexual appetites, which explain why that 'truth universally acknowledged', an affluent bachelor's desire for a wife, is in fact true. There are several men in Austen's fiction who do 'want' a wife for reasons beyond financial calculation. Mr Collins wants one; Charles Musgrove wanted one. The former might hope to please Lady Catherine de Bourgh, but surely has other reasons. The latter, having been turned down by Anne Elliot, rationally turned to her younger sister. Both men being proper in their different ways, and both being called 'young', we might surmise that a desire for sexual release motivated them, and that an early nineteenth-century reader would understand this. Similarly, Mr Elton, the Highbury vicar, is 'a young man living alone without liking it' (Emma, I. iii). That last phrase seems to carry a weight of already understood meaning. Only a wilfully innocent reader could think that he yearns for a wife just to choose his fabrics and argue with his cook. Austen's narratives sometimes depend upon our imagining male sexual needs. Catching us wondering how Mr Palmer in Sense and Sensibility, an intelligent if ill-natured man, could possibly have married a woman as idiotic as Charlotte Jennings, Austen lets Elinor reflect on the puzzle. 'His temper might perhaps be a little soured by finding, like many others of his sex, that through some unaccountable bias in favour of beauty, he was the husband of a very silly woman—but she knew that this kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man to be lastingly hurt by it' (I. xx). It is an extraordinary judgement, for Mr Palmer surely is 'lastingly' affected by his rash inclination: he is married to a fool for the rest of his days. Elinor's word for what he has done – 'blunder' – diminishes its consequences and implies that she has seen this happen often. His error has been his yen for 'beauty' – or we might say, his susceptibility to 'sex appeal'. At this stage of the novel, Charlotte Palmer is heavily pregnant with their first child (though he is scarcely able to talk to his wife, he does make love to her). Perhaps her advanced state of pregnancy means a temporary denial of sex. More reason for his peculiar grumpiness.
Why does Robert Ferrars marry Lucy Steele in Sense and Sensibility? All the evidence is for a process of sexual intoxication that she manages with great skill (III. xiv). He marries her 'speedily' because he wants her. Lucy has 'considerable beauty': it is the first thing we know about her (I. xxi). She trades on sexual allure (not mere bluff – we are explicitly told of the 'great happiness' of their honeymoon). Mr Bennet's choice of Mrs Bennet has also been sensually determined. In the first chapter of Pride and Prejudice his joke about his wife not accompanying his daughters to meet Mr Bingley lest he 'like you the best of the party' has a hint of ruefulness (I. i). As a young man he had been 'captivated by youth and beauty' (II. xix). Having made his mistake, he lives with it. 'Mr. Bennet was not of a disposition to seek comfort for the disappointment which his own imprudence had brought on, in any of those pleasures which too often console the unfortunate for their folly or their vice' (II. xix). This is suitably evasive. Some have taken it to mean that Mr Bennet did not take a mistress; it seems more likely to mean that he did not take to the bottle. After all, we can infer that Mr and Mrs Bennet have carried on an active sex life well into middle age as, 'for many years after Lydia's birth', Mrs Bennet is sure that they will eventually have a son (III. viii).
One wonders too about Mr John Knightley, who is clever and, like his brother, has 'penetration'. He is openly irritated by most of his wife's preoccupations and must perceive her foolishness. Why did he marry her? Presumably because of physical attraction; their five children after only seven years of marriage might be evidence of this. Similarly, we guess that Sir Thomas Bertram has chosen his wife for her sex appeal. And we joltingly realise that Henry Crawford has committed himself to marrying Fanny Price because of sexual longing. '"How the pleasing plague had stolen on him" he could not say' (Mansfield Park, II. xii). Rakish he might be, but he knows that he can only sleep with Fanny by becoming her husband. His sister confirms our sense of his yearning later in the same chapter when she observes, 'a wife you loved would be the happiest of women', before adding, with a flat acceptance of an inevirable logic, 'even when you ceased to love, she would yet find in you the liberality and good-breeding of a gentleman'. Here, as Austen expects the reader to notice, 'love' is synonymous with sexual appetite. Her brother cannot acknowledge the possibility of 'ceasing to love Fanny Price', but Mary Crawford's confident prediction invites us to understand the basis of his addiction. It also clearly implies that, at this stage, Henry will eventually begin looking elsewhere for his sexual pleasures.
If Austen's novels acknowledge men's sexual needs, it is hard to know what to think about some of the bachelors with whom her heroines are finally paired. Historians have found, in diaries and journals, the pains of sexual longing to which some gentlemen confessed, and to which some succumbed, visiting prostitutes or enjoying sexual relationships with servants. Can we think that Colonel Brandon, Mr Knightley or Captain Wentworth are indeed virgins before their marriages? Or that Mr Weston has remained chaste during the long years between the death of his first wife and his second marriage? In this last case, Austen does want us to realise that Mr Weston's marriage to Miss Taylor is not just a matter of genteel companionship. The widower is sexually reborn. Mr and Mrs Weston marry in late September or early October and Mrs Weston is pregnant within a month (her baby is born in late July). Fertility is one indicator of an active sex life. The nine brothers and sisters that Austen gives to Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey, and the thirteen siblings Charlotte Heywood has in Sanditon, are evidence of the robust marital affection of their parents. (They are also a good reason for allowing these heroines to leave the family home, with a chaperone, for some comic adventures.) In Fanny Price's family, in contrast, procreation betokens an unruly sex drive. Mr Price is invalided out of the navy, so always at home; the strong implication is that the unaffordable getting of children goes with his other unrestrained habits, notably his drinking. Jane Austen famously said in a letter to her niece Fanny that she would recommend to Mrs Deedes, her brother Edward's sister-in-law, who had just given birth to her eighteenth child, 'the simple regimen of separate rooms' (Letters, 151). It is an option that the Prices, in their cramped lodgings, do not have.
We should not assume that sex is always part of marriage. We are given reason to think that Dr Grant does not have a physical relationship with Mrs Grant. 'He had a wife about fifteen years his junior, but no children' (I. iii). His pleasure principle seems centred on food and drink. Watching the couples dancing at a ball, and seeing Mrs Grant with Mr Yates, Tom Bertram tells Fanny, 'between ourselves she, poor woman! must want a lover as much as any of them. A desperate dull life her's must be with the doctor' (I. xii). His 'sly face' tells us of his reading of the Grants' marriage. But who knows what goes between husband and wife? The final chapters of Sense and Sensibility and Mansfield Park, which notionally cover the first months of their heroines' marriages, allow both novelist and reader to avoid thinking about sex. We are on the way to the Victorian habit of jumping from courtship to epilogue, in which a group of merry children sport at the feet of a couple who were merely on the brink of consummation when we last saw them. There is just one instance where we seem provoked to ask what happens to a woman after marriage: the case of Charlotte Lucas. She writes regularly to Elizabeth after her move to Kent, and we hear that 'Charlotte's first letters were received with a good deal of eagerness' (II. iii). There is 'curiosity' to know all sorts of things, including 'how happy she would dare pronounce herself to be'. The sexual implication is both entirely absent and pressing here. Surely Elizabeth, surely even a modest nineteenth-century reader, thinks about the consummation of this union? Charlotte writes 'cheerfully' and mentions 'nothing which she could not praise'. We and Elizabeth, wondering how she can bear it, must think about what it is she has to bear. It is likely that Charlotte is pregnant before the end of the novel. Mr Bennet tells Elizabeth that, in his letter, Mr Collins has talked about 'his dear Charlotte's situation, and his expectation of a young olive-branch' (III. xv). The puzzling thing is the absence of any strong reaction from Elizabeth. Perhaps she has been less guilty than many a reader of suppressing an awareness of what marriage to Mr Collins involves. Charlotte has, after all, given her the grand tour of the Collins's parsonage, which presumably includes the newly married couple's bedroom. While Elizabeth shrewdly appreciates Charlotte's clever arrangement of domestic space to keep her husband away from her during the day, she knows she must have to join him at night.
In Austen, as in the eighteenth-century novels from which she learned, pre-marital sex happens because a young woman gets into the hands of a rakish man, not because two people simply cannot resist each other.
Naturally, none of Austen's heroines would have sex before marriage, but sex before marriage is not unimaginable to her. Her most naive characters know that it happens – even Jane Bennet, though she is determined to believe otherwise. 'My father and mother believe the worst, but I cannot think so ill of him' (III. iv). And it happened in Austen's world. In a letter of 1808 to her sister, she seems to be referring to the known fact that her distant cousin Fanny Austen is getting married after a sexual indiscretion with her husband-to-be. 'I am sorry she has behaved so ill. There is some comfort to us in her misconduct, that we have not a congratulatory Letter to write' (Letters, 55). This hints at a reality never encountered in her fiction: two self-possessed adults who simply cannot wait for marriage. In Austen, as in the eighteenth-century novels from which she learned, pre-marital sex happens because a young woman gets into the hands of a rakish man, not because two people simply cannot resist each other. There are would-be rakes about. Sir Edward Denham in Sanditon has read the novels of Samuel Richardson and has decided that he will 'seduce' Clara Brereton (Ch. 8). But this is comedy. 'Clara saw through him, and had not the least intention of being seduced.' She will not be a character in one of the novels he favours.
'She is lost forever,' says Elizabeth to Darcy, but it is not so (Pride and Prejudice, III. iv). Lydia is saved by marriage, into which Wickham is bribed. Sex before marriage, however, is different from sex outside marriage. Fanny Price thinks of her cousin Maria's adultery as 'this sin of the first magnitude' (III. xv). Lady Bertram, not usually a person for forceful judgements, acknowledges 'the loss of a daughter, and a disgrace never to be wiped off' (III. xvi). Duly divorced, Maria is sent off to some Sartrean hell of confinement in a distant county with Mrs Norris for company. In Sense and Sensibility, the adultery of Eliza, Colonel Brandon's sister-in-law, also leads to her husband divorcing her, but has to be narratively justified. She is victim rather than agent. 'My brother had no regard for her; his pleasures were not what they ought to have been, and from the first he treated her unkindly' (II. ix). We take the middle phrase to mean that he was sexually dissolute (Colonel Brandon is speaking to Elinor, so some polite euphemism is necessary). The implication is confirmed when, a few sentences later, we hear that he was 'a husband to provoke inconstancy'. Is it surprising that 'she should fall'?
Adultery was not unknown among Jane Austen's acquaintances. In 1801 she wrote to Cassandra about a ball at the Upper Rooms in Bath where she had seen the notorious Hon. Mary-Cassandra Twistleton, divorced by her naval husband two years earlier on the grounds of adultery. 'I am proud to say that I have a very good eye at an Adultress, for tho' repeatedly assured that another in the same party was the She, I fixed upon the right one from the first' (Letters, 36). Adultery may have been heinous in Austen's eyes, but it appears that a woman disgraced for this sin could still comport herself with pleasure at a smart social gathering. The evidence of Austen's correspondence is that sexual irregularity was thought of as an aristocratic habit, and that aristocrats seemed able to be shameless about it. Writing to her niece Fanny in March 1817, she commented on the notable engagement of Caroline, daughter of Lord Paget, to the Earl of March, heir to the Dukedom of Richmond. Lord and Lady Paget had been divorced after the former had eloped with Lady Charlotte Wellesley, sister-in-law of the Duke of Wellington. She had in turn been divorced by her husband, Sir Henry Wellesley. 'If I were the Duchess of Richmond, I should be very miserable about my son's choice. What can be expected from a Paget, born & brought up in the centre of conjugal Infidelity & Divorces?—I will not be interested about Lady Caroline. I abhor all the race of Pagets' (Letters, 153). The sexual imbroglios of high society were public entertainment. Writing to Cassandra, Austen responds to the 'sad story' of a married woman, Letitia-Mary Powlett, who had eloped with the 2nd Viscount Sackville. 'A hint of it, with Initials, was in yesterday's Courier' (Letters, 53). The aggrieved husband, Colonel Powlett, won £3,000 in damages from the philandering Viscount. Mrs Rushworth's adultery with Henry Crawford is similarly revealed in the newspaper that Mr Price is reading in his Portsmouth parlour. It reports, with hardly concealed relish, the 'matrimonial fracas in the family of Mr. R. of Wimpole Street' (III. xv). Lots of 'fine ladies', observes Mr Price, are 'going to the devil now-a-days': his implication is that these are loose times, a satisfying condemnation of his dissolute social superiors from an irresponsible drunkard.
Jane Austen and her readers lived in an era of considerable sexual licence among the elite. Not just the Prince Regent, but his brothers the Duke of York, the Duke of Clarence (later William IV) and the Duke of Kent (Queen Victoria's father) were notable for their sexual irregularities. No newspaper reader of the time could have been unaware of the tone they set. Listening to the Crawfords in Mansfield Park we sometimes hear the accents of a libertine Regency sub-culture. Mary Crawford jests lightly about how her 'friend' Flora Ross has chosen 'that horrid Lord Stornaway' (presumably for his title), even though he is as foolish as Mr Rushworth and uglier – and comes 'with a blackguard character' (III. v). The last fact sounds like a hint of a sexual history, dismissed with the sophisticated tone of one who has seen these things before. Flora Ross becomes Lady Stornaway, and Mary Crawford dares tell Fanny that her husband seems now not 'so very ill-looking' as she had previously thought him. He has at least bestowed a title on her friend. The adulterous relationship between Maria Rushworth and Henry Crawford is brewed in the circle – under the eyes – of Lady Stornoway and her sister Mrs Fraser, Mary Crawford's London companions. We are reliably told by Edmund that the latter is 'a cold-hearted, vain woman, who has married entirely from convenience' (III. xiii). Mrs Rushworth then goes to stay in Twickenham with Mrs Aylmer, credited by Mary Crawford for sending her husband off to Bath to fetch his mother. 'The Aylmers are pleasant people; and her husband away, she can have nothing but enjoyment,' Mary Crawford has blithely told Fanny (III. xiv). There Henry Crawford has 'constant access' to her (III. xvi). A fashionable, loose-living social group is hinted at in these references to characters we never meet. We might remember Mary Crawford recalling, 'Three years ago the Admiral, my honoured uncle, bought a cottage at Twickenham for us all to spend our summers in; and my aunt and I went down to it quite in raptures' (I. vi). Twickenham – in reach of London yet out of its sight – is just the place to pursue liaisons. Mary Crawford has known just what was happening, mentioning in a letter to Fanny that her brother has been in Richmond and seen Mrs Rushworth. 'Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies, because he has been spending a few days at Richmond' (III. xiv).
In her sexual morals Mary Crawford is made a puzzle, both to Edmund Bertram and perhaps to some readers. She has left the house of her uncle, Admiral Crawford, because he is 'a man of vicious conduct' who, upon his wife's death, 'chose . . . to bring his mistress under his own roof' (I. iv). Edmund knows all about this, and credits Miss Crawford for being offended at his conduct (I. vii). Yet Austen makes Mary Crawford reveal her own loose morals in her jokes. Privately she teases her brother about being 'spoiled' by 'the admiral's lessons', half-acknowledging his own libertine inclinations (I. iv). When talking of admirals, her extraordinary jest to a solemn Edmund – 'Of Rears, and Vices, I saw enough. Now, do not be suspecting me of a pun, I entreat' (I. vi) – is a moment of sexual flippancy that suggests she is used to rather different company. The milieu in which she has grown up has had its influence. Her brother later tells her that he will not consult his uncle about his plans to marry Fanny Price. 'The Admiral hated marriage, and thought it never pardonable in a young man of independent fortune' (II. xii). There are men out there who choose to cohabit or to keep a mistress, and some, like Admiral Crawford, have even invented a code to recommend their behaviour. Jane Austen knew men like this. In 1801 she wrote of her sister-in-law Eliza finding the manners of Lord Craven 'very pleasing indeed', before adding, 'The little flaw of having a Mistress now living with him at Ashdown Park, seems to be the only unpleasing circumstance about him' (Letters, 30). But then aristocrats are different. In another letter she reports that 'Ld Lucan has taken a mistress' (Letters, 50).
Given this trait of the social elite, it is ironical that Emma Woodhouse convinces herself that Harriet Smith must be 'a gentleman's daughter' (I. iv). When Robert Martin makes proper enquiries of Mrs Goddard, after he and Harriet have become engaged, she is found to be the daughter of a mere 'tradesman', who is rich enough to maintain her and 'decent enough to have always wished for concealment' (III. xix). Emma shares in that judgement of what is 'decent'. If a man gives way to his passions, he should have the decency to hide, as well as pay for, the consequences. This is the heroine's thought, acknowledging what all sorts of men get up to, but also the propriety of keeping it concealed. Emma, who denies her own desires for much of the novel, half-imagines a world of sexual appetites and illicit liaisons. Earlier in the novel, wondering why Mr Weston is dragging her to Randalls for a conference with Mrs Weston just after the announcement of Mrs Churchill's death, she dreams up disturbing revelations about Frank Churchill's adoptive father: 'Half a dozen natural children, perhaps—and poor Frank cut off!' (III. x). It is a self-amusing notion, but exaggerates a real possibility. It is Emma's habit to evade a truth by indulging in a fancy. As she does so, Austen is requiring the reader again to recognise what she has sometimes been accused of denying: that humans are driven by sexual appetites.
TWELVE
What Do Characters Say When the Heroine Is Not There?
And Fanny, what was she doing and thinking all this while?
Mansfield Park, I. v
Charlotte Lucas's decision to marry Mr Collins is justly famous. Here, it seems, Jane Austen shows you what courtship and marriage really meant in the early nineteenth century. A respectable man needs a wife; a woman of 'small fortune' needs 'an establishment' (Pride and Prejudice, I. xxii). For those readers down the years who have looked for feminist inclinations in Austen's fiction, this is the evidence: a chasteningly unsentimental picture of the compromises that an intelligent woman has to make for material reasons. Yet Charlotte Lucas's decision is not memorable for reasons of sexual politics. Her acceptance of Mr Collins gets its power from a narrative trick: Austen's removal of the novel's heroine. Charlotte Lucas makes her life choice in one of the very few scenes in Pride and Prejudice from which Elizabeth Bennet is absent. In the embarrassing wake of Elizabeth's rejection of Mr Collins's proposal, her best friend has taken on the burden of conversing with him. Elizabeth is grateful to Charlotte, but she is not exactly being selfless. 'Charlotte's kindness extended farther than Elizabeth had any conception of; —its object was nothing else than to secure her from any return of Mr. Collins's addresses, by engaging them towards herself' (I. xxii). She knows her game. Suitably encouraged, Mr Collins is soon hastening over to Lucas Lodge to make his offer, and as he does so the narrative switches its attention to Charlotte and leaves the unsuspecting Elizabeth behind. There is Charlotte, expectant, watching for her suitor 'from an upper window' and setting out 'to meet him accidentally in the lane'. We do not get Mr Collins's words, or Charlotte's, but we do get her thoughts as she reflects with satisfaction on her decision. Austen has decided to let us see the world from Charlotte's point of view. Elizabeth's absence is emphasised by her friend's one reason for feeling some discomfort: 'The least agreeable circumstance in the business was the surprise it must occasion to Elizabeth Bennet.'
Austen's heroines are vivid to us because her novels are narrated from their points of view and suffused by their consciousnesses. Yet one of Austen's devices is to leave her heroine behind, to give us a glimpse of what the world is like in her absence. In all her novels except Mansfield Park this is done only occasionally, so that we receive a peculiar jolt when it happens. Charlotte Lucas's encounter in the lane with Mr Collins is only the third scene in Pride and Prejudice where Elizabeth is left behind. It has happened before, when Elizabeth is visiting Netherfield, where Jane is ill in bed. After dinner she retires to attend to her sister and we, surprisingly, stay in the drawing room where we hear Miss Bingley and Mrs Hurst deplore Elizabeth's walk across the fields and the Bennets' 'low connections' (I. viii). They are performing for Mr Darcy and Mr Bingley. We are suddenly to feel their determination to prevent either man's attachment to either Bennet sister, to realise what Jane and Elizabeth are up against. In a second, much briefer, exchange, we hear Miss Bingley needling Mr Darcy about the prospect of acquiring Mrs Bennet as a mother-in-law, but succeeding only in reminding him of Elizabeth's 'beautiful eyes' (I. x). The device of such an exchange is used again much later when Elizabeth is invited to Pemberley to visit Georgiana Darcy, who is accompanied by those malign Bingley sisters (III. iii). After Elizabeth's visit, we stay behind to hear Miss Bingley deride Elizabeth's supposed beauty for the benefit of Mr Darcy, who is finally forced to silence her by declaring Elizabeth 'one of the handsomest women of my acquaintance'. This time the threat of Miss Bingley is utterly deflated. We see that Elizabeth still has her hold on Mr Darcy. Her absence means, however, that she does not know this as we do. She must discover their love for each other as a surprise.
The most continually present of Austen's heroines is the least knowing: Catherine Morland. Until the penultimate chapter of Northanger Abbey, she is there at every moment, in every line – with only a moment's exception. She first meets, dances with and talks to Henry Tilney in the third chapter of the novel. At the end of that chapter, Austen wonders facetiously whether her heroine dreamed about him that night, before reassuring us that the sensible Mr Allen had discreetly looked into things.
How proper Mr. Tilney might be as a dreamer or a lover had not yet perhaps entered Mr. Allen's head, but that he was not objectionable as a common acquaintance for his young charge he was on inquiry satisfied; for he had early in the evening taken pains to know who her partner was, and had been assured of Mr. Tilney's being a clergyman, and of a very respectable family in Gloucestershire (I. iii).
The naive Catherine is not left to her own instincts. For a sentence we glimpse conversations that take place out of her hearing, but we do not actually leave her company until the penultimate chapter of the novel, just before Henry Tilney arrives unannounced at the Morlands' home. Suddenly Austen leaves Catherine to her own devices. Mrs Morland, worried about her daughter's 'loss of spirits', recommends an essay 'about young girls that have been spoilt for home by great acquaintance' and leaves the room to fetch the book in question.
It was some time before she could find what she looked for; and other family matters occurring to detain her, a quarter of an hour had elapsed ere she returned downstairs with the volume from which so much was hoped. Her avocations above having shut out all noise but what she created herself, she knew not that a visitor had arrived within the last few minutes, till, on entering the room, the first object she beheld was a young man whom she had never seen before (II. xv).
In its quiet way it is an extraordinary abandonment of her heroine. We return downstairs to see the nervous young man and awkward young woman with Mrs Morland's eyes, and we suddenly know that betrothal is imminent. For at last Catherine has been trusted to live beyond the novelist's monitoring of her.
Northanger Abbey begins with Catherine – 'No one who had ever seen Catherine Morland in her infancy would have supposed her born to be an heroine' – but only one other Austen novel starts with the heroine: 'Emma Woodhouse, handsome, clever, and rich, with a comfortable home and happy disposition, seemed to unite some of the best blessings of existence; and had lived nearly twenty-one years in the world with very little to distress or vex her.' Emma bustles straight in to take over. All Austen's other novels begin at a tangent to their heroines. Sense and Sensibility starts a long way away from Elinor Dashwood, the first chapter giving a family history of the Dashwoods and the extraordinary second chapter consisting almost entirely of a conversation between John Dashwood and his wife in which they agree not to give his stepmother and half-sisters any money. In the third chapter, we find out about the attachment between Elinor and Edward Ferrars, in order to hear Marianne and her mother discuss Edward in Elinor's absence, Marianne declaring, 'His eyes want all that spirit, that fire, which at once announce virtue and intelligence. And besides all this, I am afraid, mama, he has no real taste' (I. iii). The novel appears to be dividing our interest between the two sisters. We accompany Marianne as she wanders around Norland saying farewell to its trees. Once arrived in Devon, we follow Marianne and Margaret on their foolish walk on the downs. Elinor is left behind as the two younger sisters relish 'the animating gales' and jointly pity 'the fears which had prevented their mother and Elinor from sharing such delightful sensations' (I. ix). Yet any impression that we are sharing our sympathies between Elinor and Marianne – between sense and sensibility – is soon corrected. Once we have tasted Marianne's folly we abandon her point of view, slowly occupying Elinor's pained consciousness.
If Catherine Morland is the most present of Austen's heroines, Fanny Price is the most absent. Mansfield Park is the one Austen novel in which conversations commonly take place without the heroine. There is a characteristic moment early in the novel when Edmund and his sister Julia arrive back, late on a summer evening, after dinner at the Parsonage with the Crawfords. They enter the drawing room, 'glowing and cheerful, the very reverse of what they found in the three ladies sitting there' (I. vii): Maria is reading sulkily, Lady Bertram is comatose and Mrs Norris is cross and uncommunicative. But where is Fanny? asks Edmund. Has she gone to bed? Mrs Norris does not know, but then Fanny's 'gentle voice' is heard from the other end of the big room. She was there all the time; the 'three ladies' were in fact four. The narrative merely behaved for a little while as though Fanny were absent, picking up the habit from the Bertrams. 'She does not fully participate in the world but as a result she sees things more clearly and accurately than those who do.' Her non-participation is realised by Austen in a sequence of absences. From the first chapter, where Sir Thomas and Lady Bertram discuss with Mrs Norris the scheme for taking charge of one of Mrs Price's children, Fanny is subject to plans made in her absence. Whether Lady Bertram and Mrs Norris are deciding where she will live – 'Good heaven! what could I do with Fanny?' – or Sir Thomas is talking about having a ball for Fanny and her brother, she is often off stage while decisions are made on her behalf. Her fate is always to be decided by others.
The ease with which Fanny is ignored is emphasised by the number of exchanges that take place without her. These even include some featuring only men. It is often said that women are present in every scene in Austen's fiction, but this is not true. There is a fleeting example of male-only exchange in Pride and Prejudice, where Mr Bingley comes to Longbourn to shoot with Mr Bennet (but in fact to propose to his daughter).
Bingley was punctual to his appointment; and he and Mr. Bennet spent the morning together, as had been agreed on. The latter was much more agreeable than his companion expected. There was nothing of presumption or folly in Bingley that could provoke his ridicule, or disgust him into silence; and he was more communicative, and less eccentric, than the other had ever seen him. (III. xiii).
This hint as to Mr Bennet's behaviour in rational male company takes us for a moment out of the world of his wife and daughters – but awkwardly, as if the author wanted to give another chance to a character whose paternal failings have been so thoroughly illuminated. In Mansfield Park the male-only scenes are much clearer and more important. The first is where Sir Thomas Bertram, unexpectedly returned from the West Indies, finds a strange young man, Mr Yates, rehearsing theatrical speeches in the billiard room of his own house (II. i). As they meet, Tom Bertram also enters the room, and attempts to appease his father's irritated feelings. The second scene without a woman occurs in the next chapter, when Edmund seeks out his father to give an account of 'the whole acting scheme'.
He was anxious, while vindicating himself, to say nothing unkind of the others: but there was only one amongst them whose conduct he could mention without some necessity of defence or palliation. 'We have all been more or less to blame,' said he, 'every one of us, excepting Fanny. Fanny is the only one who has judged rightly throughout; who has been consistent. Her feelings have been steadily against it from first to last. She never ceased to think of what was due to you. You will find Fanny everything you could wish.' (II. ii)
Much later in the novel we hear, in direct speech again, a snatch of conversation between Edmund and Sir Thomas on the subject of Fanny's resistance to Henry Crawford's proposal of marriage. 'I will speak to her, Sir; I will take the first opportunity of speaking to her alone' (III. iv). Sir Thomas responds by telling his son that Fanny is, at that moment, 'walking alone in the shrubbery'. Here are father and son, man-to-man, conspiring together to further the match, both utterly ignorant as to the major impediment: Fanny's love for Edmund. Later, in indirect speech, we have Edmund reporting back to his father that Mr Crawford had been 'too hasty' but that a 'return of affection' might eventually be hoped for. He believes himself 'perfectly acquainted' with Fanny's 'sentiments', and speaks confidently to Sir Thomas. And he is as ignorant of her true feelings as ever.
It is in Mansfield Park alone that Austen gives us these accumulated glimpses of men together, as if respecting the Bertrams' aristocratic delusion that all important decisions are made by a father and his sons. Another kind of scene in the novel, from which the Bertrams and Fanny are absent, shows us that power lies elsewhere. There is a sequence of five conversations at the Parsonage among the Crawfords and Mrs Grant that are cumulatively perhaps the most shocking exchanges in all Austen's fiction. The first occurs soon after the Crawfords have arrived. They have not yet met the Bertrams, but Mrs Grant has plans: '"Henry, you shall marry the youngest Miss Bertram, a nice, handsome, good-humoured, accomplished girl, who will make you very happy." Henry bowed and thanked her' (I. iv). Mary warns her sister that she is wasting her thoughts and efforts: 'He is the most horrible flirt that can be imagined. If your Miss Bertrams do not like to have their hearts broke, let them avoid Henry.' It is a pretty accurate prediction of what is to come. Henry assures Mrs Grant that he thinks highly of marriage, quoting Paradise Lost (the only Austen character to do so) with a mischievous emphasis: '"I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of the poet—'Heaven's last best gift.'" "There, Mrs. Grant, you see how he dwells on one word, and only look at his smile. I assure you he is very detestable; the Admiral's lessons have quite spoiled him."' There is something chilling in the jesting of brother and sister. Mary Crawford's mock-condemnation ('horrible', 'detestable') measures her distance from any real disapproval of his habitual behaviour.
There follow four more such exchanges, which structure the novel's plot. Their effect will be to make the Bertrams, including Fanny, seem unconscious players in the Crawfords' amusing game. Once the Bertrams and Crawfords have met, we go to the Parsonage again for more playful private talk. Does Henry really prefer Julia, asks Mary, 'for Miss Bertram is in general thought the handsomest' (I. v). 'So I should suppose. She has the advantage in every feature, and I prefer her countenance; but I like Julia best; Miss Bertram is certainly the handsomest, and I have found her the most agreeable, but I shall always like Julia best, because you order me.' Jesting is very quickly moving into something dangerous. Henry and Mary make clear that they already see that Maria does not care 'three straws' for Mr Rushworth, and that she is Henry's likely prey. Later, after the diversions of Sotherton and the negotiations over the taking of parts in the play, we go back to the Parsonage for an unmonitored conversation between Mary Crawford and Mrs Grant.
'I rather wonder Julia is not in love with Henry,' was her observation to Mary.
'I dare say she is,' replied Mary coldly. 'I imagine both sisters are.'
'Both! no, no, that must not be. Do not give him a hint of it. Think of Mr. Rushworth!'
'You had better tell Miss Bertram to think of Mr. Rushworth. It may do her some good.' (I. xvii)
Mary has well-evidenced scorn for Mr Rushworth and knows just how well Maria has been entangled.
'I would not give much for Mr. Rushworth's chance if Henry stept in before the articles were signed.'
'If you have such a suspicion, something must be done; and as soon as the play is all over, we will talk to him seriously and make him know his own mind; and if he means nothing, we will send him off, though he is Henry, for a time.'
Sir Thomas Bertram's return means that Mrs Grant's assertion will never be tested, though it hardly sounds as if, without Mary's backing, much could have come of it.
Mary speaks to her half-sister in cold candour: Henry has caught both the Bertram girls, and has meant to do so. Mary speaks as if she has seen this kind of thing before. The exchange is shocking because it takes place in Fanny's absence. If only she or the Bertrams could hear this! Fanny has observed Henry's flirtations with alarm, but her suspicions hardly go far enough. Even more chilling is the next Parsonage conversation, between Henry and Mary alone. 'Seeing the coast clear of the rest of the family', he asks his sister with a smile, 'And how do you think I mean to amuse myself, Mary, on the days that I do not hunt? . . . my plan is to make Fanny Price in love with me' (II. vi). Mary's reply is hardly good-hearted: 'Fanny Price! Nonsense! No, no. You ought to be satisfied with her two cousins.' To which her brother's rejoinder is devilish. 'But I cannot be satisfied without Fanny Price, without making a small hole in Fanny Price's heart.' Don't make her 'really unhappy,' says Mary. He has only a fortnight, so 'will not do her any harm'. He wants only to make her feel, when he leaves, 'that she shall be never happy again'. '"Moderation itself!" said Mary.'
Fanny's presence turns out to be a stronger charm than is allowed in her absence. In the final Parsonage conversation Henry Crawford takes his sister's arm and tells her that his plans have changed. 'I am quite determined, Mary. My mind is entirely made up. Will it astonish you? No: you must be aware that I am quite determined to marry Fanny Price' (II. xii). 'Lucky, lucky girl!' exclaims his sister, assuming that she will naturally comply. As ever, her fate seems to be being decided out of her hearing. Mansfield Park is a novel about its heroine's absence. When Fanny leaves Mansfield to go to Portsmouth, everything falls apart without her. We follow her, however, and in the whole of Volume III of the novel, there is not a scene or a dialogue from which she is absent – except, as fleetingly as could be, just after she has left, when we hear Lady Bertram's reply to Mrs Norris's opinion that Fanny will not be 'wanted or missed'. '"That may be, sister," was all Lady Bertram's reply. "I dare say you are very right; but I am sure I shall miss her very much"' (III. vi). With choice narrative irony, the only moment of Fanny's absence is an expression of sincere regret about that absence. The Bertrams have to learn what Lady Bertram, in her vapid, selfish way, has always known: that they cannot do without her.
Emma's brief absences let us glimpse a narrative of Mr Knightley's feelings, unfolding all the time alongside her own preoccupations.
In Emma, the heroine's presence is so overweening that her absence, when it occurs, is a kind of shock. There are only four such scenes, all brief, in the whole novel. The first is in the fifth chapter, where we find Mr Knightley talking confidentially to Mrs Weston about Emma's fate.
'She always declares she will never marry, which, of course, means just nothing at all. But I have no idea that she has yet ever seen a man she cared for. It would not be a bad thing for her to be very much in love with a proper object. I should like to see Emma in love, and in some doubt of a return; it would do her good. But there is nobody hereabouts to attach her; and she goes so seldom from home.' (I. v)
Mrs Weston listens but conceals 'some favourite thoughts of her own and Mr Weston's on the subject'. Austen is inviting discerning readers to trick themselves. We can infer that the Westons have Frank Churchill in mind as a possible husband for Emma and we will care even more, as they do, about his impending appearance. Meanwhile Mr Knightley's rumination about the likelihood of Emma falling in love is a piece of calculated misdirection. Only on re-reading will we see that 'nobody hereabouts' draws attention to his own obtuseness about his deeper feelings for Emma. By taking place without the heroine, the exchange acquires a certain authority, and the misleading clues as to what is to come are made the stronger.
Emma is absent again only three times. The first of these absences is the most surprising, for it occurs when suddenly, in the third volume of the novel, the narration switches to Mr Knightley's point of view to report his suspicions about Frank Churchill.
Mr. Knightley began to suspect him of some inclination to trifle with Jane Fairfax. He could not understand it; but there were symptoms of intelligence between them—he thought so at least—symptoms of admiration on his side, which, having once observed, he could not persuade himself to think entirely void of meaning, however he might wish to escape any of Emma's errors of imagination. She was not present when the suspicion first arose. He was dining with the Randalls family, and Jane, at the Eltons'; and he had seen a look, more than a single look, at Miss Fairfax, which, from the admirer of Miss Woodhouse, seemed somewhat out of place. (III.v.)
We join him as he walks up to Hartfield and meets in the lane Emma and Harriet, and then Frank Churchill, Miss Bates, Jane Fairfax and the Westons. Emma is there, yet hardly present: as they reach the gates to Hartfield Mr Perry passes and Frank Churchill makes his blunder about knowing that Mr Perry is to set up a carriage; 'Emma was out of hearing.' Mr Knightley sees 'confusion suppressed or laughed away' in Frank Churchill's face, but can't catch Jane Fairfax's response: 'she was indeed behind, and too busy with her shawl'. For the rest of the chapter we watch Emma, Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax with Mr Knightley's eyes. He sees them play their word game and detects 'disingenuousness and double dealing'. In the very next chapter, Emma once more disappears, for a comic conversation between Mr Knightley and Mrs Elton in which the strawberry party at Donwell is suggested. We are again given access to Mr Knightley's unspoken thoughts, seeing that his plans are shaped by his wish 'to persuade Mr. Woodhouse, as well as Emma, to join the party' (III. vi). But more than this: Emma's absence is used to smuggle a new suggestion about Mr Knightley's secret thoughts into the narrative. Politely deflecting Mrs Elton's officious desires to issue the invitations, he says that only one woman will ever 'invite what guests she pleases to Donwell'. '"—Mrs. Weston, I suppose," interrupted Mrs. Elton, rather mortified. "No—Mrs. Knightley;—and, till she is in being, I will manage such matters myself."'
Emma's absences are used to show the true folly of her schemes: the secret understanding between Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax is not to be the complete surprise for the reader that it is for the heroine. But if this is the ostensible reason for these scenes, there is a deeper one too. Mr Knightley's suspicions, which arose that evening at the Eltons' when Emma 'was not present', have been ignited by the 'early dislike' that he has taken to Frank Churchill, 'for some reason best known to himself' (III. v). His hostile attention to Frank Churchill must be directed by jealousy. The deft irrelevance of his quip about some future 'Mrs Knightley' must be evidence of private thoughts about his own possible attachment. Emma's brief absences let us glimpse a narrative of Mr Knightley's feelings, unfolding all the time alongside her own preoccupations. There is one more such absence, a snatch of conversation when Mrs Weston, her baby on her knee, tells Mr Weston of Emma's engagement:
the wonder of it was very soon nothing; and by the end of an hour he was not far from believing that he had always foreseen it.
'It is to be a secret, I conclude,' said he. 'These matters are always a secret, till it is found out that every body knows them. Only let me be told when I may speak out.—I wonder whether Jane has any suspicion.' (III. xvii)
It is the completion of a circle: in that first scene without Emma we glimpsed the Westons' schemes for her marriage to Frank Churchill; in this last one they discover how much better it is that she marry Mr Knightley. In this novel of secrets, their earlier hope that Emma would marry Frank will remain a secret.
Persuasion is arguably the Austen novel that most shares its heroine's experiences and feelings, yet in its opening chapters she only slowly becomes present to us. We come to her via her family's vanities and follies – 'she was only Anne'. She speaks for the first time in the third chapter, to express her admiration of the navy for reasons that are wholly unclear. A few pages later she speaks for only the second time, showing herself unaccountably well-informed about Admiral Croft's position in the navy and his war service. Only Mr Shepherd's forgetfulness at the end of the chapter about the name of Mrs Croft's brother – 'the gentleman who lived a few years back, at Monkford. Bless me! What was his name?' – forces an answer from Anne – '"You mean Mr. Wentworth, I suppose," said Anne' – an exchange that unleashes her feelings and forces her story on our attentions. Thus far the novel has been mimicking her family's neglect of her. After this opening there are only three moments in the novel when Anne is absent. The first comes just after Mary tells her that Captain Wentworth has found her 'so altered he should not have known you again' (I. vii). The narrative then switches to Captain Wentworth, to tell us that he had indeed 'used such words' and to show him discussing his interest in marriage with his sister.
He had been most warmly attached to her, and had never seen a woman since whom he thought her equal; but, except from some natural sensation of curiosity, he had no desire of meeting her again. Her power with him was gone for ever.
It was now his object to marry. (I. vii)
It is an audacious turning aside from the heroine. We briefly penetrate directly into Captain Wentworth's thoughts for the only time in the novel, in order to be told something about him that is entirely untrue: 'Her power with him was gone for ever.' It is self-delusion masquerading as narrative fact. He tells himself that Anne's power over him is 'gone for ever' because he would like to believe it to be true.
Anne is absent only twice more. In the first instance, we briefly see the Musgrove sisters at the window, looking out for Captain Wentworth, as Charles Hayter drones on about the Uppercross curacy (I. ix). It is a glimpse of the half-comic turmoil that Captain Wentworth is causing in the lives of the sisters, and of Charles Hayter, Henrietta's now displaced admirer. And finally there is the strange little scene much later in a shop (Molland's) in Bath. Anne has taken shelter from the rain with Elizabeth and Mrs Clay. Captain Wentworth enters with a party of others. They have some awkward conversation. Then Mr Elliot arrives to take Anne off. But we do not leave with her; we stay in the shop. The ladies of Captain Wentworth's party chat about Anne.
'. . . One can guess what will happen there. He is always with them; half lives in the family, I believe. What a very good-looking man!'
'Yes, and Miss Atkinson, who dined with him once at the Wallises', says he is the most agreeable man she ever was in company with.'
'She is pretty, I think; Anne Elliot; very pretty when one comes to look at her. It is not the fashion to say so, but I confess I admire her more than her sister.'
'Oh! so do I.'
'And so do I. No comparison. But the men are all wild after Miss Elliot. Anne is too delicate for them.' (II. vii)
It is an unobtrusively brilliant use of dialogue. Nothing is said of Captain Wentworth's thoughts, but we listen to this exchange only because he is listening. In Anne's absence, we hear about her likely engagement to Mr Elliot with all Captain Wentworth's silent attention. We hear the verdict on her looks with all his silent interest. We feel his jealousy aroused and Anne's allure, her 'power over him', confirmed. It is appropriate that this happens once she has left the scene. For Austen often lets you understand her heroines by allowing you to glimpse things in their absence. Anne is removed so that we can feel her influence. It is fictional proof that we know someone best when we can see them in their absence, when we believe in them when they are not there.
THIRTEEN
How Much Money Is Enough?
'My father would be well pleased if the gentlemen were richer, but he has no other fault to find.'
Persuasion, II. x
The question of money is posed bluntly enough in Sense and Sensibility, when Elinor and Marianne Dashwood debate the importance or unimportance of wealth in the company of Edward Ferrars. Marianne reacts indignantly to Elinor's declaration that happiness has much to do with 'wealth': '"Elinor, for shame!" said Marianne, "money can only give happiness where there is nothing else to give it. Beyond a competence, it can afford no real satisfaction, as far as mere self is concerned"' (I. xvii). A 'competence' is the contemporary term for enough money, and Elinor takes up the word, smilingly suggesting that Marianne's 'competence' would be equivalent to her 'wealth'. The exchange that follows proves her right. Marianne's idea of a 'competence' is 'About eighteen hundred or two thousand a-year; not more than that.' The modern reader will know from trustworthy Elinor's response – 'Two thousand a-year! One is my wealth!' – that Marianne has named a large sum; the first readers of the novel would have felt how very large it was – and therefore how very absurd Marianne was being. Defending herself against the implication that her demands are 'extravagant', Marianne herself mentions some of these. She hopes for 'a proper establishment of servants, a carriage, perhaps two, and hunters'.
Austen is always careful with her sums of money and particularly so in Sense and Sensibility, which has more talk of money than any other of her novels. Discussing the business of correcting proofs of this novel, she told Cassandra about her desire to correct some of the figures quoted. 'The Incomes remain as they were, but I will get them altered if I can' (Letters, 71). Presumably the sums of money remained the same as in an earlier version of the novel and no longer carried exactly the right implications. The opening chapters of Sense and Sensibility are painstakingly precise about money. Elinor and Marianne's father had 'only seven thousand pounds in his own disposal' (I. i). Their great-uncle leaves the three sisters 'a thousand pounds a-piece'. The total capital sum of £10,000 would give a total income of about £500 a year, which allows them their modest, harassed gentility. (Austen's first readers would have known what kind of income was represented by the capital sums specified in the novels, characters relying on returns of 5 per cent, the usual interest on investments in government funds.) In the second chapter, Mrs John Dashwood accurately calculates the Dashwoods' income. Yet the modern reader cannot know exactly what to think when she exclaims, 'Only conceive how comfortable they will be! Five hundred a-year! I am sure I cannot imagine how they will spend half of it' (I. ii). We do know by this stage of the dialogue that Mrs John Dashwood is meanness personified, and we catch the ring of absurdity when she completes her peroration by assuring her husband that 'as to your giving them more, it is quite absurd to think of it. They will be much more able to give you something.' We already know that John Dashwood has inherited an estate that gives him some £4,000 a year, in addition to his wife's money and an inheritance from his mother, so we can easily understand how her persuasion of her spouse has triumphed over truth and logic. But how adequate or inadequate is that £500?
In the very process of allowing himself to be persuaded out of allowing his sisters a regular income, John Dashwood concedes that they might easily find themselves under financial pressure. 'A present of fifty pounds, now and then, will prevent their ever being distressed for money,' he assures himself (I. ii). Historians caution against applying some blind multiplier to produce a modern equivalent of sums of money from the past, but it is not difficult to put numbers to some of the early nineteenth-century outlays that characterised degrees of affluence. We have helpful information from Austen's own family. After his retirement George Austen enjoyed an income of up to £600 per annum from his clerical livings and an annuity (Letters, 29); all this disappeared with his death. It paid for a rented house in Bath (the rent alone taking a quarter of his income) and three servants. Yet there is evidence that this income was only just sufficient: after three years the Austens moved from their house in Sydney Place to another in Green Park Buildings, an address that they had previously rejected. This might well have been an economy measure. After Rev George Austen's death the Austen ladies had to live on £450 a year between them, much of it contributed by Jane Austen's brothers. In a now notorious (because Mrs John Dashwood-like) letter to his brother Frank, Henry Austen explained unconvincingly how 'comfortable' this would make them. In fact it reduced them to employing just one servant. In the summer months they had to become peripatetic, living with various relatives and friends in turn. The turn for the worse is instructive. We will find in Jane Austen's fiction, as in her life, £500–£600 per annum is the usual range of a 'competence' for a couple or a family unit. We might remember that John Dashwood, after his promise to his father on his deathbed, contemplates giving his half-sisters each a thousand pounds more. This would raise their joint annual income by £150 and move them into affluence. Naturally he decides against this.
An adequate income for a single person can be much less. Mr and Mrs Norris have 'very little less than a thousand a year' while Mr Norris is alive (I. i). After his death, Mrs Norris might be even more affluent. 'I hope, sister, things are not so very bad with you neither—considering. Sir Thomas says you will have six hundred a year,' says Lady Bertram (I. iii). 'Lady Bertram, I do not complain. I know I cannot live as I have done, but I must retrench where I can, and learn to be a better manager. I have been a liberal housekeeper enough, but I shall not be ashamed to practise economy now. My situation is as much altered as my income.' Mrs Norris savours the prospect of financial stringencies. 'It is unknown how much was consumed in our kitchen by odd comers and goers. At the White house, matters must be better looked after. I must live within my income, or I shall be miserable; and I own it would give me great satisfaction to be able to do rather more—to lay by a little at the end of the year.' The modern reader easily suspects the gist of this: that Mrs Norris's economies are her pleasure rather than her necessity. Austen's first readers would have known that this widow's income went well beyond her needs. Mrs Norris's affluence is all the greater when one considers that she is almost certainly living rent-free in 'a small house of Sir Thomas's in the village'.
Famously, Jane Austen names sums.
It makes me most uncomfortable to see
An English spinster of middle class
Describe the amorous effect of 'brass',
Reveal so frankly and with such sobriety
The economic basis of society.
Austen's interest in money does not in itself single her out from other women novelists of her age. As Edward Copeland has shown in his brilliantly detailed study Women Writing about Money, 'The yearly income is an obsessive motif in women's fiction at the turn of the eighteenth century.' What is extraordinary about Austen is not her candour but the precision with which she shows the influence of particular sums on particular people. Most of her major characters come with income tickets attached, not so much because the novelist wants us to notice how important money and the lack of money might be, as because she wants us to see her characters noticing these things. It is their understanding of money – and how they are bound to or separated from each other by money – that is at stake. There is a painfully revealing example in Emma where Miss Bates is telling Emma about Jane Fairfax's prospects as a governess to the Sucklings' friends the Smallridges. Having long fended off Mrs Elton's officious suggestions, she has relented and is going. 'To a Mrs. Smallridge—charming woman—most superior—to have the charge of her three little girls—delightful children' (III. viii). We should wince to hear Miss Bates parroting Mrs Elton's assurances (in truth, she has no idea whether Mrs Smallridge is 'charming' or not). We know that any friend of Selina Suckling is a poor prospect as an employer, and Emma knows this just as well as us. But we and Emma know too that Miss Bates must make herself believe in the desirability of this apparently inescapable option. Emma's feelings are troubled further when Miss Bates mentions her niece's proposed salary. 'It will be nothing but pleasure, a life of pleasure.—And her salary!—I really cannot venture to name her salary to you, Miss Woodhouse. Even you, used as you are to great sums, would hardly believe that so much could be given to a young person like Jane.' No sum is actually specified, but we can feel that Emma Woodhouse, 'handsome, clever, and rich', knows how modest it must be. Most governesses at this time earned between £20 and £30 a year, some as little as £12. Jane Fairfax's proposed salary would certainly be an amount to embarrass a woman whose income from her capital is about £1,500 a year. If Miss Bates were not an assured innocent in her declarations, you might suspect satire: 'you, used as you are to great sums'. Nothing more needs to be said to exhibit the chasm about to open up between two young women who share much in the way of gentility, elegance and accomplishments. The exhibition is entirely dramatic: we are not told anything of how Emma feels about this cruel and merely lucky difference in their fortunes. We just see and feel her listening to Miss Bates with the knowledge of her own wealth heavy on her. We do not know exactly how much Miss Bates and her mother have to live on, but their ability to afford one all-purpose servant, Patty, suggests that it might be £100 per annum. Austen would have expected a contemporary reader to have noticed her recoiling from the 'bad news' that their chimney needed sweeping and the real difference to their diet that the gift of Woodhouse pork and Knightley apples can make.
Perhaps Miss Bates does not know just how rich Miss Woodhouse is. If not, she is unusual. For the extraordinary thing is that everyone in Austen's fiction seems to know about everyone else's money. It is not so surprising that Mr Collins is able to tell Elizabeth Bennet, loftily, that he will make no demands on her father for a marriage portion, since he knows that 'one thousand pounds in the four per cents, which will not be yours until after your mother's decease, is all that you may ever be entitled to' (I. xix). He is just repeating common knowledge. In Sense and Sensibility, when John Dashwood asks Elinor what Colonel Brandon's fortune is, she does answer him and she does know: 'I believe about two thousand a-year' (II. xi). Elinor asks Mrs Jennings whether Miss Grey is 'very rich' and gets a definitive-sounding answer: 'Fifty thousand pounds, my dear' (II. viii). Elinor soon repeats the information to Colonel Brandon. Mrs Jennings also knows that Miss Grey is orphaned and has complete control over her fortune (and that she is disliked by her own guardians). Mansfield Park begins by informing us that 'about thirty years ago', Miss Maria Ward, 'with only seven thousand pounds', captivated Sir Thomas Bertram. 'All Huntingdon exclaimed on the greatness of the match', as if the financial details were common knowledge. (Miss Ward takes only a little more than Mrs Bennet into marriage.) Edmund Bertram, having his well-founded doubts about Mr Rushworth's capacities, says often to himself, 'If this man had not twelve thousand a year, he would be a very stupid fellow' (I. iv).
This is a world in which everyone knows – or thinks they know – about everyone else's money.
If a novelist now were to tell us about somebody's income, it would be an authorial confidence. When Austen does so, she is giving us information that is available to her characters. When Wickham switches his attentions from Elizabeth to Miss King, it is because of her 'sudden acquisition of ten thousand pounds', a gain that seems entirely well-advertised (Pride and Prejudice, II. iii). Emma Woodhouse knows that Mr Elton has proposed to her only because she is 'the heiress of thirty thousand pounds' (I. xvi) – and she can be sure that he knows her worth. Emma in her turn knows that Miss Campbell is due to inherit twelve thousand pounds, and absurdly assumes that this was Mr Dixon's only reason for marrying her, when he truly loved Jane Fairfax (II. ii). Incomes and inheritances are not confidential matters. Thus the extraordinary thing that Lady Catherine de Bourgh says to Elizabeth at their first meeting about girls learning to play the piano. 'The Miss Webbs all play, and their father has not so good an income as yours's' (II. vi). This is amazingly rude, but still sayable. Not only is the income of another family a discussable matter – just – but it is also a knowable matter. Lady Catherine has done her research. 'The topic itself was not hedged with the secrecy it possesses today. Letters and diaries sent along the news of other people's incomes almost as a duty.' One of the most important original sources of information was the marriage settlement. Marriages among the landed and propertied involved legally binding settlements drawn up by lawyers (with no obligation to confidentiality). Such agreements required explicit calculations of the worth of each party. When Dr and Mrs Grant move to Mansfield, Mrs Norris is appalled at their indulgence of culinary luxury. 'Inquire where she would, she could not find out that Mrs. Grant had ever had more than five thousand pounds' (I. iii). The amount of money she took into marriage is more or less public information. Mrs Norris, we are to infer, had the same seven thousand pounds on marriage as her younger sister Maria, now Lady Bertram.
In Sense and Sensibility Elinor bumps into her half-brother John Dashwood in a Piccadilly jeweller's shop and he gives her the outlines of a proposed marriage settlement between Edward Ferrars and the Hon. Miss Morton, 'only daughter of the late Lord Morton' (II. xi). The young lady has thirty thousand pounds; Edward's 'most excellent mother, Mrs. Ferrars, with the utmost liberality, will come forward, and settle on him a thousand a-year'. Social historians should hesitate before taking this as evidence of the openness with which settlements were discussed: John Dashwood is money-obsessed, and we can hear his love of lucre behind the empty doublings of 'most excellent' and 'utmost liberality'. (What he calls Mrs Ferrars's 'noble spirit' will later be aptly demonstrated when she disinherits her younger son for the sin of become engaged to a portionless young woman.) He surely should not be bandying such financial arrangements in a West End shop. Especially he should not be doing so when he knows that his sister was attached to the man whose proposed marriage he describes. His obtuseness and vulgarity are made worse by his announcement that Mrs Ferrars, his mother-in-law, has just given his wife 'bank-notes . . . to the amount of two hundred pounds' (almost half the annual income of Elinor, her mother, and her sisters). 'And extremely acceptable it is, for we must live at a great expense while we are here.' The stupidity of his avarice is all in that phrase 'extremely acceptable', used in talking to a sister who is so pushed for money that she has come to the shop to negotiate the sale of 'a few old-fashioned jewels of her mother'.
Talk of money in Austen is always dramatic, never just informative. We listen to John Dashwood's every inclination being warped by money. Yet he would not be able to have this conversation if marriage settlements were not broadcast. Sometimes the announcement of a marriage in a newspaper specified the amount of a dowry. It is likely that a woman like Mrs Bennet would be quick to tell any interested or uninterested party of the conditions of her marriage settlement. Equally, the system of taxation made the incomes of the landed gentry widely known. Land Tax was levied annually and was based on a valuation of a person's estate. From 1799, income tax was assessed by local commissioners, often drawn from among the local landed gentry. Information about the income from estates like Henry Crawford's was therefore readily available and quickly circulated. 'Miss Julia and Mr. Crawford. Yes, indeed, a very pretty match,' says Mrs Rushworth to Mrs Norris. 'What is his property?' 'Four thousand a year' (I. xii). Some characters talk themselves of how much they are worth. In Persuasion Charles Musgrove tells Anne and Mary that 'from what he had once heard Captain Wentworth himself say, was very sure that he had not made less than twenty thousand pounds by the war. Here was a fortune at once; besides which, there would be the chance of what might be done in any future war' (I. ix). Captain Wentworth would be 'a capital match' for either of his sisters. At the opening of the final chapter, the figure is made more exact. 'Captain Wentworth, with five-and-twenty thousand pounds, and as high in his profession as merit and activity could place him, was no longer nobody' (II. xii). This too is information known by the characters as well as announced by the narrator: prize money won from capturing enemy ships was widely advertised.
Of course, there can be mistakes. Northanger Abbey turns on the misreporting of a person's supposed wealth. It is because of John Thorpe that General Tilney believes Catherine to be rich. His treatment of our heroine is explained when Henry Tilney explains how John Thorpe had 'misled him' (II. xv). Consulted by the General, and imagining himself as Catherine's future husband, 'his vanity induced him to represent the family as yet more wealthy than his vanity and avarice had made him believe them'. Yet the very readiness with which the hard-hearted General Tilney believes this account suggests that he is used to reliable reports of other people's wealth. This is a world in which everyone knows, or thinks they know, about everyone else's money. Thorpe is a braggart whose own extravagance is bolstered by imagining everyone else to be immensely wealthy. The son of a widow, 'and a not very rich one', he has spent fifty guineas on a carriage (I. vii). He curses James Morland for not keeping a horse and gig, adding something in his 'loud and incoherent way' about 'its being a d— thing to be miserly', apparently believing, though Catherine hardly understands him, that the Morlands were 'people who rolled in money' (I. xi). He tends to believe that everyone is rich. He tells Catherine that General Tilney is 'A very fine fellow; as rich as a Jew' (I. xii). He has already said, 'Old Allen is as rich as a Jew—is not he?' (I. ix). And in a world where people rely on reports of each other's wealth, he is a dangerous character.
Not that the Morlands are poor. Having announced his engagement to Isabella Thorpe, James Morland is promised a living worth four hundred pounds per annum – plus the same again on his father's death. James is grateful but Isabella, on being 'heartily congratulated' by Catherine, is 'grave' with disappointment – clear enough to the reader, if not to her 'dear friend' (II. i). Mrs Thorpe calls four hundred a 'small income', and looks 'anxiously' at her daughter. The sum seems devised by the author to test Isabella and find her out. James Austen, Jane Austen's eldest brother, and his first wife, Anne Mathew, had married on £300 per annum. But this was close to the borderline of gentility. Edward Ferrars is offered a living by Colonel Brandon that will fetch him something over £200 per year. The Colonel thinks that this will make him 'comfortable as a bachelor' but 'cannot enable him to marry' (III. iii). In a final reckoning, we hear that Elinor and Edward are to have this living, plus the annual interest on £3,000. This makes a total of £350 per annum – which is inadequate: 'they were neither of them quite enough in love to think that three hundred and fifty pounds a-year would supply them with the comforts of life' (III. xiii). Then Mrs Ferrars gives Edward £10,000 to match the amount that she gave his sister on marriage, and they are entirely comfortable. There is evidence that Fanny Price's mother has an income of about £400 per annum. Her sister, now Lady Bertram, brought £7,000 to her marriage to Sir Thomas, and we might infer that Fanny's mother would have been left the same amount. This would bring an income of £350 a year. Added to Mr Price's half-pay of up to £50 a year, this would give them an income sufficient for slightly threadbare gentility. But Mrs Price has many children, a drunken husband and no way with a domestic budget. Her daughter explicitly recognises that her appalling Aunt Norris might well have made the income adequate. The reader truly attuned to the value of money should know that the Price family could live a more comfortable life than they do.
What should be enough is not enough for Austen's extravagant characters. Willoughby in Sense and Sensibility has six or seven hundred a year, but 'lived at an expence to which that income could hardly be equal' (I. xiv). We are to realise that this income should be perfectly adequate for a genteel single man. When he hears that Edmund Bertram is due to get seven hundred a year from his living at Thornton Lacey, Henry Crawford thinks this is a decent amount, and is duly mocked by his sister, who wonders how he would feel if he were limited to seven hundred a year (II. v). Equally evident to the Regency reader would have been the wastefulness of Mr Bennet, a character always blamed less by us than by Austen's own heroine. His estate brings an income of £2,000 a year, which should be enough for a surplus to be put aside for dowries for all his daughters. He himself wished that 'instead of spending his whole income, he had laid by an annual sum for the better provision of his children, and of his wife, if she survived him' (III. viii).
The obscurity to present-day readers of monetary value in Austen means that some hints are likely to be lost. When Edmund Bertram objects to the probable expense of making a theatre in Mansfield Park, his brother Tom replies sarcastically, 'Yes, the expense of such an undertaking would be prodigious! . . . a whole twenty pounds.' (In fact it costs a good deal more.) This would have been the annual wage of a labouring man with a family, or perhaps of one of those servants recruited to erect the stage. Then there is the vulgarity of Mr Collins in Pride and Prejudice telling Mrs Philips that Lady Catherine's 'chimney-piece alone had cost eight hundred pounds' (I. xvi). This would have been the annual income of an affluent country gentleman. Later on in the novel, as Mr Collins walks across the park to Rosings with Elizabeth, Sir William Lucas and his daughter Maria, his companions are forced to listen to 'his enumeration of the windows in front of the house, and his relation of what the glazing altogether had originally cost Sir Lewis de Bourgh' (II. vi). Of course his knowledge must have come from Lady Catherine, and her money-obsessed boasts to her toadying auditor.
Certain markers of affluence might pass us by. No wonder, for instance, that so many characters talk and think about the ownership of carriages. The Austens themselves owned a carriage for a year or two in the late 1790s but then had to give it up. Mrs Dashwood is persuaded by Elinor to sell their carriage: 'had she consulted only her own wishes, she would have kept it' (I. v). Edward Copeland quotes John Trusler's estimate in The Economist in the 1770s that an annual income of £800 would allow for the keeping of a carriage. The inflation of the last decades of the eighteenth century would have taken this figure to about £1,000 a year, so we can see how foolish Mrs Dashwood was tempted to be. The plot of Emma turns on Mr Perry's planned purchase of a carriage; any genteel reader would have known just how affluent this must have declared him. And when Mrs Elton parades her provision of her carriage to ferry the Bates party to the ball at the Crown, she advertises her own membership of this economic elite.
Caring about love rather than money is admirable. When Catherine Morland declares, 'to marry for money I think the wickedest thing in existence', her hyperbole is naive but not foolish (Northanger Abbey, I. xv). Her delusion is the belief that others are above caring about money. Catherine is readily convinced that General Tilney does not care about money, except 'as it allowed him to promote the happiness of his children' (II. x). She knows nothing, but we know better from the next short sentence: 'The brother and sister looked at each other.' Having heard his 'disinterested sentiments on the subject of money . . . more than once' (II. xi), she thinks that he is 'misunderstood by his children'. But anyone who professes not to care must be a hypocrite. 'I hate money,' announces Isabella Thorpe (II. i). It will not be long before she tells Catherine, as if in implied justification of her carrying on with Frederick Tilney, 'after all that romancers may say, there is no doing without money' (II. iii). Another mercenary young woman, Lucy Steele, tells Elinor Dashwood, 'I have always been used to a very small income, and could struggle with any poverty for him' (II. ii). This is cant. Lucy is ruthless about money – a fact nicely illustrated by her final theft from her sister of all her cash (III. xiii). We should not forget that Marianne Dashwood shares this supposed scorn of wealth with these two calculating girls. When Marianne is burbling about the 'remarkably pretty' upstairs sitting room at Allenham (just right, she is thinking, for a lucky wife), she regrets its 'forlorn' furniture. All it needs is to be 'newly fitted up—a couple of hundred pounds, Willoughby says, would make it one of the pleasantest summer-rooms in England' (I. xiii). The casual extravagance of this – all the worse as it is the imagining of wealth that will only come when Willoughby's aunt dies – should stop us short. The two lovers have been thinking of spending twice Miss and Mrs Bates's annual income on furnishing one small private room. One of Austen's attentive first readers would surely have come close to despising Marianne when he or she heard her saying this, a woman possessed by her suitor's extravagant spirit. It is further proof that those who declare themselves above caring about money are those who are most governed by it.
FOURTEEN
Why Do Her Plots Rely on Blunders?
'Wretched, wretched mistake!'
Pride and Prejudice, III. iv
Near the end of Persuasion, slowly, happily pacing the gravel walk in Bath, Anne Elliot listens to Captain Wentworth tell her of his feelings for her and explain his recent conduct. After Louisa Musgrove's fall in Lyme, he says, he went to stay with his brother in Shropshire, hoping to loosen 'by any fair means' Louisa's supposed attachment to him (II. xi). Edward Wentworth had asked after Anne, 'asked even if you were personally altered, little suspecting that to my eye you could never alter'. The earnest hyperbole of a lover is more resonant than he knows. 'Anne smiled, and let it pass. It was too pleasing a blunder for a reproach.' It is a 'blunder' because it reminds Anne and us of what he said just a few months earlier, when he met her again after eight years apart. Her sister Mary told her that he thought 'You were so altered he should not have known you again' (I. vii). Anne smiles now because he so blithely contradicts what he has said before. She says nothing to show him that she knows this. The comparison with his 'former words' delights her, for his opinion must be 'the result, not the cause of a revival of his warm attachment'. His love convinces him of her charms, not the other way round.
Pleasing blunder: it is a kind of oxymoron. A foolish mistake, an instance of clumsiness, opens up his feelings to her and gives her more pleasure than any successful compliment. Having misunderstood him for much of the book, Anne for a moment understands him better than he understands himself. A blunder is a way into truly knowing a person. It is the first time that the word is used in the novel, but it is used for a second time in the very next paragraph, which reports Captain Wentworth recalling his time at his brother's home in Shropshire, spent 'lamenting the blindness of his own pride, and the blunders of his own calculations'. It is as if he has caught the word from Anne, even though it was a word only in her thoughts. He is thinking of his attempt, out of 'angry pride', to attach himself to Louisa Musgrove, which could have led him into a wholly unwanted engagement. When he thought he was being manipulative he was, in fact, making the clumsiest of mistakes. For a blunder is not just an error, it is an error that another person has noticed. So it serves an oddly powerful double purpose in Austen's fiction: it can embarrass or mortify, but it also reveals a person's true feelings.
In Emma, the word 'blunder', used fifteen times in the novel, is like a guide to the plot. In a famous episode of coded revelation (understood by the reader, glimpsed by Mr Knightley, missed by Emma), it is made the word at the heart of the game that is itself at the heart of the novel. Having made his mistake of showing the other characters that he knows about Mr Perry's planned purchase of a carriage, and therefore showing the reader that he has been in secret communication with Jane Fairfax, Frank Churchill uses the silly diversion of anagram making with children's spelling letters around the table at Hartfield to signal to his lover. Foolish Harriet seizes on the letters that he has put in front of Jane Fairfax and, with Mr Knightley's help, finds the answer. 'The word was blunder; and as Harriet exultingly proclaimed it, there was a blush on Jane's cheek which gave it a meaning not otherwise ostensible' (III. v). We see all this through Mr Knightley's eyes; he knows that the word means something hidden, but does not know what. 'These letters were but the vehicle for gallantry and trick.' 'Blunder' signifies Frank Churchill's covert communication with Jane Fairfax. 'Blunder' is the word for the stupid mistake made by the clever person, a mistake that might have allowed a really ingenious interpreter to understand just what has been going on.
Frank Churchill, the cleverest character in Emma, seems to have alighted on a word that has been on others' lips and in the heroine's thoughts. In the work of a less skilful writer, the novel's insistence on the word might seem an authorial insertion, an advertisement of her consciously contrived theme. Not in Emma. Here the coincidence of its use tells us of the conditions of life in this little world, where polite social exchanges have to cover unspoken desires, and where characters are made to guess, often wrongly, at each other's true feelings. Sometimes you can hear Austen pursuing a word like this through one of her novels, as Shakespeare does, testing its powers. And as in Shakespeare, the word will often turn up in the speech or thoughts of different characters, as they all come across the same knot in the language. Though blunder is most often used when recounting Emma's thoughts, its first appearance in the novel is in a remark made by Mrs Weston, out of Emma's hearing, in a conversation she has with Mr Knightley. She is vindicating Emma from Mr Knightley's premonition that she will do 'harm' through her friendship with Harriet Smith. 'No, no; she has qualities which may be trusted; she will never lead any one really wrong; she will make no lasting blunder; where Emma errs once, she is in the right a hundred times' (I. v). Her attempted exoneration is more like a warning. What Mrs Weston says about Emma's mistakes is itself mistaken: we know that Emma is already leading Harriet Smith very 'wrong'. Yet more than this, her use of that peculiar phrase 'no lasting blunder' sensitises us to the mix of comedy and potential disaster in the errors that follow. For what is to prevent a blunder being 'lasting'? Why might not Emma's misperception about Mr Elton's intentions lead to the ruin of Harriet's and Robert Martin's chance of happiness together? We recall Elinor Dashwood's thought about Mr Palmer's marrying foolish Charlotte Jennings: 'his kind of blunder was too common for any sensible man to be lastingly hurt by it' (I. xx). Common – and irreparable. The results of some blunders last for the rest of a person's life.
Emma, the great blunderer, fancies herself alive to the blunders of others. When Mr John Knightley suggests to her that Mr Elton might be courting her, and that she might seem to him to be 'encouraging', she confidently contradicts him: 'she walked on, amusing herself in the consideration of the blunders which often arise from a partial knowledge of circumstances, of the mistakes which people of high pretensions to judgment are for ever falling into' (I. xiii). We are fully inhabiting Emma's thoughts and therefore her delusions, and we can hear how the word blunder is like a little trap for her. The person who lives by cleverly intuiting the motives of others, of knowing a blunder when she encounters it, is doomed to blunder herself. She almost recognises this as she sits down 'to think and be miserable' after the embarrassing disaster of Mr Elton's proposal, and that word inserts itself into her thoughts. 'She would gladly have submitted to feel yet more mistaken—more in error—more disgraced by mis-judgment, than she actually was, could the effects of her blunders have been confined to herself' (I. xvi). The narrative subtlety of this is that we can hear her capacity for self-delusion beginning to reassert itself even in the train of apparent self-condemnation: 'gladly have submitted' is her turn of phrase or turn of thought, as she tells herself that she would be happy to be 'disgraced' if only Harriet were to escape the consequences of her errors. She acknowledges to herself that she has 'blundered most dreadfully', yet she does so in a passage where most of her delusions remain intact (I. xvi). She sleeps well and awakes the next day with her 'spirits' restored.
By naming her mistakes Emma trivialises and rises above them. As in that first use of the word by Mrs Weston, blunder has become a term for a foolish little error, an embarrassing tripping up. When Emma and Harriet later make their necessary visit to the vicarage to meet the new Mrs Elton, our heroine is conscious of irksome recollections, rather than truly mortified. 'A thousand vexatious thoughts would recur. Compliments, charades, and horrible blunders' (I. xiv). Those 'vexatious thoughts' do not yet comprehend any acknowledgement of her own manipulativeness. The word that she uses when she thinks about getting things wrong seems to have been overheard by others, even though Emma has never spoken it, only thought it. When Jane Fairfax fends off Mrs Elton's highly unwanted offer to send one of her own servants to collect her letters, she tries to change the subject, veering off into praise of the post office. 'So seldom that any negligence or blunder appears! So seldom that a letter, among the thousands that are constantly passing about the kingdom, is ever carried wrong' (II. xvi). In this novel of blunders, of motives misunderstood and secret attachments almost betrayed, the word comes naturally. By the time that Frank Churchill uses blunder in the word game at Hartfield, there is a moment's illusion that, like Captain Wentworth being passed the word by Anne Elliot, he has intuited it from Emma herself. When he later writes his long letter accounting for his conduct to Mrs Weston, passed by her to Emma and Mr Knightley, he curses the post in a sentence that uses the word 'blunder' twice. 'Imagine the shock; imagine how, till I had actually detected my own blunder, I raved at the blunders of the post' (III. xiv). You might think that he was picking up on what Jane Fairfax said earlier, except that he was not actually present to hear her words. He is expressing his feelings on finding that his letter of explanation never reached his lover, and then finding the mistake is his, not the post's. (He absent-mindedly placed his letter to Jane Fairfax in his desk.) This sophisticated plotter is almost undone by the simplest of blunders.
Eventually, as a half-confession to Mr Knightley, Emma herself actually speaks the word when discussing the behaviour of Mr Elton. 'I was fully convinced of his being in love with Harriet. It was through a series of strange blunders!' (II. ii). The secret engagement between Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax means that everyone in this novel gets things wrong, but Emma tells Mrs Weston that at least her error has been confined to a passing comment in confidence. 'Your only blunder was confined to my ear, when you imagined a certain friend of our's in love with the lady' (III. x). She refers to Mrs Weston's thought that Mr Knightley might have a tendresse for Jane Fairfax. Mrs Weston seizes on Emma's special word when she replies, 'True. But as I have always had a thoroughly good opinion of Miss Fairfax, I never could, under any blunder, have spoken ill of her.' The exchange demonstrates why foolish mistakes are made not just narratively but even morally interesting by Austen. Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax have ensured that everyone will make mistakes, but some people's mistakes, like Mrs Weston's, are inert and harmless. Blunders show people up, and Mrs Weston, keeping her matchmaking ideas almost to herself, will do no damage with hers. A careful speaker, she is confident that she was never at risk of saying something derogatory about Jane Fairfax to her son-in-law. If she blundered, it was safely.
Emma's mistakes are different and dangerous – dangerous to herself. Her realisation of this comes when Harriet tells her that she believes that Mr Knightley will propose to her. Emma is forced to see that it is she who has inadvertently encouraged her protégée towards Mr Knightley. '"Good God!" cried Emma, "this has been a most unfortunate—most deplorable mistake!—What is to be done?"' But nothing is to be done. Like Frankenstein, it seems, Emma has created the being who will take what she loves and destroy her happiness. It is all her own doing. 'How to understand it all! How to understand the deceptions she had been thus practising on herself, and living under!—The blunders, the blindness of her own head and heart!' (III. xi) Blunders indeed – no longer just embarrassing mistakes, but disastrous errors, born, as she now acknowledges, of her own skills of self-deception. For the moment it appears that her blunders have built a plot that will end most unhappily for her. But at least her blunders, felix culpa, have shown her what she truly feels about Mr Knightley, if only by making it likely that she will lose him. Her stupid mistakes have shown her and us the way to her heart. Luckily Harriet is wrong about Mr Knightley; she too has misunderstood, and Emma is to be saved from a life as her father's nurse and backgammon companion. It is naturally that other great causer of blunders, Frank Churchill, who finally waves the word away. He jestingly asks Emma to look at Jane Fairfax and see her remembering his error over knowing about Mr Perry getting a carriage. 'Do not you see that, at this instant, the very passage of her own letter, which sent me the report, is passing under her eye—that the whole blunder is spread before her' (III. xviii). Even in his state of grateful happiness, Frank Churchill is characteristically flippant about the painful mistakes of the past.
Not all Austen's heroines blunder. Tony Tanner identifies just what it is that has always made Fanny Price a hard heroine to like. 'She is never, ever, wrong.' This is not a matter of morality; it is a matter of fact. There are other Austen heroines whose moral judgement is impeccable: Elinor Dashwood and Anne Elliot can be trusted to be 'right' in their principles and moral sentiments. Yet both of them are mistaken about certain matters of fact. Fanny is not just morally unimpeachable, she is also right in her factual judgements. It is the novel's great psychologist, Mary Crawford, who blunders. It is mostly Fanny whom she misunderstands, but not only her. Early on in her insertion of herself into the favours of the Bertram family, things go badly wrong on the visit to Sotherton, when, in the chapel, she launches into mockery of any family practice of religion. Imagine how tedious it was when attendance was mandatory for those young ladies and their servants, 'especially if the poor chaplain were not worth looking at' (I. ix). Edmund gently disputes her caricature, before she finds out from Julia that he is himself destined to become a clergyman. 'Miss Crawford's countenance, as Julia spoke, might have amused a disinterested observer. She looked almost aghast under the new idea she was receiving.' She has put her foot in it. She is so taken aback that Fanny pities her, though soon enough she is 'rallying her spirits, and recovering her complexion'.
Mary Crawford's 'lively mind', as Edmund calls it, sometimes leads her into tactless sallies. Yet when she applies herself she can find how to please anybody – except Fanny. The Mansfield Park ball is a cameo of her psychological canniness, as she supplies each principal character with the lines they want to hear. To Sir Thomas, who has arranged the ball to honour Fanny, she speaks in warm praise of his niece. To Lady Bertram she gives the opportunity of boasting that Fanny's elegant appearance is the creation of her own lady's maid. To Mrs Norris she exclaims, with wonderful dishonesty, 'Ah! Ma'am, how much we want dear Mrs. Rushworth and Julia tonight!' (II. x). But Fanny she gets wrong. 'Miss Crawford blundered most towards Fanny herself, in her attentions to please.' She tries to gives her heart 'a happy flutter' by talking to her confidentially of her brother's mysterious mission to London the next day. She has been 'misinterpreting Fanny's blushes'; Fanny is pained, not pleased. She does not relish Henry Crawford's attentions. Her secret, fiercely guarded, keeps her safe from Mary Crawford's knowing remarks. She loves Edmund. Mary Crawford never divines this, and so she will always misinterpret her. Her failure to see Fanny's secret, and the blunders to which this failure leads, immunise Fanny against her charms.
For such a psychologically astute person, soon able to play the Bertrams at will, Mary Crawford's tendency to blunder towards Fanny is extraordinary. She imagines, for instance, that she will win Fanny to her brother's favour by telling her about all the London ladies who have been desperate for his attentions. 'He has now and then been a sad flirt, and cared little for the havock he might be making in young ladies' affections' (III. v). When she sees Fanny blush at being told that she is the only young woman who 'can think of him with any thing like indifference', she imagines that she sees that she is not after all 'so insensible'. The reader knows that the blush comes from embarrassed indignation. When she later lets Fanny know by letter that her brother has been seeing Mrs Rushworth in Twickenham, it is with some purpose that she wryly signals, 'Now do not make yourself uneasy with any queer fancies . . .' (III. xiv). She must think that she is making Fanny jealous, rather than outraging her. What a miscalculation to suppose that her insinuations would actually pique Fanny's romantic interest in her brother. Miss Crawford's blunders reveal her – to the reader as much as to the heroine – but perhaps they go some way to explain the preference for Mary Crawford over Fanny that readers have expressed down the years. We like people who make mistakes.
Catherine Morland in Northanger Abbey is all blundering, of a thoroughly sympathetic kind. When solicited by Captain Tilney for an introduction to Isabella Thorpe in order to ask for a dance, she assures him through Henry Tilney that Isabella would not be interested (being engaged to her brother James). 'Your brother will not mind it I know . . . because I heard him say before, that he hated dancing' (II. i). Her naivety is complete: Captain Tilney's disdain for dancing is an affectation that he will drop for any pretty girl, and Isabella will prove perfectly open to the attentions of a handsome new dancing partner. 'How very little trouble it can give you to understand the motives of other people's actions,' comments Henry, smiling. Her mistakes please him. The parody plot of this novel all derives from Catherine's egregious error in supposing that life might follow the plot of a Gothic novel. Yet most of her mistakes about other people are the consequences not just of naivety but of good nature. She misunderstands people who are mean-minded or selfish in ways that are foreign to her. Her blunders are charming and disarming.
Redundant blunders can feel like penalties for Austen's heroines, destined for happiness but given an extra twist of pain first.
Mistakes and misunderstandings are central to Northanger Abbey, but Austen elsewhere likes to create them where they are surplus to her plots. In Sense and Sensibility there is a peculiar little episode where Mrs Jennings is allowed to make an unnecessary mistake about Elinor's relationship with Colonel Brandon. In the most extraordinary shift of viewpoint in the novel, we see him suggesting to Elinor that he might offer Edward Ferrars 'the living of Delaford' through the eyes of Mrs Jennings, who can hear only fragments of what is being said (III. iii). She has 'hopes' that the Colonel will propose to Elinor, and believes that she is witnessing this happen (while rather disapproving of his 'unlover-like' manner of addressing her). For much of a chapter she and Elinor manage to talk at perfect cross-purposes, Mrs Jennings assuming that she has just become engaged to Colonel Brandon, before the misunderstanding is cleared up. It is a little narrative cul-de-sac – wholly unnecessary to the plot – but perhaps comically irresistible in a novel so concerned with the pains of waiting for the right proposal. In Pride and Prejudice Elizabeth is summoned into her father's library to be told something astonishing. A letter from Mr Collins has suggested that she will soon be marrying Mr Darcy. 'Now, Lizzy, I think I have surprised you' (III. xv). Mr Bennet jokes with Elizabeth about the very thought of Mr Darcy being in love with her. 'Never had his wit been directed in a manner so little agreeable to her.' He has completely misunderstood her. 'It was necessary to laugh, when she would rather have cried.' She is not yet sure of Mr Darcy's affection, and so finds Mr Bennet's jests peculiarly painful. She is being 'mortified', punished for the prejudice against Mr Darcy that has given her father good reason for his blunder. It is a special taste of the intimacy between the father and his favourite daughter. This relationship is about to be displaced by Elizabeth's intimacy with her husband-to-be and the scene is a kind of rehearsal for this.
Redundant blunders can feel like penalties for Austen's heroines, destined for happiness but given an extra twist of pain first. One example comes near the end of Sense and Sensibility and is a mistake that is produced by Lucy Steele's contrivance. The Dashwoods' manservant, Thomas, has just returned from Exeter with news. 'I suppose you know, ma'am, that Mr. Ferrars is married' (III. xi). Elinor turns pale and Marianne falls back in her chair 'in hysterics'. While Marianne is helped into another room, Elinor questions Thomas, who has met Lucy and her new husband in a chaise. He punishes her more by recounting how well and 'vastly contented' Lucy looked. Now Elinor knows what it is to relinquish all hope. 'Day after day' passes (III. xii). And then Edward suddenly appears, 'white with agitation', and clears up the torturing misunderstanding by explaining that Lucy has in fact married his brother Robert. Elinor almost runs from the room and bursts into 'tears of joy'. The misunderstanding has been Lucy's parting gesture. 'That Lucy had certainly meant to deceive, to go off with a flourish of malice against him in her message by Thomas, was perfectly clear to Elinor' (III. xiii). She told Thomas to give Elinor and Marianne 'her compliments and Mr. Ferrars's', apparently confident that the message would be misinterpreted. It may seem a little far-fetched to the modern reader, but Lucy knows well how a servant will report things. A mistake about a name, as we know from Austen's own letters, is the commonest kind of blunder.
On inquiring of Mrs. Clerk, I find that Mrs. Heathcote made a great blunder in her news of the Crooks and Morleys; it is young Mr. Crook who is to marry the second Miss Morley—& it is the Miss Morleys instead of the second Miss Crooke, who were the beauties at the Music meeting.—This seems a more likely tale, a better devised Impostor. (Letters, 27)
Elinor's Lucy-induced misconception, which dispirits her for days, is a peculiar narrative trick, surplus to the requirements of the plot. Elinor has to be taught how powerful were her only partially acknowledged hopes of marriage to Edward – by having them dashed. It is reminiscent of the mistake in Persuasion, when Anne meets Captain Wentworth's sister, Mrs Croft, who asks her if she knows that her brother is now married. 'She could now answer as she ought; and was happy to feel, when Mrs. Croft's next words explained it to be Mr. Wentworth of whom she spoke, that she had said nothing which might not do for either brother' (I. vi). Anne is made to wait only a moment before her false impression is corrected. Austen likes to create these secret bubbles of feeling, which we experience with the heroine for some brief span before the mistake is corrected and relief floods in. Except that here she does something even cleverer. Anne has been defending her feelings so effectively that she is able to 'answer as she ought', even at the moment when the death sentence to her love for Captain Wentworth is pronounced. In imitation of her suppression of her feelings, the sentence goes on, after the tiniest of pauses at a semicolon, to register her mistake, and the relieving fact that it is Captain Wentworth's brother of whom she speaks, with the barest flicker: 'happy to feel'. She has managed to deny the stab she must experience when she briefly thinks he is married.
Misconceptions drive Persuasion. In one telling use of the title word near the novel's end, 'persuasion' becomes a synonym for misunderstanding. Meeting Captain Wentworth at the White Hart, Anne recalls how, at the previous day's encounter, 'the same unfortunate persuasion, which had hastened him away from the concert room, still governed' (II. x). This 'persuasion' is his idea that she is becoming attached to Mr Elliot. The misconception stirs him into acknowledging the force of his own love and Anne begins to see it. For much of the novel she has interpreted the man she loves wrongly. Yet the only true mistake is that made by Mrs Smith, nexus of all Bath gossip, who assumes wrongly that Anne has fallen for the attentive Mr Elliot. When Anne postpones their next meeting because she wants to go to the concert, Mrs Smith speaks to her 'with an expression half serious, half arch', predicting that she will not be getting many more visits from her friend (II. vii). Why does Austen allow this mistake? To let us see that, despite Mrs Smith's knowledge of her suitor, the marriage would have gone ahead if he had been minded and she had been receptive. After the concert Anne visits her friend and finds her reading her face. 'I perfectly see how the hours passed . . . Your countenance perfectly informs me that you were in company last night with the person, whom you think the most agreeable in the world' (II. ix). Anne is amazed at her penetration, imagining that she is talking about Captain Wentworth. What is the point of this error? Partly to cement the internalisation of Anne's drama of feeling: truly, no one knows of her love, of what is going on between her and Captain Wentworth. Though it takes place entirely in the view of others, though they are never alone together until he has finally declared himself to her, it is completely hidden. But it is also to push Anne and her friend to the realisation of what could have happened. The blunder – licensed by Mrs Smith's correct inference that love is in the air – has chilling implications. Mrs Smith is self-interested enough to have hoped that her friend might influence her new husband, Mr Elliot, to regain her inheritance. Anne cannot understand why she spoke so favourably of him. 'My dear . . . there was nothing else to be done' (I. ix).
The most powerful example of such brief misunderstanding, happily corrected, occurs in Emma, when Mr Knightley struggles to declare himself to the heroine. 'I must tell what you will not ask' (III. xiii). Emma thinks that he is about to tell her of his love for Harriet and stops him: 'don't speak it, don't speak it'. He complies, in 'deep mortification', and for just a moment Austen lets you see how a misunderstanding might end hopes of a happy ending. Only some better instinct – 'Emma could not bear to give him pain' – makes her change her mind, allowing the revelation that 'Harriet's hopes had been entirely groundless, a mistake, a delusion, as complete a delusion as any of her own'. Mr Knightley is allowed to declare himself, but not before we have known that hesitation, that possibility of failure. Austen loves blunders because they show the difference between what we can understand of her characters, and what they can understand of each other. This final near-blunder allows Emma, for once, to understand everything, while Mr Knightley never grasps and will never grasp that Emma imagined him as Harriet's future husband. 'Seldom, very seldom, does complete truth belong to any human disclosure.' It might be the motto of Austen's fiction.
FIFTEEN
What Do Characters Read?
'He never read The Romance of the Forest, nor The Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can.'
Emma, I. iv
In Ang Lee's 1995 film version of Sense and Sensibility, scripted by Emma Thompson, Kate Winslet, in the character of poetry-loving Marianne Dashwood, reads Shakespeare's Sonnet 116 ('Let me not to the marriage of true minds . . .') aloud with Willoughby, played by Greg Wise. Shakespeare's paean to lovers' constancy (in fact addressed to a young man) is a popular choice for contemporary wedding services and must have seemed a natural choice for the screen Marianne. Lee and Thompson clearly thought it even more significant given Willoughby's later inconstancy. To push the point home, they had Winslet recite it again later in the film, her love now disappointed, as she looks at Combe Magna (the marital home that never was) through the rain.
The film-makers were on to something. Austen's novel is much concerned with the influence of reading, and Marianne puts a premium on literary discernment. Willoughby is qualified to be her partner by his ability to talk in the right way about the right books. In her first conversation with him, she excitedly discovers their shared tastes: 'her favourite authors were brought forward and dwelt upon with so rapturous a delight, that any young man of five and twenty must have been insensible indeed, not to become an immediate convert to the excellence of such works, however disregarded before' (I. iii). Willoughby happily agrees with her every literary opinion. He has quite enough 'sensibility' to respond in the right way to books, or to know that this beautiful girl rates such responsiveness very highly. Perhaps he senses what Austen's first readers were expected to infer: that Marianne's 'sensibility' – apparently all instinct and spontaneity – was itself learned from her reading. Books instruct her strongest feelings. As far as Marianne is concerned, Willoughby has himself walked out of a book. 'His person and air were equal to what her fancy had ever drawn for the hero of a favourite story' (I. ix).
It is difficult to think of a novelist who makes reading a more animating part of her characters' lives than Jane Austen. Her completed fiction begins, in Northanger Abbey, with a heroine whose errors are entirely the product of books: the Gothic novels that she devours and then confuses with reality. The novel on which she was working when she died, Sanditon, has at its centre a character, Sir Edward Denham, who 'had read more sentimental Novels than agreed with him' (Ch. 8) and has begun to fancy himself the seductive rake from a Samuel Richardson novel. Reading takes possession of Austen's characters; how and what they read reveals them. Yet the film's use of one of Shakespeare's sonnets is poetic licence. The Sonnets were little regarded in Austen's day, and unlikely reading matter for either Marianne or her dashing lover, alert as they both are to literary fashion. In the novel, what does Willoughby read with the Dashwoods? Something surprising. When he is unaccountably called away to London, promising no return and sending Marianne into a histrionic 'violent oppression of spirits', his departure brings to an end the book that they have been enjoying en famille:
one evening, Mrs. Dashwood, accidentally taking up a volume of Shakespeare, exclaimed,
'We have never finished Hamlet, Marianne; our dear Willoughby went away before we could get through it. We will put it by, that when he comes again . . . But it may be months, perhaps, before that happens.' (I. xvi)
It is jolting to think of Willoughby and the Dashwoods sharing the parts of a play whose protagonist dwells so often on the sexual urges of his mother and stepfather, and where 'the rank sweat of an enseamèd bed' is so vividly imagined. (It is just possible that they were reading a safer version: a Family Shakespeare, expurgated by Thomas Bowdler's sister Harriet, had been published in 1807.) The choice of play testifies to the literary seriousness of the Dashwoods, and to the willingness of Marianne's suitor to take on the most demanding literary parts, for we are surely invited to imagine that Willoughby will have been rendering Hamlet himself.
Willoughby reads his way into the Dashwoods' hearts – 'he read with all the sensibility and spirit which Edward unfortunately wanted' (I. x). Reading is important to the Dashwoods, and Elinor has to assure her sister that Edward's 'enjoyment of books is exceedingly great' (I. iv). The hyperbole is a measure of her anxiety. Reading matters. Reading sets the Dashwood girls apart from the empty-headed ladies and gentlemen on whose company they are forced.
Though nothing could be more polite than Lady Middleton's behaviour to Elinor and Marianne, she did not really like them at all. Because they neither flattered herself nor her children, she could not believe them good-natured; and because they were fond of reading, she fancied them satirical: perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical; but that did not signify. It was censure in common use, and easily given. (II. xiv)
Why 'satirical'? Because she is made to feel uneasy: Elinor and Marianne are too clever by half and take themselves off elsewhere, to a world of books. Those who spend much time reading are evidently not satisfied with Lady Middleton's world. Austen cannot resist the clever speculation, 'perhaps without exactly knowing what it was to be satirical'. Lady Middleton senses that she might be laughed at, and yet cannot quite imagine why.
The Dashwoods are readers in a non-reading world. As Elinor weeps over her discovery of Edward's secret engagement to Lucy Steele, she knows that he will not be happy 'with a wife like her—illiterate, artful, and selfish' (II. i). It is an extraordinary combination of adjectives, never used before or since. Lucy can read and write (though the grammar of her letters is highly faulty). 'Illiterate' means that she has not read books. The word reflects Elinor's judgement. 'Lucy was naturally clever . . . but her powers had received no aid from education, she was ignorant and illiterate' (I. xxii). To Austen's heroine the deficiency seems severe. Lucy's ignorance of books will be as much a torment to poor Edward, her future husband, as her cunning and self-interestedness. Such a devastating character sketch presumes that reading is good for you, especially if you are a woman. Austen herself had less than two years' formal schooling and relied on her father's instruction and access to his library of some 500 books, a large collection for a country clergyman (Letters, 31). You can sense something personal to the author when she distinguishes in Mansfield Park between the rich Bertram girls, who have a governess and suppose Fanny 'stupid at learning', and the heroine herself, with her native 'fondness for reading which, properly directed, must be an education in itself' (I. ii).
Those who do not read are the worse for it. When we hear in the opening sentence of Persuasion that Sir Walter Elliot 'never took up any book but the Baronetage', we catch not just his aristocratic self-regard but also his stupidity. Sir Walter being so preoccupied with the signs of his status, Kellynch Hall must have its stock of books, probably a library. And this is all he reads! Some at least know well enough to pretend to 'literacy'. 'I declare after all there is no enjoyment like reading!' exclaims Miss Bingley in Pride and Prejudice, failing in her attempts to draw Mr Darcy away from his book (I. xi). Three chapters and a day earlier, this paragon of disingenuousness was aiming a barb at Elizabeth for not playing cards because she was 'a great reader, and has no pleasure in anything else'. Now, seeing what Mr Darcy is doing, Miss Bingley has a book in her hand, but chosen, idiotically, only 'because it was the second volume of his'. She knows that books do furnish an impressive home, and disloyally dissociates herself from her own father who, though rich from 'trade', failed to stock enough shelves with these genteel objects. '"I am astonished," said Miss Bingley, "that my father should have left so small a collection of books"' (I. viii). She knows enough, too, to compliment Mr Darcy on his books. 'What a delightful library you have at Pemberley, Mr. Darcy!' Proudly and stiffly he observes that building it has been 'the work of many generations'. Her response is intended flattery. 'And then you have added so much to it yourself, you are always buying books.' With the emphasis on expenditure, this is just tactless enough to let us sense her evaluation of books by cost and yardage.
Lack of reading in a man is a sure sign of worthlessness. In Mansfield Park, Sir Thomas Bertram sees 'some part of the truth' about Mr Rushworth, his daughter's proposed spouse: he is 'an inferior young man, as ignorant in business as in books' (II. iii). In Northanger Abbey, Catherine may be foolish to believe too thoroughly in Mrs Radcliffe's novel, but the boorish John Thorpe is worse when he reveals his 'illiteracy' by mistaking Samuel Richardson's study in drawing-room manners, Sir Charles Grandison, for a Gothic novel. The best men read, though their reading does not seem quite so health-giving when they tell women of its benefits. Mr Darcy is deliciously absurd, to us and Elizabeth, in his pompous pro forma of a woman's necessary accomplishments. He rounds off his list – 'a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages' – with, 'To all this she must yet add something more substantial, in the improvement of the mind by extensive reading' (I. viii). Elizabeth has done this reading, but naturally now wants to deny it. More resigned is Mr Knightley, with his ironical approval of the reading lists that Emma has drawn up for herself over the years. 'I have seen a great many lists of her drawing-up at various times of books that she meant to read regularly through—and very good lists they were—very well chosen, and very neatly arranged—sometimes alphabetically, and sometimes by some other rule' (I. v). When Emma takes up Harriet Smith, conducting her through the right books is part of her plan.
Her views of improving her little friend's mind, by a great deal of useful reading and conversation, had never yet led to more than a few first chapters, and the intention of going on to-morrow. It was much easier to chat than to study; much pleasanter to let her imagination range and work at Harriet's fortune, than to be labouring to enlarge her comprehension. (I. ix)
Emma understands what 'improvement' entails, but hardly embarks on it. The wit of these sentences is their sympathy with her avoidance of labour. Trying to make Harriet more 'literate' is probably a fool's errand, when 'prettiness' is much more likely to assure her a contented future.
Being well-read is not beyond suspicion. There is one quotation in all Austen's fiction from Paradise Lost, and who supplies it? Henry Crawford, naturally – his literacy another aspect of his dangerous charm. In private conversation at the Parsonage with his sister Mary and half-sister Mrs Grant, he fends off the latter's wish that he marry one of the Bertram girls with a fragment of Milton: 'I consider the blessing of a wife as most justly described in those discreet lines of the poet, "Heaven's last best gift"' (I. iv). His emphasis nicely misinterprets Adam's enraptured description of Eve ('My fairest, my espous'd, my latest found') in Book V of Paradise Lost. The turning on its head of the poem's intended sentiment is his witty literary blasphemy. Wonderfully, the only other Austen character who quotes Milton is the appalling Mrs Elton in Emma. Recalling her courtship by Mr Elton, she tells the utterly uninterested Mr Weston, 'he was apt to be in despair, and exclaim that he was sure at this rate it would be May before Hymen's saffron robe would be put on for us' (II. xviii). Her adaptation of lines from Milton's 'l'Allegro' ('There let Hymen oft appear/In Saffron robe, with Taper clear') invoking the Greek God of marriage is a gloriously pretentious euphemism, all the more satisfying because she should not be broadcasting details of her courtship at all.
Those who truly love reading attract the misjudgements or suspicions of others. In Persuasion Anne overhears, from behind a hedge, Louisa Musgrove telling Captain Wentworth of her rejection, some six years earlier, of Charles Musgrove's proposal of marriage. Louisa says that her parents 'think Charles might not be learned and bookish enough to please Lady Russell, and that therefore, she persuaded Anne to refuse him' (I. x). This is all wrong: Anne rejected Charles's proposal because she was still in love with Wentworth. The brilliance of the passage is that we overhear the dialogue with Anne, sensing the pressure of her feelings. Louisa's misconception reflects the easy belief that book-lovers are a species apart. Anne herself confirms this. When she hears the news of Louisa's engagement to Captain Benwick, the narrative follows the surprised sequence of her thoughts. 'Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove! The high-spirited, joyous-talking Louisa Musgrove, and the dejected, thinking, feeling, reading, Captain Benwick, seemed each of them everything that would not suit the other. Their minds most dissimilar! Where could have been the attraction?' (II. vi) This use of 'reading' as an adjective has passed out of our vocabularies. The OED cites an example from the Monthly Magazine of 1797, which tells you how unusual a 'reading man' was by talking of 'my residence at the university, and a constant intercourse with both reading and non-reading men'. Captain Wentworth reverts to the same adjective when expressing to Anne his own astonishment at the engagement of Captain Benwick and Louisa Musgrove.
'I confess that I do think there is a disparity, too great a disparity, and in a point no less essential than mind.—I regard Louisa Musgrove as a very amiable, sweet-tempered girl, and not deficient in understanding, but Benwick is something more. He is a clever man, a reading man—and I confess, that I do consider his attaching himself to her with some surprise.' (II. viii)
Benwick is an odd sort of person. 'I am sure Lady Russell would like him,' says Charles Musgrove, 'He is just Lady Russell's sort. Give him a book, and he will read all day long' (II. ii). It is clearly a form of eccentricity.
Anne is appointed as his companion at Lyme because of her own relish of reading, revealed earlier during an autumnal walk.
Her pleasure in the walk must arise from the exercise and the day, from the view of the last smiles of the year upon the tawny leaves and withered hedges, and from repeating to herself some few of the thousand poetical descriptions extant of autumn, that season of peculiar and inexhaustible influence on the mind of taste and tenderness, that season which had drawn from every poet, worthy of being read, some attempt at description, or some lines of feeling (I. x).
Anne carries in her head a selection of poetical 'beauties', as anthologies of the 'best' extracts were called in Austen's day. However, she is rueful about the self-indulgent pleasures of autumnal verse: 'after another half mile of gradual ascent through large enclosures, where the ploughs at work, and fresh-made path spoke the farmer, counteracting the sweets of poetical despondence and meaning to have spring again, they gained the summit . . .' Life pushes poetic melancholy aside. When she walks with Benwick, it is contemporary poetry that he wants to discuss – and declaim:
having talked of poetry, the richness of the present age, and gone through a brief comparison of opinion as to the first-rate poets, trying to ascertain whether Marmion or The Lady of the Lake were to be preferred, and how ranked the Giaour and The Bride of Abydos; and moreover, how the Giaour was to be pronounced, he showed himself so intimately acquainted with all the tenderest songs of the one poet, and all the impassioned descriptions of hopeless agony of the other; he repeated, with such tremulous feeling, the various lines which imaged a broken heart, or a mind destroyed by wretchedness, and looked so entirely as if he meant to be understood, that she ventured to hope that he did not always read only poetry . . . (I. xi)
It is 1814, the mid-point of what we now call the Romantic period, but he does not have Wordsworth or Coleridge or Blake in mind. He names Walter Scott and Lord Byron, the two best-selling poets of the day.
For the discerning reader there would be an edge of comedy in the English naval man's taste for Byron's 'impassioned' tales. The Bride of Abydos is a 'Turkish Tale' about the illicit passion of the Pasha's daughter Zuleika for her cousin Selim. In The Giaour, Leila, a haremite of the Turk, Hassan, has a clandestine love affair with 'the Giaour' (the word means 'infidel'). Her master sews her into a sack and casts her into the sea. The Giaour kills Hassan and many years later, having become a monk, he makes his dying confession to a fellow monk, denying religious consolation and clinging only to a vision of his lover.
I would not, if I might, be blest;
I want no paradise, but rest.
'Twas then, I tell thee, father! Then
I saw her; yes, she lived again;
And shining in her white symar,
As through yon pale gray cloud the star
Which now I gaze on, as on her,
Who look'd and looks far lovelier;
Tomorrow's night shall be more dark;
And I, before its rays appear
That lifeless thing the living fear.
When Benwick and Anne discuss this poem, it is the latest thing. Later, Anne reflects on Benwick's engagement to Louisa:
She saw no reason against their being happy. Louisa had fine naval fervour to begin with, and they would soon grow more alike. He would gain cheerfulness, and she would learn to be an enthusiast for Scott and Lord Byron; nay, that was probably learnt already; of course they had fallen in love over poetry. The idea of Louisa Musgrove turned into a person of literary taste, and sentimental reflection was amusing, but she had no doubt of its being so. (II. vi)
She is entertained by the cliché that has become reality: Benwick and Louisa have 'fallen in love over poetry'. Benwick has been reading poetry out loud at Louisa's bedside, she his captive audience.
Novel-readers were also novel-listeners.
For both Austen and her characters, reading commonly means reading aloud. Benwick-like, in June 1808 Austen's brother James read Scott's Marmion aloud to her, their brother Edward and his wife Mary. 'Ought I to be very much pleased with Marmion?—as yet I am not.—James reads it aloud in the Eveng' (Letters, 53). Reading was a shared familial experience. When Austen wrote to her sister Cassandra, who was staying with their brother Edward and his wife Elizabeth in Kent, she imagined the scene. 'How do you spend your Evenings?—I guess that Eliz:th works, that you read to her, & that Edward goes to sleep' (Letters, 14). Hearing a book was as common as silently reading it. 'I come to you to be talked to, not to read or hear reading,' Austen tells Martha Lloyd, her brother James's mother-in-law. 'I can do that at home' (Letters, 26). Books are performed or listened to. 'We have got the 2d vol. of Espriella's Letters [by Robert Southey],' Austen tells her sister, '& I read it aloud by candle-light' (Letters, 56). In Sense and Sensibility Marianne finds Edward Ferrars lacking in 'sensibility' – the prized capacity for finer feelings – giving as evidence his poor performance in reading out loud: 'it would have broke my heart had I loved him, to hear him read with so little sensibility' (I. iii). Her sister, she absurdly supposes, 'has not my feelings, and therefore she may overlook it, and be happy with him.' Edward has been reading the poetry of William Cowper, a test of emotiveness as far as Marianne is concerned. Cowper was also a favourite of Austen, who has Fanny quote him twice with intense feeling in Mansfield Park (I. vi and III. xiv). The Austen family apparently shared Marianne's predilection. 'My father reads Cowper to us in the evening, to which I listen when I can' (Letters, 14).
As a would-be clergyman, an ability to read aloud would be expected of Edward Ferrars. (Austen's father, Rev. George Austen, was proficient.) On Mr Collins's first evening with the Bennets, he is naturally, as a clergyman, invited to read aloud to the family. As a vicar, Mr Elton is given the duty of reading aloud to Emma and Harriet as the former draws the latter. Another clergyman, Henry Tilney, puts his professional expertise to good (if incongruous) use by reading The Mysteries of Udolpho aloud to his sister Eleanor, before deciding that he would rather read it more rapidly to himself. 'I remember that you undertook to read it aloud to me, and that when I was called away for only five minutes to answer a note, instead of waiting for me, you took the volume into the Hermitage Walk, and I was obliged to stay till you had finished it' (Northanger Abbey, I. xiv). Vicar-to-be Edmund Bertram earnestly discusses the importance of reading aloud with Henry Crawford.
The subject of reading aloud was farther discussed. The two young men were the only talkers, but they, standing by the fire, talked over the too common neglect of the qualification, the total inattention to it, in the ordinary school-system for boys, the consequently natural, yet in some instances almost unnatural, degree of ignorance and uncouthness of men, of sensible and well-informed men, when suddenly called to the necessity of reading aloud, which had fallen within their notice, giving instances of blunders, and failures with their secondary causes, the want of management of the voice, of proper modulation and emphasis, of foresight and judgment, all proceeding from the first cause: want of early attention and habit; and Fanny was listening again with great entertainment. (III. iii)
Edmund goes on to speak of this skill as if it were one of the most important qualifications of a clergyman, and regrets that 'the art of reading' has often been insufficiently studied by those joining this profession. Crawford, whom we presume to be untroubled by actual religious beliefs, engages earnestly in discussion of 'the properest manner in which particular passages in the service should be delivered'. It is all to impress the listening Fanny, naturally, but the discourse could not be sustained if her admirer did not have a considered judgement of how liturgical sentences should be read out.
Mary Crawford, we might remember, blandly tells Edmund that a vicar had best not try writing his own sermon for Sunday, but should instead read out an elegant published sermon (I. ix). Characteristically, she imagines a genteel clergyman as a polished performer of other men's words. Her brother is the most resourceful reader of all, admired by Fanny in his performance of the very Shakespeare play that she herself has been reading to Lady Bertram: 'She often reads to me out of those books; and she was in the middle of a very fine speech of that man's— what's his name, Fanny?—when we heard your footsteps' (III. iii). Fanny has been at yet another of her duties – reading aloud – though Lady Bertram's vagueness about text and character indicate that the book has been genteel muzak to her. Henry takes up the volume and begins to read out highlights from Henry VIII; Fanny 'was forced to listen; his reading was capital, and her pleasure in good reading extreme'. Henry leaps from character to character and has her rapt – until 'the book was closed, and the charm was broken' (III. iii). Fanny may be able to resist Henry Crawford's courtship, but his reading powers disarm her.
However droll the image of Benwick reading himself and Louisa Musgrove into love, reading aloud is what a male lover should be able to do. When we hear that Robert Martin, in Emma, is able to do this, we know he is not the clown that Emma wants him to be. Harriet Smith recalls how he would read to her from a book on which Austen was herself schooled: 'sometimes of an evening, before we went to cards, he would read something aloud out of the Elegant Extracts—very entertaining' (I. iv). (The chosen anthology, edited by Vicesimus Knox, was one of those mockingly taken as standards of respectable reading in Chapter v of Northanger Abbey.) Nothing speaks more strongly of Robert Martin's affection for Harriet than his willingness to join her in the formulaic Gothic that is her preferred reading matter. 'I know he had read the Vicar of Wakefield. He never read the Romance of the Forest, nor the Children of the Abbey. He had never heard of such books before I mentioned them, but he is determined to get them now as soon as ever he can' (Emma, I. iv). Goldsmith's The Vicar of Wakefield, an eighteenth-century updating of the Book of Job that is also a brilliant parody of sentimental fiction, was just the novel to read if you did not read many novels. Anne Radcliffe's The Romance of the Forest and Regina Maria Roche's The Children of the Abbey are both sensational tales, thick with mystery and coincidence. Robert Martin's choices have the sobriety of a man trying to improve himself, which makes Emma's unevidenced description of him to Harriet as 'illiterate and coarse' peculiarly unjust.
Robert Martin reads agricultural reports to himself, but reads novels aloud to the women of his household. Fiction is something you share: 'if a rainy morning deprived them of other enjoyments, they were still resolute in meeting in defiance of wet and dirt, and shut themselves up, to read novels together. Yes, novels . . .' (Northanger Abbey I. v). This has become one of the most famous outbursts in all Austen's fiction, apparently prompted by contemporary disparagement of novels, and leading into the author's vindication of the genre. The girls' togetherness is not just metaphorical. They are reading passages aloud to each other. In the next chapter Isabella promises Catherine, 'When you have finished Udolpho, we will read the Italian together.' This reading together was Austen's own habit. 'Fanny & I are to go on with Modern Europe together, but hitherto have advanced only 25 Pages' (Letters, 89). In her letters to Cassandra, she talks of particular novels as shared experiences between the two women, probably because they had been read aloud. In 1807 she tells Cassandra how Charlotte Lennox's novel The Female Quixote 'makes our evening amusement, to me a very high one, as I find the work quite equal to what I remembered it' (Letters, 49). It is being read out loud at her Southampton home. Her brother Frank's wife 'to whom it is new, enjoys it as one could wish'. Her brother James's wife, however, 'has little pleasure from that or any other book'.
Mr Collins affects to be shocked when a book is produced to be read aloud whose cover 'announced it to be from a circulating library' – and therefore almost certainly a novel (Pride and Prejudice, I. xiv). He is absurd, and his behaviour perhaps evidence that the disapproval of fiction was no longer a serious matter. Fanny Price joins the circulating library in Portsmouth, and Mary Musgrove and Lady Russell, in Persuasion, visit circulating libraries. Austen herself frequented these institutions, recalling in a letter to her niece Anna that the one in Dawlish 'was particularly pitiful & wretched 12 years ago, & not likely to have anybody's publication' (Letters, 104). Noting the opening of a local subscription library (possibly in Basingstoke) in 1798, Austen herself mocked those affected to disdain novels.
I have received a very civil note from Mrs Martin requesting my name as a Subscriber to her Library which opens the 14th of January, & my name, or rather Yours is accordingly given . . . As an inducement to subscribe Mrs Martin tells us that her Collection is not to consist entirely of Novels, but of every kind of Literature &c &c—She might have spared this pretension to our family, who are great Novel-readers & not ashamed of being so;—but it was necessary I suppose to the self-consequence of half her Subscribers (Letters, 14).
Novel-readers were also novel-listeners. Private, silent reading could accommodate a more robust choice of fiction. The great eighteenth-century novels of Fielding were deplored for their sexual amorality, and those of Sterne for being bawdy: neither was suitable for family consumption. Yet Austen's allusions to Tom Jones and Tristram Shandy indicate her close knowledge of both. Her own novels were not for private consumption: they were read out loud to family and friends before they were ever published. This began with Elinor and Marianne, the early version in letters of what would become Sense and Sensibility. Her niece Anna recalled in later life how as a child she heard her aunt reading First Impressions (the early version of Pride and Prejudice) aloud to the family circle. The reading aloud continued. When Pride and Prejudice was first published, the author and her mother read out a large part of it to a neighbour, Miss Benn, who had come for dinner, without ever telling her who the author was: 'in the evening we set fairly at it & read half the first volume to her . . . I believe it passed with her unsuspected—she was amused, poor soul! that she could not help you know, with two such people to lead the way; but she really does seem to admire Elizabeth' (Letters, 79). Reading the book in shifts, it seems, the Austen ladies got through perhaps thirteen chapters, probably taking at least two hours to do so. Austen's account implies considerable animation, on the part of Miss Benn as well as the readers. It is a vignette of how for Austen (as for her characters) reading could be essentially social.
Pace Mr Darcy, books for Austen are not just the solemn matter of improvement. They are the means by which people live out their desires or their follies. Marianne Dashwood is not entirely wrong to believe that reading takes you to a person's heart. In Mansfield Park, the first reason given for Fanny loving Edmund is that 'he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours' (I. ii). Nothing, we sense, can be more intimate. In Whit Stillman's clever 1990 film Metropolitan, loosely based on Austen's novel, the hero wins the Austen-adoring heroine only when he himself learns to appreciate Mansfield Park. Which is as it should be.
SIXTEEN
Are Ill People Really to Blame for Their Illnesses?
'I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have been all this morning: very unfit to be left alone, I am sure. Suppose I were to be seized of a sudden in some dreadful way, and not able to ring the bell!'
Persuasion, I. v
You might think people really were to blame for their own illnesses, if you were as easily tricked by Frank Churchill as Emma is. The day after their first meeting, Emma asks him about visiting Miss Bates's house, where, he says, he found himself kept much longer than he had intended by 'the talking aunt'. What about his acquaintance from Weymouth, Miss Fairfax (whose name he has not mentioned)? How was she looking?
'Ill, very ill—that is, if a young lady can ever be allowed to look ill. But the expression is hardly admissible, Mrs. Weston, is it? Ladies can never look ill. And, seriously, Miss Fairfax is naturally so pale, as almost always to give the appearance of ill health.—A most deplorable want of complexion.' (II. vi)
He speaks as if illness were Jane Fairfax's natural condition. Her reserve, even insipidity, he implies, makes her look unhealthy. Emma might begin 'a warm defence of Miss Fairfax's complexion' but his judgement is surely half-pleasing to her. She is herself, after all, the character who claims 'I am always well, you know' in response to an anxious enquiry from Mrs Weston (III. xii). When Frank Churchill goes on to declare that 'nothing could make amends for the want of the fine glow of health', he seems to be preferring one woman rather explicitly to the other. 'Ill' is his word for Jane Fairfax's very character.
It is all a blind. He loves Jane Fairfax. So hastily and passionately has he rushed her into a secret engagement that we must also infer strong sexual attraction. That pale complexion must allure him. Yet he is clever enough to know how she appears to others and to know that Emma will be ready to believe that her rival for elegance actually looks 'ill' – her own robust health being, in her own mind, the sign of her superiority. In claiming that she is always well, Emma is saying something peculiar for her age. A diligent reader of Jane Austen's letters would be hard put to find one which did not mention illnesses among family and friends. More than muslin or money, illness is her consistent concern and surpasses even the weather as a natural topic of epistolary conversation. Occasionally Austen describes her own indispositions, but mostly she reports the ailments of family members and close friends. In an age when diagnoses were unconvincing and treatments rarely productive, a slight illness might always seem like a harbinger of something worse. Take this, from a letter of June 1808: 'There has been a cold & sore throat prevailing very much in this House lately, the Children have almost all been ill with it, & we were afraid Lizzy was going to be very ill one day; she had specks & a great deal of fever.—It went off however, & they are all pretty well now' (Letters, 53). The relief of this is something that we can hardly feel any more. It gives us some idea of how our usually comfortable distinction between trivial and serious ailments was much less secure.
There was good reason to worry over each new indisposition, but therefore also more to be gained from hypochondria. There are suggestions in Austen's correspondence of reined-in exasperation at others' supposed afflictions: a jaundiced reader might think that her mother and her brother Henry, both often ill and both notably long-lived, were possible valetudinarians. 'Dearest Henry! What a turn he has for being ill!' she exclaimed in a letter to her sister in 1813, as she reported yet another of his ailments (Letters, 96). In November 1815 she wrote from London to Cassandra describing Henry's slow recovery from another bout of illness, 'but still they will not let him be well' (Letters, 128). She seems divided between exasperation ('He is so well, that I cannot think why he is not perfectly well') and concern ('The fever is not yet quite removed'). Occasionally she lets loose about some notable hypochondriac, as in a letter of September 1813, where she describes Edward Bridges' wife as 'a poor Honey—the sort of woman who gives me the idea of being determined never to be well—& who likes her spasms & nervousness & the consequence they give her, better than anything else' (Letters, 90). For the most part, however, Austen fusses over symptoms without mockery. 'Henry is not quite well.—His stomach is rather deranged. You must keep him in Rhubarb & give him plenty of Port & Water' (Letters, 88). Sometimes it seems that Mr Woodhouse's pseudo-medical twitterings were all too easy for her to generate.
A cold or an attack of bile might be nothing – or it might be something. It is a shock for the modern reader when he or she begins to realise from the dates of letters that Austen's comments on her own health, as inconsequential as the bulletins that she has been issuing on friends and family for twenty years, tell us of the onset of a fatal illness. The shock is the greater as most of her reports talk of her improving health. 'We are all in good health & I have certainly gained strength through the Winter & am not far from being well; & I think I understand my own case now so much better than I did, as to be able by care to keep off any serious return of illness' (Letters, 149). Less than six months later she was dead.
Illness shapes the plots of several of her novels. Illness takes Catherine Morland to Bath, whence Mr Allen has been sent for his gout. Mrs Allen is naturally delighted. 'A neighbour of ours, Dr. Skinner, was here for his health last winter, and came away quite stout' (I. viii). 'That circumstance must give great encouragement,' replies Mr Tilney, with his special brand of unnoticed irony. It is usefully unclear what the reader is to think of going to Bath for your health. Mrs Allen is foolish, but her husband is not. That exemplary couple Admiral and Mrs Croft also come to Bath to minister to illness. According to Mary Musgrove, the Crofts are in the town because 'they think the admiral gouty' (Persuasion, II. vi). The report comes originally from Charles Musgrove, so might be thought to be reliable. Yet there is always the suspicion that the therapeutic powers of the Bath waters are illusory. The waters are, after all, sampled by Mr Woodhouse and recommended by Mrs Elton. Jane Austen's brother Edward was one of those who came to Bath for his ill health, drinking the waters and bathing and attaching himself to a Bath physician, Dr Fellowes (Letters, 20 & 22). The novelist knew well the fashionable valetudinarian culture of Bath, though we do not know how absurd she found it . . .
The difficulty of distinguishing between the merest hypochondria and the first signs of a fatal ailment produces a comic coup with the death of Mrs Churchill in Emma. For much of the novel illness, so-called, has appeared to control Frank Churchill's movements. He is about to enjoy the ball that he has begun to organise in Highbury when a letter arrives. 'Mrs. Churchill was unwell—far too unwell to do without him' (II. xii). He must leave immediately for Yorkshire. Later he writes to Mrs Weston from Mrs Churchill's home to say that she is 'recovering', but that 'he dared not yet, even in his own imagination, fix a time for coming to Randalls again' (II. xiii). Frank Churchill is eventually liberated to return by Mrs Churchill's ill health. She and her husband decide to travel to London, as Mr Weston reports: 'she has not been well the whole winter, and thinks Enscombe too cold for her—so they are all to move southward without loss of time' (II. xviii). Mr Weston has 'not much faith in Mrs. Churchill's illness', he tells Mrs Elton, before half-recollecting that hypochondria is made possible by the reality of death around the corner. '"I hope," said he presently, "I have not been severe upon poor Mrs. Churchill. If she is ill I should be sorry to do her injustice."' His self-correction is like a reminder of the paradox at work in all the novels: most people are merely imagining themselves ill; however, anybody might die at any time. The former is possible because of the latter. On Frank Churchill's next visit to Highbury we get intimations that Mrs Churchill's condition is no longer a mere malade imaginaire. 'That she was really ill was certain; he had declared himself convinced of it' (III. i). Now she has decided that she cannot stand the noise of London and is moving to Richmond. 'Mrs. Churchill had been recommended to the medical skill of an eminent person there, and had otherwise a fancy for the place.' We are still in the balance between illness and 'fancy', but one or the other is manoeuvring her adopted son closer and closer to Highbury.
Fancy bested by reality might seem to be the pattern of Sense and Sensibility. After Willoughby's abrupt departure, Marianne performs the business of suffering, complete with insomnia, headaches and inability to speak (I. xvi). After she is rejected by him in London, however, her affliction becomes real. Austen ensures that her almost fatal illness has its origins in her own self-indulgent folly ('imprudence' is Austen's unhesitating word): Marianne pleases herself with a twilight walk in the grounds of the Palmers' country house, where the grass is 'the longest and wettest', and then sits around in wet shoes and stockings (III. vi). Disappointment in love may have weakened her, but she sets her own sickness in train. Once she is ill Elinor forces 'proper medicines' on her (III. vii), but what might these be? The apothecary is sent for, 'pronouncing her disorder to have a putrid tendency' and 'allowing the word "infection" to pass his lips'. On his second visit he admits 'His medicines had failed', but he is full of confidence in some further treatment or other. This confidence is his business. Mrs Jennings, meanwhile, assumes that the illness will be fatal. Sir John Middleton tells Willoughby in the lobby of the Drury Lane Theatre that Marianne is 'dying' (III. viii). Mrs Dashwood arrives in 'terror', convinced that Marianne is 'no more' (III. ix). Much later Marianne's own self-diagnosis seems to confirm this. 'My illness, I well knew, had been entirely brought on by myself, by such negligence of my own health, as I felt even at the time to be wrong. Had I died,—it would have been self-destruction' (III. x).
In recent decades, critics and readers have been willing to find Marianne a victim rather than a culprit. Perhaps the most influential has been Tony Tanner, whose introduction to the Penguin Classics edition of Sense and Sensibility scintillatingly invokes Freud and Foucault to argue that socialisation makes Marianne ill. She suffers from 'neurosis brought on by repression'. Illness is the price she pays for bending her nature to society: 'sickness is precisely the cost of her entry into the sedate stabilities of civilised life envisaged at the end'. The problem with this argument is that it is Marianne's proud sensibility, rather than her eventual socialisation, that makes her susceptible. Marianne's sickness begins with being 'hysterical'. Even after her recovery, her susceptibility remains, producing her 'hysterics' when a servant announces that 'Mr. Ferrars is married' (III. xi). 'Hysterics' might not have the pejorative force that it now has, but the other Austen characters with whom it is associated are models of self-indulgence. In Persuasion Mary Musgrove has to be kept from 'hysterics' when her son breaks his collarbone (I. vii). Finding excuses to go out in the evening, she brandishes her 'hysterical' symptoms as an excuse for not looking after her son: 'I am not at all equal to it. You saw how hysterical I was yesterday.' When Louisa Musgrove has her accident, Mary suffers from 'hysterical agitations' (I. xii) and continues to be 'hysterical' the next day (II. i).
Austen's characters live with the expectation of illness.
Marianne's fellow hysterics are a dubious crew. 'My mother was in hysterics,' Jane Bennet tells Elizabeth on the confirmation of Lydia's elopement (II. v). Mrs Bennet subsequently embarks on an enumeration of her symptoms: 'such tremblings, such flutterings, all over me, such spasms in my side, and pains in my head, and such beatings at heart, that I can get no rest by night or by day' (III. v). In Sense and Sensibility Marianne seems to share her susceptibility with the appalling Fanny Dashwood, who falls into what Mrs Jennings calls 'violent hysterics' when she hears of Edward's engagement to Lucy Steele (III. i). Mrs Jennings returns from one of her daily visits to her daughter Charlotte, who has recently given birth to her first child, and brings the report, which she has had from the doctor, Mr Donavan, attending her daughter. He has been called to see Mrs John Dashwood, and readily gossips with Mrs Jennings about his other patient's condition. Mr Donavan, opportunist attendant of family disappointment, has, says Mrs Jennings, returned to the Dashwood residence in Harley Street so that 'he may be within call' when Mrs Ferrars is told the news – 'for your sister was sure she would be in hysterics too'. A wonderful little comic subplot: what does the doctor say to his medical friends? 'What! Is Fanny ill?' asks Elinor (III. i). One hardly knows the answer.
Austen's characters live with the expectation of illness. In Persuasion, when Anne is in a stir of emotions after reading the letter to her from Captain Wentworth, everybody assumes that she must be ill. Comically, Mrs Musgrove first wishes that her servant Sarah – evidently the illness specialist – were available, and then, really thinking of her own daughter, tries to assure herself that this is not another case of a fall (II. xi). Yet there really is such a thing as illness, which we suddenly remember when we hear Lady Denham in Sanditon opine, 'It would be only encouraging our Servants and the Poor to fancy themselves ill, if there was a Doctor at hand' (Ch. 6). Failure to understand the seriousness of an illness is a special quality of the foolish or ill-judging. So, as her son Tom's fever goes, Lady Bertram thinks her son out of danger. Edmund and his father, however, note some new 'hectic symptoms' and, advised by the physician, fear for Tom's lungs. Tom Bertram has been brought near death (and into penitence) by an illness that is entirely self-inflicted. He has gone from London to Newmarket (for the races and gambling), 'where a neglected fall, and a good deal of drinking, had brought on a fever' (Mansfield Park, III. xiii). His friends desert him and his 'disorder' becomes worse and worse. It is the proper lesson for a young man who is always talking of some 'particular friend' or other.
Yet the expectation of illness is the reflex of the hypochondriac. In Emma Mr Woodhouse sees illness everywhere. 'But poor Mrs. Bates had a bad cold about a month ago' (I. xii). He and his daughter Isabella embark on a contest of judgements from their favoured quacks: Mr Wingfield thinks that there has never been such an autumn for colds; Mr Perry does not call it a 'sickly season'. Isabella's hypochondria comes in useful when Emma wishes to speed Harriet out of Highbury. She has 'a tooth amiss', and so must be sent to London to a dentist. (Jane Austen herself endured a series of unpleasant visits to a fashionable London dentist in 1813: see Letters, 87 & 88) 'Mrs. John Knightley was delighted to be of any use; any thing of ill health was a recommendation to her' (III. xvi). Hypochondria makes a person a sure topic of conversation, so that when Emma and Harriet visit Miss Bates she must, on a cold day, make 'anxious enquiries after Mr. Woodhouse's health' (II. i) – rather than envying him his untroubled affluence. He calls himself 'a sad invalid' (II. xiv), but in fact there is no evidence that he is in anything but robust health.
Mr Woodhouse and his eldest daughter are joined by Mary Musgrove, who invites her sister Anne to stay because she already foresees 'that she should not have a day's health all the autumn' (I. v). 'I am so ill I can hardly speak' is the wonderfully self-contradicting complaint of this garrulous hypochondriac (I. v). In her first conversation with Anne she reveals that she has been out to dinner the day before, despite her supposedly delicate condition. Between the two sisters there is something like an acknowledgement of the real cause of Mary's indisposition. 'You know I always cure you when I come,' says Anne. In her wonderfully self-revealing, blithely contradictory letter to Anne in Bath, Mary cannot decide if she is ill ('I am far from well') or just about to be ill ('I dare say I shall catch it'), though all is summed up by the true egomania of self-pity in the final sentence: 'my sore-throats, you know, are always worse than anybody's' (II. vi).
Hypochondriacs have their different ways in Austen. In her final, uncompleted novel Sanditon she created a family of hypochondriacs, the Parker siblings. The chief sufferer appears to be Diana Parker, who writes letters that detail the horrors of her 'Spasmodic Bile' (Ch. 5) and lament her incapacity, but who is active to the point of mania. She is the very opposite of what she pretends to be. Meanwhile her portly brother Arthur has joined in the same family business of being ill, but only as a cover for his own indolence and greed. He pretends to be self-denying for the sake of his constitution while industriously brewing himself thick hot chocolate and explaining to Charlotte why he needs plenty of butter on his toast in order to safeguard 'the Coats of the Stomach'. He is but a glutton in not very complete hiding, responsible for one of the great lines in the oeuvre. 'The more Wine I drink (in Moderation) the better I am' (Ch. 10). Diana, meanwhile, is too expert on her ailments to trust any practitioner. 'We have entirely done with the whole Medical Tribe' (Ch. 5). Theirs is what Charlotte calls 'the habit of self-doctoring'.
Medical practitioners do not come in for the anti-medical satire of Sterne or Smollett. The nameless 'surgeon' who is summoned to attend Louisa Musgrove in Persuasion is presumed to be competent and authoritative, though he can only predict, not intervene (I. xii). A surgeon is a specialist that only a town would afford. In the opening chapter of Sanditon, Mr Heywood is thoroughly amused by the notion that there might be a surgeon living in his village. The novel is kicked into life by Mr Parker's search for 'some medical Man' to establish at Sanditon, whose presence 'would very materially promote the rise and prosperity of the Place' (Ch. 2). A surgeon is a cut above an apothecary, though not genteel in the eyes of some: in The Watsons the wealthy Miss Edwards loves Emma Watson's brother Sam, but Emma's sister Elizabeth assures her that marriage is impossible. 'Her father and mother would never consent to it. Sam is only a Surgeon you know'.
The 'intelligent, gentlemanlike' Mr Perry, the apothecary in Emma, is first seen tactfully failing to contradict Mr Woodhouse's absurd opinion that wedding cake is harmful. He agrees that it 'might certainly disagree with many—perhaps with most people, unless taken moderately' (II. ii). Thus the joke about 'all the little Perrys being seen with a slice of Mrs. Weston's wedding-cake in their hands'. Their father is a man who makes his handsome living from bending to the prejudices of his clients. No wonder he is called 'intelligent' (a rare adjective in Austen's lexicon) – the only other men called 'intelligent' by Austen are Mr Allen and Henry Tilney, though Mr Knightley uses the word of Robert Martin. At just the time that Emma was published the status of the apothecary was a question of public debate. Physicians and surgeons, with their respective Royal Colleges, did all they could to establish their professional superiority to the apothecaries who were often the first resort of genteel patients, especially outside large towns. Mr Woodhouse says that 'there is not so clever a man any where' (I. xii), and we are inclined to agree. He is certainly profiting handsomely from all these hypochondriacs: 'he is always wanted all round the county'. Naturally, when Emma steps for a moment out of Ford's the draper's shop the first person she sees is 'Mr. Perry walking hastily by' (II. ix). He is always around and always busy.
The plot of Emma turns on Mr Perry's increasing affluence, Frank Churchill blurting out his knowledge of Mr Perry's 'plan of setting up his carriage' (III. v). His charges are clearly large. Miss Bates talks of her niece being so ill that 'we will call in Mr. Perry. The expense shall not be thought of' (II. i). Being poor, Miss Bates is the only character who actually mentions Mr Perry's bills. She thinks that he is 'so liberal' that he might offer not to charge them, but they will insist: 'He has a wife and family to maintain, and is not to be giving away his time.' There seems little danger of this. Miss Bates's little meditation on the propriety of charging and paying fees speaks for the size of those fees. It seems likely that Mr Perry inspires confidence by being expensive. Frank Churchill even tries a joke about the lucrative business of tending to the ailing inhabitants of Highbury, suggesting that if a ball were to be held at the Crown instead of at Randalls there would be less danger of anyone catching a cold. 'Mr. Perry might have reason to regret the alteration, but nobody else could' (II. xi). Mr Woodhouse replies 'rather warmly', deeply offended at the suggestion that his apothecary relishes minor ailments: 'Mr. Perry is extremely concerned when any of us are ill.' Near the end of the novel Mrs Weston speaks of her recent worries about her baby daughter's health, and how she nearly called for Mr Perry. The listening Mr Woodhouse commends her for thinking of Mr Perry and regrets only that she did not call this minister to anxiety. 'She could not be too soon alarmed, nor send for Perry too often' (III. xviii). Mr Perry, charging for each call-out, would be grateful if this became accepted wisdom. What does he imagine that Perry can actually do? For he goes on to say that, though the baby girl does now seem well, 'it would probably have been better if Perry had seen it'. His logic is as incontrovertible as it is nonsensical.
On the crucial evening of Mr Knightley's proposal, Emma is liberated for her walk in the garden by the fact that Mr Perry has 'a disengaged hour to give her father' (III. xiii). Perhaps he has been summoned (the bad weather of the previous day has afflicted Mr Woodhouse); perhaps he simply calls when time is available to him, knowing that he will always find a welcome (and, presumably, a payment for his consultation). Mr Knightley has looked into the dining room, where patient and apothecary are sequestered, and found 'he was not wanted there'. The length of his visit – 'I should like to take another turn. Mr. Perry is not gone' – also provides the pretext for the further circuit of the Hartfield grounds that gives him the opportunity for his declaration. The next day Emma receives a note from Mrs Weston in which she says that she 'felt for your father very much in the storm of Tuesday afternoon', but has been reassured by Mr Perry 'that it had not made him ill'. Mr Perry's visit has been a kind of precautionary measure.
Perhaps it is only in Persuasion that we get a picture of illness that is neither imaginary nor self-inflicted. This is the novel in which the flesh is frailest – there is the Musgrove child with his broken collarbone, Captain Harville with his wound, Louisa Musgrove and her head injury – and death is closest. Though Anne's old school friend Mrs Smith has come to Bath, the very oasis of hypochondriacs, there is no doubt that she has been ill. As one critic notes, she is 'the first invalid in Jane Austen's novels whose distresses are indubitably real'. She had been 'afflicted with a severe rheumatic fever, which finally settling in her legs, had made her for the present a cripple' (II. v). The reality check is made sharper when Mrs Smith's account of her friendship with Mrs Rooke, her nurse, prompts Anne to some pious reflections about the virtues to which illness prompts sufferers and those who care for them. 'A sick chamber may furnish the worth of volumes.' Mrs Smith speaks 'more doubtingly', putting Anne right: sickness reveals the 'weakness' of 'human nature . . . and not its strength'. Mrs Smith even explains how this allows Mrs Rooke to sell her patients the handicraft items that she has made – just at the point where 'they have recently escaped from severe pain, or are recovering the blessing of health'.
There are certainly Austen characters who are made ill by others. When Fanny Price in Mansfield Park gets a headache it is because she has been forced into labour by Lady Bertram and Mrs Norris (I. vii). When Jane Fairfax in Emma is ailing, it is because of Frank Churchill. 'Jane caught a bad cold, poor thing! So long ago as the 7th of November,' says Miss Bates (we are now well past Christmas) (II. i). 'I am afraid we must expect to see her grown thin, and looking very poorly.' Her niece is indeed suffering. Jane Fairfax is ill as a response to her life's vicissitudes. No wonder the Campbells are sorry for her: 'She had never been quite well since the time of their daughter's marriage' (II. ii). She has the 'slight appearance of ill-health' that makes her seem a little too thin. 'Jane caught no cold last night,' announces Miss Bates to Emma, as if this were in itself a lucky achievement. Jane Fairfax's illnesses are further evidence of the true state of her affections – and her relationship with Frank Churchill. No sooner does he leave Highbury, summoned by Mrs Churchill, than we hear that she has been 'Particularly unwell . . . suffering from headache' (II. xii). Miss Bates says that, had there been a ball at the Crown, her niece would have been too ill to attend, but we should know that this is not true, for if Frank Churchill had stayed in Highbury there would have been no illness. When Emma visits the Bates home after the Box Hill outing, she overhears Miss Bates saying 'I shall say you are laid down upon the bed, and I am sure you are ill enough' (III. viii).
With Frank Churchill absent, Jane Fairfax becomes so afflicted that Mr Perry is sent for. 'Her health seemed for the moment completely deranged . . . Mr. Perry was uneasy about her' (III. ix). He has nothing to offer, beyond the sensible suggestion that 'Her spirits seemed overcome'. When Frank Churchill returns from Richmond after his stepmother's death, he has to face the depth of Jane Fairfax's affliction, 'the shock of finding her so very unwell' (III. x). Emma's diagnosis is brusque and pointed: 'Jane, whose troubles and whose ill health having, of course, the same origin must be equally under cure' (III. xi). Mrs Elton seems to come to a similar conclusion. '"Do not you think her cure does Perry the highest credit?"—(here was a side-glance of great meaning at Jane' (III. xvi). 'Is not she looking well?' Frank Churchill asks Emma in the penultimate chapter. It is the last adjective any one would think of using of Jane Fairfax earlier in the novel. Yet now, with marriage assured, health is restored to her. It is a blessed illusion for those, like some modern readers, who think that ill health is usually in the imagination. Austen liked to amuse her family with accounts of what would happen to her leading characters after the endings of the novels in which they had featured. Jane Fairfax, she told them, would enjoy but nine or ten years of marital felicity before she died. It seems that her husband-to-be was in fact detecting a mortal frailty when he found that deceptive way of talking about her looks.
SEVENTEEN
What Makes Characters Blush?
'No, read it yourself,' cried Catherine, whose second thoughts were clearer. 'I do not know what I was thinking of' (blushing again that she had blushed before) . . .
Northanger Abbey, II. x
In Austen's novels, a person can be made to blush by someone else's failure to do so. In Sense and Sensibility, Elinor Dashwood is engaged in confidential conversation with Lucy Steele about the latter's secret engagement to Edward Ferrars and is endeavouring to conceal her own feelings. The suspicious Lucy is testing those feelings: she so values Elinor's judgement, she says, that if Miss Dashwood were to advise her to give up her engagement, she would do so 'immediately' (II. ii). 'Elinor blushed for the insincerity of Edward's future wife.' Elinor can keep from betraying her own love for Edward, but not from exhibiting a kind of vicarious shame at Lucy's shameless attempts to trick her into self-betrayal. Blushing for someone else is usually just a figure of speech, meaning little more than disapproving of them. 'I blush for you, Tom,' says Sir Thomas Bertram in Mansfield Park, admonishing his elder son for gambling debts that will deprive his brother of his 'living' (I. iii). He uses the phrase twice, but it cannot literally be true, given the massive dignity of his address. Elinor Dashwood, however, does physically experience this almost embarrassed response to her companion's dishonesty. It is a sign that, in this novel of secrets, she cannot keep unexpressed her consciousness of what is really going on. The blush is more evidence of Elinor's struggle to remain self-possessed – a struggle so invisible to her own sister.
Austen requires her reader to be an interpreter of blushes. For a novelist so reticent about describing her characters' features and facial expressions, blushing is extraordinarily important. If there is one form of expression that is missing from all those dramatisations of Austen's novels it is the blush. Weeping is easy for any accomplished performer, but the Austen blush – that most truly involuntary signal of feeling – is almost impossible. Young women had been dependably blushing in novels for decades before Austen began writing: it was a proper sign of modesty and sensibility. In Austen's novels, however, the blush becomes a challenge to the intuition of other characters, and often the reader too. When, like Elinor, one character blushes for another, it is usually a sign of displeasing insight. In Northanger Abbey, Catherine suggests to Henry Tilney that his brother Frederick should cease his 'attentions' to Isabella, who is supposedly engaged to Catherine's brother James (II. iv). Henry Tilney counters that the problem is Isabella's 'admission' of these attentions and it is a palpable hit: 'Catherine blushed for her friend.' Isabella is not exactly unblushing herself, but her blushes are beyond Catherine's understanding. She encourages Catherine to imagine teasing her that she and James Morland were 'born for each other': 'my cheeks would have been as red as your roses' (I. x). But the provocation and the maidenly response are both imaginary. When Isabella does blush it is from a more deceitful intent. Catherine looks forward to their being 'sisters' (on Isabella's planned marriage to James) and Isabella replies '(with a blush)' that 'there are more ways than one of our being sisters' (II. iii). She is thinking of her nascent romance with Frederick Tilney. That blush is there to tell us of her fickleness, but also of Catherine's lack of comprehension.
Catherine's eventual blush for her friend is a rush of understanding. Elizabeth Bennet's blushes for her mother in Pride and Prejudice are, we imagine, not the first. Elizabeth literally blushes for her mother when she rudely and stupidly disputes Darcy's observations about the 'unvarying society' of country life (I. ix). Mrs Bennet is so embarrassing because she is immune to embarrassment. Later, at the Netherfield ball, her loud indiscretions bring the blood to Elizabeth's cheeks again. 'Elizabeth blushed and blushed again with shame and vexation' (I. xix). Blushing bespeaks a social awareness that others lack. When Wickham and Lydia arrive unblushingly at Longbourn after their wedding, Elizabeth and Jane do their blushing for them. 'She blushed, and Jane blushed; but the cheeks of the two who caused their confusion, suffered no variation of colour' (III. ix). We and Elizabeth know that her friend Charlotte remains the clear-eyed person that ever she was from the 'faint blush' that occasionally appears as she listens to her husband, Mr Collins (II. v). He says things of which she is 'ashamed' precisely because he is not. Elizabeth has to watch her face because the newly married Mrs Collins must keep her true thoughts about her husband to herself.
In his brilliantly single-minded analysis of blushing in the writings of John Keats, Christopher Ricks hazards the thought that the blush is of peculiar interest to writers of the Romantic Age. Citing Charles Darwin's idea that blushing is a consequence of human 'self-attention', he argues that, for the Romantics, 'self-attention had become the supreme subject and animus for the artist'. Blushing now deserved 'serious, wide, and deep scrutiny'. Austen, writing at just the same time as Keats, expects her reader to exercise this scrutiny, for the reasons for blushing can be complex indeed. In Persuasion, Lady Russell pretends not to have seen Captain Wentworth in the street in Bath and Anne notices her pretence. 'Anne sighed and blushed and smiled, in pity and disdain, either at her friend or herself' (II. vii). Anne's self-attention is dramatised by the way the sentence stumbles through these different responses and explanations. Such is her confusion of feelings by this stage of the novel that the reason for the blush is almost buried. She blushes in vicarious shame at Lady Russell's evasive dishonesty, but perhaps also, she thinks, at her own eager perceptiveness, sharpened by her hopes for Captain Wentworth's affections. Anne has begun to learn the importance of blushing. Earlier in the novel, she had thought herself beyond a blush. When Mrs Croft refers to the fact that Anne is 'acquainted with' her brother, she is 'electrified' – the only time that Austen ever uses this word. (The OED records the earliest use of 'electrified' to mean 'very excited' or 'thrilled' in 1801: an unusual word is needed for the strong surprise of Anne's response.) Yet concealment of this response is apparently possible. 'Anne hoped that she had outlived the age of blushing; but the age of emotion she certainly had not' (I.vi). Blushing is for a young woman.
Yet she has not truly outlived blushing: this is just another of her virtuous self-delusions. In the aftermath of Louisa Musgrove's fall, Captain Wentworth breaks through his reserve and appeals for her help 'with a glow, and yet a gentleness, which seemed almost restoring the past' (I. xii). 'She coloured deeply.' She is all too ready to blush. When she is first introduced to Mr Elliot, conscious as he must be of the looks that passed between them at Lyme, we find her 'blushing and smiling' (II. ii). Lady Russell hints at his 'possible attachment' and 'the desirableness of the alliance': Anne 'only smiled, blushed, and gently shook her head' (II. v). Blushing is the sign of her reanimation. In fact, she becomes a great blusher. When Captain Wentworth converses with her before the concert in Bath, we find him halting in his talk of Louisa Musgrove's engagement with 'some taste of that emotion which was reddening Anne's cheeks' (II. viii). Now that she has hope again, the thought of Captain Wentworth's past flirtation excites her self-consciousness. When they get on to the topic of Lyme she declares her 'very agreeable' impressions of the place – 'with a faint blush at some recollections'. It was at Lyme that Captain Wentworth began to turn to her again. The reader is left to infer the 'emotion' and the 'recollections' that bring the blood to Anne's cheeks. The next day she visits Mrs Smith, who suggests that Anne has been in the company of 'the person who interests you at this present time, more than all the rest of the world put together' (II. ix). 'A blush overspread Anne's cheeks.' Mrs Smith is thinking of Mr Elliot, so Anne starts to put her right, before she stops, 'regretting with a deep blush that she had implied so much'. At which Mrs Smith instantly grasps the truth. Blushing cannot lie.
One of the few critics who has written on blushing in Austen's fiction describes a blush as 'a truth yielded against one's well-behaved will'. Yet the truth that a blush yields is not always what an observer presumes. Jane Austen uses blushing to alert us not just to the secret feelings that possess her characters, but also to the habits of misinterpretation that secrecy engenders. When Mrs Jennings, watching Colonel Brandon talking quietly to Elinor Dashwood in the window of her London drawing room, sees that 'Elinor changed colour' at something he says, she imagines that she is witnessing a proposal (Sense and Sensibility, III. iii). In fact, he is offering to provide a living for Edward Ferrars so that he will be able to marry Lucy Steele, and Elinor's colouring registers her feelings on being asked to convey the news to him. She is to be the one to tell the man she loves that he will have enough money to marry another woman. Mrs Jennings is observant enough to notice the stir of emotions in Elinor's face, but wholly mistakes them. Similarly in Emma the heroine reognises signs that she blithely misreads. At the party at the Coles, Emma is watching Jane Fairfax when the subject of the piano is mentioned and she sees Jane Fairfax's 'blush of consciousness', followed by the 'blush of guilt' when she mentions Colonel Campbell (II. viii). The next day Emma visits the Bateses, where Jane plays the piano while Frank Churchill makes veiled jokes about Weymouth. Emma notes Jane's 'deep blush of consciousness', along with 'a smile of secret delight' (II. x). 'This amiable, upright, perfect Jane Fairfax was apparently cherishing very reprehensible feelings.' For Emma, these blushes are evidence that Jane Fairfax has an illicit admirer in Mr Dixon; the reader will be able to interpret them better.
Mansfield Park has the most blushful of Austen's heroines, not just because Fanny is a modest and sensitive soul, but also because she is governed by feelings at which no one must guess. People think they understand Fanny Price, but no one does. At the opening of Chapter iii of Mansfield Park, we find that some five years have passed since the end of the previous chapter, Fanny is 'about fifteen' and Mr Norris has died. Edmund is recommending to the reluctant Fanny her new residence, as he imagines, with Mrs Norris, telling her that she has 'good sense, and a sweet temper, and I am sure you have a grateful heart'. '"You are too kind," said Fanny, colouring at such praise.' This is our first sign of a new kind of attachment, a sign that is the more important for being unnoticed, or at least uninterpreted, by Edmund. She blushes in acknowledgement that she is no longer a child. When the returning Sir Thomas compliments her on her appearance he raises 'a fine blush' (II. i). It is Henry Crawford, that connoisseur of female desires, who notices her 'soft skin . . . so frequently tinged with a blush' (II. vi). Her blushes alert him to her sexual attractiveness.
Fanny also blushes because she is good. She 'colours' in righteousness in response to some of the Crawfords' thoughtless jests: when she contradicts Mary Crawford's opinion of men's perfunctory letters (I. vi), or listens to her views on the inferiority of parsons (I. ix), or when Henry Crawford talks disparagingly of Mr Rushworth (II. v). The Crawfords should be able to interpret these responses, but often only the reader can know what brings the colour to her cheeks. When Edmund talks to Fanny about his feelings for Mary Crawford, she asks him not to confide in her. 'The time may come—' she says, thinking of the possibility of their marriage, and breaking off (II. ix). 'The colour rushed into her cheeks as she spoke.' Edmund presses her hand to his lips, utterly failing to understand her response. He thinks she is being delicate: she does not want to hear any of his private reservations about a woman who might end up as his wife. In fact her rush of blood tells us of her pained consciousness that her own love for him is doomed – and that he is entirely oblivious of it. Later, when Edmund says that she will surely learn to love Henry Crawford, Fanny exclaims 'Oh! never, never, never; he will never succeed with me' (III. iv). She speaks with a warmth that surprises the unsuspecting Edmund, and when she sees this 'she blushed at the recollection of herself'.
Sometimes indignation and secret pain combine. When Sir Thomas addresses her on the subject of Crawford's proposal, he notices her 'colour rising' and has to suppress a smile, for he imagines that this is her acknowledgement of pleasure (III. i). Bemused by her rejection of the proposal, he begins to wonder if her affections are engaged elsewhere. He does not finish the thought, and she does not reply: 'her face was like scarlet'. Sir Thomas chooses to take this deepest of blushes as a sign of her innocence, though he has just come as close as any character ever does to divining the truth. It is a truth that clever Mary Crawford, interpreting every blush wrongly, keeps missing. When she tricks Fanny into choosing to borrow a necklace that was her brother's gift, she then teases her about suspecting 'a confederacy between us' (II. viii). Fanny protests against the thought 'with the deepest blushes', allowing Miss Crawford to infer that she does truly relish her brother's attentions. She is wrong, but why then are Fanny's blushes so deep? Because she does think that Henry Crawford is up to something, but also because she is having to acknowledge her own sexual allure. At the ball, Mary blunders by busily 'misinterpreting Fanny's blushes' when she talks of her brother, supposing that she is 'giving her heart a little flutter' rather than merely embarrassing her (II. x). In the wake of Fanny's rejection of Henry Crawford's proposal, Mary Crawford wonders playfully at her apparent 'indifference' and asks whether 'you are so insensible as you profess yourself' (III. v). 'There was indeed so deep a blush over Fanny's face at that moment, as might warrant strong suspicion in a pre-disposed mind.' Fanny blushes because she is a virtuous girl who finds all this talk of love mortifying – but also because love does govern her every thought. She is not in the least 'insensible', though Mary Crawford is simply deluded to take her embarrassment as betokening some unconfessed liking for her brother.
After all the decades of young ladies blushing virtuously in novels, Austen has realised that the blush might interestingly mix ingenuousness with something close to guilt. Marianne Dashwood in Sense and Sensibility blushes when teased about Willoughby by Mrs Jennings and Sir John Middleton (I. xviii). Edward is present and she cannot disguise her self-consciousness in front of him. Yet her vaunted lack of disguise is also a kind of pride. She blushes again when Edward expresses surprise that she contemplates keeping horses for hunting. She is thinking of being married to Willoughby and is hardly hiding the fact (I. xvii). She 'colours' when Mrs Jennings jokes about her trip to Allenham with Willoughby to look at his aunt's house. Elinor subsequently admonishes Marianne for 'going all over it' in its owner's absence (I. xiii). Marianne refuses to concede that she has acted wrongly, until Elinor mentions the possibility that the house and grounds might one day be hers. 'She blushed at this hint; but it was even visibly gratifying . . .' The blush comes not from shame but from an acknowledgement of her desires. Indeed, having agreed that her visit to the house was 'rather ill-judged' she proceeds to prattle about all its delightful rooms. A good reader of blushes is being shown the fallacy of Marianne's code of openness.
The blush, in other words, is a challenge to the reader's insight.
The most innocent blusher in Austen's fiction is Catherine Morland. She hardly knows how to blush aright. When she sees Mr Tilney approaching at the dance in the Octagon Room, she acts naturally rather than affectedly, and so has 'cheeks only a little redder than usual' (I. viii). Naturally she blushes when she finds herself watched while dancing by 'a gentleman', who then whispers something to Henry Tilney (I. x). But this is something wholly different from the self-consciousness of an Isabella Thorpe. Catherine blushes because she thinks the man's notice must have been attracted by 'something wrong in her appearance'. She blushes when Henry Tilney compliments her for her 'good-nature' though she has not understood what he has said about her charitable interpretation of Frederick Tilney's motives (II. i). Her blushing is wonderfully uncertain. She blushes when General Tilney suggests that she share his son's curricle, because she remembers Mr Allen saying that it might not be right for a girl to be alone in such a vehicle with a young man (II. v). But then she decides that General Tilney cannot be recommending something wrong. There is also her 'blush of mortification' when the Tilneys' servant tells her that Miss Tilney is out, 'with a look which did not quite confirm his words' (I. xii). She is entirely innocent of the affront that has led Miss Tilney to avoid her. However, innocence finally becomes chastened self-deception. First there is the 'blush of surprize' when, fired by Gothic fantasy, she opens the mysterious chest in her room, only to find a bedspread (II. vi). Then there is a more painful consciousness when, investigating Mrs Tilney's room, she excites Henry's perplexity by her foolish questions: she 'blushed deeply' (II. ix). Blushing is her intelligent awareness of her folly.
The other modest girl who blushes a good deal is Harriet Smith. She is one of the reasons that Emma has more blushes any other Austen novel. Her first blush is when she recalls Mrs Martin talking of how good a husband her son would make (I. iv), but thereafter her blushes are responses to Emma's manipulative suggestions about her charms. She blushes on having Mr Elton's compliments repeated to her by Emma (I. iv); she blushes when she sits before Mr Elton to have her portrait done (I. vi). When Emma asks her if Mr Martin is really the 'most agreeable' man with whom she has ever been in company, our heroine seems almost to require her to blush: 'You blush, Harriet.—Does any body else occur to you at this moment under such a definition?' (I. vii) This is the only time in Austen's novels when one character tells another that he or she is blushing. The observation would usually be unacceptable because it can only deepen the other person's blushes. Emma sees evidence of dawning 'love'; we can see evidence of Emma's coercion. 'The blush . . . in Austen's writing can be both a transparent indicator of a character's feelings, and an agent of misdirection', writes Katie Halsey in the best analysis of blushing in her novels. The blush, in other words, is a challenge to the reader's insight. Emma's confidence about Harriet's blushes is blushingly confirmed by Harriet, who supposes that Emma alone might have guessed at the relationship between Jane Fairfax and Frank Churchill – 'You (blushing as she spoke) who can see into every body's heart' (III. xi). It is a complex dramatic irony, for a discerning reader knows that Harriet blushes at the thought that Emma knows of her feelings for Mr Knightley. Emma knows nothing of the kind, suggesting that she might have cared for Frank Churchill. Harriet cries out in surprise, 'colouring'. This is a pained response and very different from the Harriet Smith blush. Soon, to Emma's consternation, this is apparent. Emma has to listen to Harriet's account of Mr Knightley talking to her 'in a more particular way than he had ever done before, in a very particular way indeed!—(Harriet could not recall it without a blush)'. She blushes with just the pleased consciousness that Emma has taught her.
It takes a good deal to make Emma blush, though she thinks of herself as a connoisseur of blushing. When she considers her sister Isabella's marriage she reflects that 'She had given them neither men, nor manners, nor places, that could raise a blush' (III. vi). It is one of Emma's little phrases, used when she tells Harriet that her supposedly forthcoming marriage to Mr Elton is 'an alliance which can never raise a blush in either of us' (I. ix). Emma would like blushing to be a matter of social pride – you blush at some stooping from your proper status. As she hears Harriet recalling her cutting a 'plaister' for Mr Elton, and admits to her own supposedly cunning untruths, she says, 'I deserve to be under a continual blush all the rest of my life' (III. iv). She must be made to blush for deeper feelings than this and indeed finds herself having to blush a good deal in the last chapters of the novel. She blushes when admonished by Mr Knightley for her cruelty to Miss Bates (III. vii). When she finds out from Mrs Weston about the Churchill–Fairfax engagement, she is made sensitive to her own past folly in a way that Mrs Weston does not perceive: 'Emma could not speak the name of Dixon without a little blush' (III. x). When she thinks of her coldness towards Jane Fairfax, 'she blushed for the envious feelings which had certainly been, in some measure, the cause' (III. xii). This is having listened to Mrs Weston's account of the engagement and the blushing is an entirely private, we might say internal, experience. She experiences 'a blush of sensibility on Harriet's account' when Mr Knightley asks her for her agreement in his recommendation of 'truth and sincerity in all our dealings with each other' (III. xv). She has accepted the need for sincerity, yet cannot give 'any sincere explanation' of that blush. Mr Knightley cannot be told that she blushes to think of Harriet's feelings for him. Emma blushes when she is rendered helpless. After they have become engaged Mr Knightley begins to talk to her of Harriet Smith. 'Her cheeks flushed at the name, and she felt afraid of something, though she knew not what' (III. xviii). What is she afraid of? Presumably of Mr Knightley having somehow divined her earlier belief that he might love Harriet Smith. He takes her blush to come from her knowledge of Harriet's engagement to Robert Martin. That flushing is her consciousness of her own past delusion, and of her misconception about Mr Knightley's feelings that has led to her own happiness. Now she is a blusher and he is the misinterpreter.
What about men? We register the reanimated attraction, as well as the awkwardness, when Elizabeth and Darcy encounter each other unexpectedly at Pemberley. 'Their eyes instantly met, and the cheeks of each were overspread with the deepest blush' (III. i). This mutual blush is powerful and unusual in Austen's novels. Elsewhere men do not blush, they 'colour'. In Sense and Sensibility Mrs Dashwood hopes that Willoughby will soon be back from London. 'He coloured as he replied . . .' (I. xv). This is guilt that what he is about to say – he has no plans to return – is entirely at odds with his behaviour towards Marianne. When Mrs Dashwood tells him that he is welcome to stay with them, 'His colour increased'. Edward Ferrars (who has just been on a secret visit to Lucy Steele) responds similarly when Marianne accuses him of being 'reserved'. '"I do not understand you," replied he, colouring. "Reserved!—how, in what manner? What am I to tell you? What can you suppose?"' (I. xvii). In this secret-filled novel, 'colouring' is the acknowledgement of secrecy. Thus Edward's reaction when Marianne asks him about the ring with a plait of hair that he is wearing. 'He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, "Yes; it is my sister's hair. The setting always casts a different shade on it, you know"' (I. xviii). It is a lie, but Elinor misinterprets his blush, assuming that the hair is her own.
Men turn red (or white) but are not usually said to blush. When Wickham and Darcy first spot each other, in the company of the Bennet girls, 'Both changed colour, one looked white, the other red' (I. xv). Which is which? We infer, I think, that Darcy turns white (righteous indignation) and Wickham turns red (embarrassment, guilt). When Elizabeth rejects his proposal, Mr Darcy turns 'pale with anger' (II. xi). When she goes on to speak of his injustice to Wickham, she and we see his 'heightened colour'. This is anger, but even love does not make men exactly blush. When Captain Wentworth in Persuasion encounters Anne in a shop in Bath, he is 'struck and confused'; 'he looked quite red' (II. vii). Mr Knightley turns 'red with surprise and displeasure' when Emma complacently tells him that Harriet Smith has refused Robert Martin (I. viii). He suffers a rather different rush of blood when she suggests that his admiration for Jane Fairfax may some day take him 'by surprise' (II. xv). 'Mr. Knightley was hard at work upon the lower buttons of his thick leather gaiters, and either the exertion of getting them together, or some other cause, brought the colour into his face, as he answered.' Only a narrative so much told from one character's point of view can manage to be uncertain in this way. His colouring, of course, is because his admiration for Emma is taking him by surprise.
That shared blush in Pride and Prejudice is the surest possible sign of mutual love: her blush has spread to him. But Elizabeth goes on blushing after the encounter. 'She blushed again and again over the perverseness of the meeting' (III. i). Blushing is the means by which Austen registers Elizabeth's unadmitted feelings. Elizabeth wishes that she and the Gardiners had left ten minutes sooner – not so that she would have avoided meeting him, but so that she would have avoided the pressure of these feelings. Here the blush is our measure of the inwardness of the character. Elizabeth blushes at thoughts to which only the reader has access. Earlier she colours when Colonel Fitzwilliam says something about not having enough money to marry, but she is blushing at her own speculation, wondering for a second if he is courting her (II. x). In a laboured exchange about what might be called an 'easy distance' between two places, she blushes at Mr Darcy's apparent reference to the distance between Longbourn and Netherfield, as if he has caught her thinking about Jane's relationship with Bingley (II. ix). In fact Mr Darcy is on the brink of his marriage proposal and must be thinking, with 'a sort of a smile', of how far his home is from the Bennets'. Elizabeth does not understand him, while he cannot possibly interpret her blush correctly. He must presume it to be a sign of her pleased consciousness of his attentions, for he draws his chair 'a little towards her'. That blush is what she feels, not what he sees. The reader inhabits Elizabeth's mind through her blushes. When she enters the house after the walk on which Mr Darcy has proposed to her a second time, Jane asks her where she has been and Elizabeth says that 'they had wandered about, till she was beyond her own knowledge' (III. xvii). 'She coloured as she spoke', but apparently without awakening suspicion. That colouring is felt rather than observed, the self-consciousness of a character with whom we share a secret. It appears to be description from the outside, but in fact it is entirely a description from the inside. No one notices but Elizabeth herself.
This is the most complex kind of embarrassment, when one of Austen's heroines blushes at what she suddenly knows about her own feelings or her own behaviour. When Mrs Weston breaks the news of Jane Fairfax's engagement to Frank Churchill, Emma asks whether it was secret even from the Campbells and the Dixons. She blushes at her worse-than-folly in supposing that Jane Fairfax was conducting some kind of love affair with Mr Dixon, though Mrs Weston has known nothing of this bizarre hypothesis. This is blushing as self-consciousness, something experienced rather than observed. At the end of the third chapter of Persuasion, we find that Anne must walk outside to cool her 'flushed cheeks' because Captain Wentworth's name has been mentioned – but no one else has known or noticed. A little blush in Northanger Abbey epitomises Austen's use of blushing to let us glimpse an inner world. Catherine is worrying about Mr Tilney being too aware of Mrs Allen's folly as he talks with her, and just at this moment he asks her what she is thinking about. 'Catherine coloured . . .' (I. iii). The knowing young man has caught her – and us – in the midst of her unflattering thoughts. Blushing is the most intense experience of self-consciousness, but only the reader – the attentive reader – can know this.
EIGHTEEN
What Are the Right and Wrong Ways to Propose Marriage?
Having resolved to do it without loss of time, as his leave of absence extended only to the following Saturday, and having no feelings of diffidence to make it distressing to himself even at the moment, he set about it in a very orderly manner, with all the observances, which he supposed a regular part of the business.
Pride and Prejudice, I. xix
A reader of Jane Austen's fiction might think that the worst way to propose marriage is by letter. The plot of Emma relies entirely on Robert Martin's decision to ask Harriet Smith to marry him in writing. This gives the weak-minded Harriet the opportunity to go to Emma for advice about how to answer. Although Robert Martin has arrived at Mrs Goddard's, where Harriet lives, in person, the fact that he has the letter in a package with him suggests that he always intended to propose in this way. Why? Lack of genteel confidence? A sense of delicacy, perhaps: even the prejudiced Emma detects 'delicacy of feeling' in the letter itself (I. vii). He would surely know that Harriet in person would be persuadable. It is as if he wishes, by proposing in a letter, to give her some power to make her own decision. It is an honourable but a sad misjudgement. Emma herself, as she examines Harriet's reactions and schemes to get her to reject the proposal, silently acknowledges that, had Robert Martin 'come in her way' in person, he would surely have been accepted. Mr Knightley, we later find, had expected him to 'speak' to Harriet (I. viii). He has decided to write instead, and so Emma is given her chance to meddle and the whole narrative machinery is set in motion.
By the standards of the day, Robert Martin was not wrong to write. In the eighteenth century it had become conventional to propose in this way, and letter-writing manuals even provided templates for doing so. In a culture that placed a premium on the penning of a well-turned letter, a young man with Robert Martin's self-improving bent would have been very likely to have read one or other of the many guides to letter-writing – usually called 'secretaries' or 'letter-writers' – that were widely available. Perhaps he had digested David Fordyce's The New and Complete British Letter-Writer of 1800, which included model letters from 'a young Tradesman, proposing Marriage to a Lady in the Neighbourhood' and another from 'a Gentleman to a young Lady without Fortune', offering her his hand. All the evidence is that epistolary proposals of marriage were entirely proper. Sir Edward Knatchbull proposed successfully to Jane Austen's favourite niece Fanny Knight by letter in 1820. But Robert Martin was wrong to use this method if he hoped to achieve the desired answer. Edmund Bertram in Mansfield Park sees the problem clearly enough when he wonders, in a letter to Fanny, how he might propose to Mary Crawford. 'I believe I shall write to her. I have nearly determined on explaining myself by letter' (III. xiii). A letter will enable him to conquer his uncertainties and express himself as he should. Yet he hums and haws and frets. 'A letter exposes to all the evil of consultation.' A letter can be shown around. There is always her friend Mrs Fraser – surely his enemy. 'I must think this matter over a little.' He sees the risks of a letter, though he does not see that he is blunderingly causing Fanny pain by drawing her in to his ruminations.
Edmund's scheme for proposing by letter suggests that something is wrong. Can he not imagine simply speaking to Mary Crawford of his affections? A proposal in person needs an occasion, but a man has the power to find this. For a woman it is not so straightforward. Probably Charlotte Lucas need not have worried about having to give Mr Collins the right chance to declare himself, but, knowing that he is on the point of returning from Hertfordshire to Kent, she is determined to take no risks. She makes it easy for him. 'Miss Lucas perceived him from an upper window as he walked towards the house, and instantly set out to meet him accidentally in the lane' (I. xii). She has been at that window keeping watch. Her contrivance of that accident will be a fair epitome of their relationship, with Mr Collins imagining that he is shaping events when in fact he is being manipulated by her. Yet even for a man, arranging to be on your own with the object of your attentions is not always easy. Seeking to propose to Emma, Mr Elton avails himself of a 'precious opportunity', a phrase that must echo the pattern of his own eager thinking (I. xv). After a bibulous Christmas Eve dinner at the Westons', he manages to get in the coach with her. It is his heaven-sent chance. The comedy of the episode is in our sudden recognition of what it must be like from his point of view, always having the idiotic Harriet in Emma's company and in his way. Harriet has been removed by a heavy cold, for which he must be thanking his stars, and now he has the woman he really wants on her own.
Timing is all. 'Every thing that I have said or done, for many weeks past, has been with the sole view of marking my adoration of yourself,' declares Mr Elton. How many weeks? At least the twelve weeks or so since the beginning of the novel. But he arrived in Highbury 'a whole year' earlier, and has presumably been manoeuvring towards this declaration in the coach for much of that time (I. i). Austen's novels tease us to wonder how long you should know each other before a man can propose with hope of acceptance. Charlotte Lucas's notorious advice in Pride and Prejudice is to be as speedy as possible. In order to fix Mr Bingley's intentions, she tells Elizabeth, Jane Bennet 'should . . . make the most of every half-hour in which she can command his attention. When she is secure of him, there will be more leisure for falling in love as much as she chooses' (I.vi). A lengthy courtship has no advantages: 'it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life'. The shortest courtship imaginable is indeed Mr Collins's of Charlotte, lasting as it does from dinner-time to night-time of a single day, all of it spent in the voluble company of others. For Austen's heroines, it is Henry Tilney's courtship of Catherine Morland that is shortest, and this in a novel which is full of haste – from the progress of Catherine and Isabella's friendship, through John Thorpe's boasts about the speed of his travel, to Colonel Tilney's constant impatience and hurry (Northanger Abbey has more precise times of day than any other Austen novel). The shortest of Austen's novels, its love story is also the most rapid. The time between Catherine Morland's arrival in Bath and her departure from Northanger Abbey is only eleven weeks. It is a brief acquaintance on which to base a married life together. Very brief, in fact, as during those eleven weeks Henry Tilney has spent some time away at his parish, leaving Catherine at Northanger Abbey with his sister. The novelist, having elicited such a speedy proposal from Henry Tilney, at least provides some reassurance by telling us that he and Catherine in fact marry 'within a twelvemonth' of their first meeting – not much less than the year allowed Elizabeth Bennet and Mr Darcy between their first encounter and their nuptials.
When Captain Wentworth first proposed to Anne Elliot, they had known each other 'a few months', and a good deal less than the half a year during which he stays with his brother (I. iv). Eight years later, it is something over four months from their meeting again to Captain Wentworth's proposal. It is quite clear that that earlier knowledge of each other was, and is, good grounds for their future happiness. Reaching a proposal is more problematic in the two cases where Austen's heroines have known their husbands-to-be for a very long time. Emma has been familiar with Mr Knightley all her life; Fanny Price has lived in the same house as her cousin Edmund for eight years, though for long periods he has been away at school or university. In one way, this simply reflects the reality of Jane Austen's rural society. Marriages were frequently contracted between individuals who had known each other as neighbours for years and it was common for cousins to marry each other. (Jane Austen's brother Henry married their widowed cousin Eliza.) But the pairings achieved for the heroines of Mansfield Park and Emma test our belief. Edmund has been blind to Fanny's passion for him for years, so how can he be turned from her sympathetic cousin to her suitor? Mr Knightley has been a friend and monitor to Emma, so how can he change into a lover? At least Austen finds a narratively deft and psychologically compelling solution to the second question. Mr Knightley's amorous feelings for Emma have been held in suspension until Frank Churchill's arrival appears imminent. The very prospect of his appearance generates the birth of a jealousy that will make Mr Knightley a different kind of attendant upon Emma.
In Austen, a man's declaration of love is (or should be) the same as a proposal of marriage.
You might say that the narrative interest of Austen's novels stems entirely from a convention of marriage proposals: that a man must propose; a woman must wait to be proposed to. Comparing marriage to dancing in Northanger Abbey, Henry Tilney condenses the essential truth: 'man had the advantage of choice, woman only the power of refusal' (I. x). No woman can propose marriage. No woman can be the first to declare her feelings. This is a social rule internalised by fiction as a narrative convention. Upon its inflexibility rests the whole of the double-narrative of Austen's first published novel, Sense and Sensibility. Elinor wonders whether or not Edward Ferrars is courting her, but can only wait for him to say something. Meanwhile we watch the developing relationship between Marianne and Willoughby through Elinor's eyes, not knowing whether or not Willoughby has proposed. Elinor is mystified by 'the extraordinary silence of her sister and Willoughby on the subject, which they must know to be peculiarly interesting to them all' (I. xiv). That is, their presumed engagement. They do not acknowledge 'what their constant behaviour to each other declared to have taken place': i.e. a proposal (from him) – and an acceptance (from her). He calls her by her Christian name; she gives him a lock of her hair. What do these gestures mean? Mrs Dashwood refuses to ask Marianne whether the proposal has been made (I. xvi). 'Don't we all know that it must be a match,' exclaims Mrs Jennings, just moments before we read Willoughby's letter of rejection (I. vii). Yet an actual proposal in this world, though it might take just a few words, is a kind of magic. Without it all intimacies are apparently meaningless.
When Elinor reads the letter from Willoughby that proclaims him 'to be deep in hardened villainy', she imagines that it is, in effect, nullifying an offer of marriage (II. vii). It 'acknowledged no breach of faith' – but of course there is, strictly speaking, no breach of faith. 'Engagement! . . . there has been no engagement,' cries Marianne. Elinor is amazed that her sister could have written to Willoughby even though he had not declared himself to her (II. vii). She already knows that the correspondence between Lucy and Edward 'could subsist only under a positive engagement, could be authorised by nothing else' (I. xxii). Marianne has offered Willoughby 'unsolicited proofs of tenderness' – a dangerous folly for any woman. This is why the woman must always wait for the man to declare himself. As Marianne herself soon says, 'he is not so unworthy as you believe him. He has broken no faith with me.' Mrs Jennings talks of how he 'comes and makes love to a pretty girl, and promises marriage' (II. viii), but again, this is not what he has done. Elinor explicitly tells Mrs Jennings this: 'I must do this justice to Mr. Willoughby—he has broken no positive engagement with my sister' (II. viii). He never proposed. In Austen, a man's declaration of love is (or should be) the same as a proposal of marriage. Emma finds Mr Elton 'actually making violent love to her' and, naturally, 'very much resolved on being seriously accepted as soon as possible' (I. xv). Anne Elliot has received Captain Wentworth's 'declarations and proposals' (I. iv), and we understand that he tells her that he loves her and asks her to marry him – these being inextricable and simultaneous. In Pride and Prejudice, Darcy first proposes to Elizabeth by declaring, 'You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you' (II. xi). In Sense and Sensibility Marianne admits to Elinor that Willoughby has 'never absolutely' told her that he loved her; he could not have done so without proposing marriage.
We do not hear the actual proposals in Sense and Sensibility. Edward arrives at Barton, having been 'released without any reproach to himself' from his engagement to Lucy, on a mission. 'It was only to ask Elinor to marry him;—and considering that he was not altogether inexperienced in such a question, it might be strange that he should feel so uncomfortable in the present case as he really did, so much in need of encouragement and fresh air' (III. xiii). Charlotte Lucas seems to be right about men needing to be 'helped on'. Austen declines to tell us just how the proposal gets made or received, only, rather awkwardly, that three hours later, when they sit down to table at four o'clock, 'he had secured his lady' and 'engaged her mother's consent'. We know that Colonel Brandon has declared his love for Marianne in an 'involuntary effusion' to her mother, while she lies gravely ill (III. ix). There is no chance of his saying any of this to Marianne herself. Even stranger is the imagined 'proposal' that Marianne receives from him a couple of years later, when the 'confederacy against her' of everyone's opinions hardly seems to require Colonel Brandon to say anything at all (III. xiv).
Colonel Brandon's explanation of his feelings to Mrs Dashwood is not entirely evasive. Applying to a lady's parents is conventional. Mr Collins 'made his declaration in form' in Pride and Prejudice by applying to Elizabeth's mother for 'a private audience with her' (I. xix). As soon as Mr Bingley has proposed to Jane Bennet he whispers something to her and leaves the room (III. xiii). Later we find that it has been for a 'conference with her father'. The day after successfully proposing to Elizabeth, Mr Darcy comes back to Longbourn to see her father. The difficulty that Emma and Mr Knightley have in dealing with Mr Woodhouse is all the more marked because the husband-to-be is supposed to apply to the father. In Persuasion, Captain Benwick evidently proposes to Louisa Musgrove and is accepted, but then writes to Mr Musgrove before travelling to Uppercross for his answer. Characters are preoccupied by the notion that there are matters of form in the business of making and accepting (or rejecting) a marriage proposal. 'In such cases as these, it is, I believe, the established mode to express a sense of obligation for the sentiments avowed, however unequally they may be returned,' says Elizabeth Bennet to Mr Darcy, with haughty irony (II. xi). Her pretence of attachment to convention is utterly disdainful. We know that Charles Musgrove cannot have loved Anne Elliot by the parody of formality that Austen adopts when she tells us that he proposed to her: 'She had been solicited . . . to change her name, by the young man' (I. iv). He might have said something quite unaffected, but his actual words are turned into a formula. This is nothing like the imagined flow of 'declarations and proposals' that Anne once heard from Captain Wentworth. So it is no surprise when the second half of the sentence tells us that his proposal of marriage to her sister Mary followed 'not long afterwards'. Later in the novel we overhear Louisa telling Captain Wentworth that he married Mary 'about a year' after being refused by Anne (I. x). The proposal itself must have come a good deal sooner after that rejection.
What is a proposal? It is easy to assume that it is just a matter of popping the question. But some men in Austen's novels feel that the very framing of a question is a difficult business. John Thorpe in Northanger Abbey is a buffoon with few conversational resources, but the problems he has proposing to Catherine Morland are comic because they are real (I. xv). He comes very close, in his words and phrases, to the purposes in his head, yet never quite manages an actual proposal, and leaves Catherine with no idea of his intent. 'A famous good thing this marrying scheme, upon my soul!' Only a few chapters later Isabella is telling her that John Thorpe is 'over head and ears in love with you' and that Catherine has given him 'the most positive encouragement' (II. iii). 'He says . . . that he as good as made you an offer, and that you received his advances in the kindest way.' Catherine is naturally flabbergasted.
Reluctance must be overcome, proper hesitation allowed its expression. The assumption is that the woman who might say yes in the end will not necessarily say yes straight away. 'You are silent . . . at present I ask no more,' cries Mr Knightley, sensing that he does have hope of Emma accepting him. But then presumptuousness is the worst possible element of a proposal. The most enjoyable example of this is Mr Collins's proposal to Elizabeth, where his speechifying is the consequence of his assurance. Then there is Mr Elton, who is given little pause by Emma's initial resistance. He stops for a moment or two to wonder why she keeps talking of Miss Smith, but soon his flow of amatory exclamations is on him again. In Mansfield Park, Henry Crawford's presumptuousness is more subtle. He softens Fanny up for his proposal by telling her of the commission that has been procured for her brother William. As she is about to leave the room in excitement to tell her uncle, he pounces. 'The opportunity was too fair, and his feelings too impatient. He was after her immediately' (II. xiii). We do not hear his words, for we are inhabiting Fanny's mind, and she at first hardly realises what it is that he is saying. He is 'in the middle of his farther explanation, before she had suspected for what she was detained'. We get snatches of his likely phrasing: 'sensations which his heart had never known before' filter through her disbelieving consciousness. 'It was all beyond belief!' Yet the presumptuousness of these men is no greater than that of Mr Darcy in his first proposal to Elizabeth. He opens with a declaration that it is made despite himself: 'In vain have I struggled' (II. xi). His ardour overwhelms his reservations. He proposes because, despite all pride and all social considerations, he must have Elizabeth. It is the closest thing in all Austen's fiction to a declaration of sexual desire, and therefore not sufficient grounds for marriage. No more than Mr Collins does Mr Darcy conceive of being refused, which is why he must think again.
Mr Collins is wonderfully absurd for taking Elizabeth's first, politely phrased refusal as but the first step on a path to acceptance. There is no saying no to him. He foolishly supposes that he knows what is 'usual with young ladies'. Yet his expectation that a well-brought-up young woman would not necessarily say yes immediately is probably based on real social convention. Anything other than a rejection is encouragement. So tricky is the whole business that while some, like John Thorpe, who do want to propose do not manage to do so, others who never propose find that they have in fact offered marriage. The key example is in Persuasion. Captain Wentworth never proposes or comes near to proposing to Louisa Musgrove, but finds that he is being thought of as if he had. 'I found . . . that I was considered by Harville an engaged man!' (II. xi) He is not outraged; he is mortified, for on reflection, he cannot quarrel with their assumption. 'I was hers in honour if she wished it.' He has acted in such a way that she might expect a proposal – walking on his own with her, paying his attentions to her, jumping her down – and he has done this before witnesses. As he is an honourable man, all this is as good as proposing. If a man of honour does make an offer he is hooked. Thus John Dashwood's grotesque (and ill-advised) advice to Elinor about Colonel Brandon: 'his friends may all advise him against it. But some of those little attentions and encouragements which ladies can so easily give, will fix him, in spite of himself. And there can be no reason why you should not try for him' (II. xi).
It is a matter of morality as much as law. Thinking Willoughby engaged to Marianne, Elinor had expected his letter to her sister to express 'his desire of a release' from their engagement, along with 'professions of regret', this being the 'decorum of a gentleman'. So a man might ask to be released, even if the example of Lucy Steele would tell us that his fiancée's agreement might not be forthcoming. A man who broke off an engagement without permission could be sued for breach of promise by a woman, though if the case did not involve seduction, awards for damages in this periods were not usually financially crippling, and cases were often settled out of court for modest sums. A good man, however, will regard himself as bound to his first proposal. So Edward Ferrars explains to Elinor that he had to stick to the arrangement with Lucy Steele, however hateful it had become to him (III. xiii). A woman, however, can change her mind. Jane Austen herself changed her mind overnight, from yes to no, when she received a proposal from Harris Bigg-Wither in 1802. Lucy Steele changes her mind and 'releases' Edward Ferrars. Sir Thomas Bertram gives his daughter Maria the chance to change her mind about marrying Mr Rushworth. Anne Elliot was once persuaded to change her mind from accepting Captain Wentworth's proposal to declining it.
It is not surprising that women might like to entertain their 'power of refusal', if it is the only power available. Emma, the arch-'imaginist', entertains herself with imagining all the ways in which Frank Churchill might come to a 'declaration' and be rejected by her (II. xiii). Mrs Smith in Persuasion suggests something rather dismaying about marriage proposals: that women contemplate them with disdain but respond to them with gratitude. She talks as if a woman can usually foresee a proposal and likes to imagine turning it down. 'Till it does come, you know, we women never mean to have any body. It is a thing of course among us, that every man is refused – till he offers' (II. ix). She does not know that her friend has already turned down two men. Yet Mr Collins's theory about the mere conventionality of refusals finds some backing in the refusals even of some of Austen's heroines. Fanny rejects Mr Crawford's proposal, but the next day Sir Thomas says that he has 'received as much encouragement to proceed as a well-judging woman could permit herself to give' (III. i). He is being insensitive, but not stupid. Near the end of the novel the novelist intervenes unnecessarily to tell us that, had Edmund married Mary Crawford, and Henry Crawford remained dedicated to marrying Fanny, she would eventually have complied. Only her secret love for Edmund keeps her safe; if this had become hopeless, she would have given in to the inevitable. Equally, Anne Elliot in Persuasion is guarded from her cousin's advances only by her secret love for Captain Wentworth. In her revelatory conversation with Mrs Smith, she contemplates agreeing to marry Mr Elliot. 'Anne could just acknowledge within herself such a possibility of having been induced to marry him, as made her shudder at the idea of the misery which must have followed' (II. ix). The dread possibility is that she might have been 'persuaded' by Lady Russell, who, as she herself is forced to see in the final chapter, has been 'pretty completely wrong' about everything.
Men should not necessarily take no for an answer. Anne Elliot tells Captain Wentworth that if he had returned two years later and tried her again he would have succeeded. He curses himself for not having done so. Mr Darcy returns to Elizabeth to ask her once more, having properly learned the lessons of what was wrong with his first proposal. Robert Martin in Emma also asks again. 'You cannot mean that he has even proposed to her again—yet. You only mean that he intends it' (III. xviii). Emma cannot believe that it has all already happened. It took just one visit with John Knightley's family to Astley's Amphitheatre, followed the next day by family dinner. Robert Martin 'found an opportunity of speaking to Harriet' – and made his proposal. Other men react to being turned down by making another speedy offer to a different woman: Mr Collins, most ludicrously, within three days, but also Mr Elton, within four weeks, and Charles Musgrove, 'not long' after being turned down by Anne Elliot. The last of these three is not so absurd, Charles Musgrove being more desperate than calculating (and being discerning enough to want to marry the neglected Anne in the first place).
The proposal is a crucial element of Austen's fiction because it imagines, in a world of concealed feelings, a moment of release. As love cannot be expressed directly without a proposal, this must always come as a kind of surprise. When Mr Darcy first declares himself to her, Elizabeth Bennet is probably the most surprised recipient of a proposal in all the novels. It is a satisfying irony, as she is the only one of Austen's heroines not to believe that the man she loves is destined for another woman. Proposing marriage is difficult because it is the first moment of explicitness in a relationship. Or rather, it should be difficult to propose. (Sometimes so much so that the novelist herself cannot put it into words.) For the right proposal is the one that can imagine the answer 'no'. Mr Knightley brings himself to the point of a declaration, but gives Emma the opportunity to halt him before he makes anything explicit (III. xiii). The 'tone of deep mortification' in which he responds to her request that he not tell her why he envies Frank Churchill comes from his (mistaken) assumption that she will not allow their nearly familial relationship to become something else. Once the proposal has been made, nothing can be the same again – or so he seems to acknowledge. He thinks that he is detecting in Emma the very unease that some readers have expressed about the possibility that his protective affection for the much younger woman should become an amorous attachment. When Darcy proposes to Elizabeth for the second time, it is with the possibility of rejection uppermost: 'one word from you will silence me on this subject for ever' (III. xvi). His declaration echoes Captain Wentworth's conclusion to his renewed proposal in Persuasion, 'A word, a look will be enough . . .' (II. xi). He offers himself with all the chance of being refused, and therefore we know he will be accepted. And he shows that a letter, sealing two people apart from the endless company they have to keep, can, after all, be the best kind of proposal.
NINETEEN
When Does Jane Austen Speak Directly to the Reader?
I leave it to my reader's sagacity . . .
Northanger Abbey, II. xv
In Jane Austen's unfinished novel Sanditon the reader gets a jolt from its heroine's pleasure in being admired by a handsome young gentleman. Charlotte Heywood, from whose point of view the story is being told, becomes aware of the attentions of Sir Edward Denham on their first meeting. 'He . . . talked much—& very much to Charlotte, by whom he chanced to be placed . . . she thought him agreable, & did not quarrel with the suspicion of his finding her equally so' (Ch. 7). The jolt is not from the heroine's susceptibility to admiration, it is from the interjection that follows, which removes us entirely from her thoughts. 'I make no apologies for my Heroine's vanity.—If there are young Ladies in the World at her time of Life, more dull of Fancy & more careless of pleasing, I know them not, & never wish to know them.' There are other nineteenth-century novelists like Thackeray or Trollope who regularly intervene in the first person to comment on their own characters and plots, but in Austen it is unusual and surprising. What is she up to? Is she worried that we will think Charlotte flirtatious? Does she really need to fend off criticism of her heroine?
Jane Austen is not supposed to do this sort of thing. 'She is impersonal; she is inscrutable,' wrote Virginia Woolf. Or, as a more recent admirer has put it, 'Here was a truly out-of-body voice, so stirringly free of what it abhorred as "particularity" or "singularity" that it seemed to come from no enunciator at all.' We cannot of course know if the authorial comment in Sanditon would have been preserved in the completed novel, but it is not unprecedented. There is a rather similar example in Mansfield Park. Fanny Price is in Portsmouth, where, to her distress, she has been visited by Henry Crawford. Despite having refused his proposal of marriage, she finds that he is still thrusting his attentions on her. She is walking with him and her sister Susan down the High Street in the town when they meet her father. This is 'pain upon pain, confusion upon confusion', for though Fanny has wanted Mr Crawford's declared affection for her 'to be cured', she cannot bear that it happen this way – by means of his seeing and having to converse with the no doubt drunken Mr Price. Such are Fanny's unspoken thoughts. But then Austen cannot resist adding an explanation of their contradictoriness: '. . . and I believe, there is scarcely a young lady in the united kingdoms, who would not rather put up with the misfortune of being sought by a clever, agreeable man, than have him driven away by the vulgarity of her nearest relations' (III. x). The intervention suddenly shifts Fanny's ordeal away from us and even lets us suspect a little self-regard in her attitude towards Mr Crawford. Surprisingly, Austen appears to be laughing at her supposedly irreproachable heroine. It is especially pointed because it is a small example of the lesson that Fanny is made to learn – that most of those situations she fancies undesirable could be a good deal worse.
'I' says the narrator, and we have every reason to hear the author speaking ('my Heroine' she says in that passage from Sanditon). In Sense and Sensibility, she speaks as 'I' just once, oddly, near the end of the second volume. 'I come now to the relation of a misfortune, which about this time befell Mrs. John Dashwood' (II. xiv). She is narrating something relatively trivial: the mistake made by an acquaintance who assumes wrongly that the Dashwood sisters are her guests in London and therefore includes them in the invitation to a musical party. 'Misfortune' is sardonic, being the word that Mrs John Dashwood might privately use about having her sisters-in-law accompany her. Austen's disdain for this woman has reached its ultimate expression in this wry intervention.
In all Austen's novels but Northanger Abbey, the authorial use of the first-person pronoun is extraordinarily rare and pointed. In three novels we find it in the concluding chapter. At the opening of the final chapter of Pride and Prejudice, we hear of Mrs Bennet's happiness in having married off her two eldest daughters. The second sentence then regrets not being able to reform this wonderfully silly woman as part of the novel's happy ending. 'I wish I could say, for the sake of her family, that the accomplishment of her earnest desire in the establishment of so many of her children, produced so happy an effect as to make her a sensible, amiable, well-informed woman for the rest of her life' (III. xix). It is a dazzling little reality effect, as the author finally appears in her own book to tell us that one of her characters is simply incorrigible. Even Austen cannot chasten her. The author relinquishes her power and Mrs Bennet, with her own particular life force, will go on being as she is.
Austen liked this way of signing off, and employed it again in her next novel, Mansfield Park. Its final chapter again uses the authorial pronoun in the second sentence: 'Let other pens dwell on guilt and misery. I quit such odious subjects as soon as I can, impatient to restore everybody, not greatly in fault themselves, to tolerable comfort, and to have done with all the rest' (III. xvii). At the end of the previous chapter Edmund and Fanny have been talking of Miss Crawford and Edmund's lingering 'disappointment' in her. He will never, he is sure, be able to forget her. The author, however, has no intention of letting him sink into despondency, and must soon stir him into love for Fanny. Fanny herself does not know that Edmund is destined to be her husband, but at least she is back at Mansfield Park, with the Crawfords and Mrs Norris banished and the remaining Bertrams grateful for her presence. 'My Fanny, indeed, at this very time, I have the satisfaction of knowing, must have been happy in spite of everything.' 'I have the satisfaction of knowing . . .': it is a winningly audacious way of tackling the narrative's failure, as yet, to supply final satisfaction: the proper culmination of its love story. It is a tease – she may be satisfied, but the reader is not – as if the author were briefly considering not contriving the consummated pairing of Fanny and Edmund.
'My Fanny'. Fanny is the only heroine to whom Austen refers with this familiarity. Catherine Morland, it is true, is five times called 'my heroine' by the narrator, but only the deceitfully intimate Isabella Thorpe (twice) and her own mother call her 'my Catherine'. 'My Fanny' is extraordinary, reminding us of the special form of intimate address used by Mr Knightley after he and Emma have plighted their troth, 'my Emma'. It denotes both affection and privilege. At the very moment at which we hear the author speak in her own person we hear her expression of fondness for this particular heroine. It is an endearment that Edmund himself has used, just once. Arriving in Portsmouth in high emotion after the elopements of both his sisters he clasps Fanny and exclaims, 'My Fanny—my only sister—my only comfort now' (III. xv). The outburst of love immediately becomes, at the speed of that first dash, merely fraternal. Austen's tease about her 'satisfaction' in knowing Fanny's happiness registers her reader's perplexity as to how this fraternal love for Fanny can become something else. How long will it take?
I purposely abstain from dates on this occasion, that every one may be at liberty to fix their own, aware that the cure of unconquerable passions, and the transfer of unchanging attachments, must vary much as to time in different people.—I only entreat everybody to believe that exactly at the time when it was quite natural that it should be so, and not a week earlier, Edmund did cease to care about Miss Crawford, and became as anxious to marry Fanny, as Fanny herself could desire. (II. xvii)
'I only entreat everybody to believe . . .': as in Pride and Prejudice, the author steps in to let her characters get away from her, turning her real challenge (how can she make us believe this?) into a witty trick.
It is no accident, then, that there is so much of the author in the last chapter of Mansfield Park, nudging us into accepting what the novel is not going to show. In Persuasion, the author again speaks in the first person in the final chapter, though here it is for the only time in the whole novel. She accosts us to assure us that when two young people are determined to marry, 'they are pretty sure by perseverance to carry their point' (II. xii). 'This may be bad morality to conclude with, but I believe it to be truth.' Again, the author speaks directly in order to signal a withdrawal from the lives she has invented, and this time, as many a contemporary reader would have noticed, with a reversal of the logic of many a successful novel. From Richardson's Clarissa onwards, love in English fiction existed to be hampered by foolish parents or misinformed guardians. In a characteristic moment of liberation from the formulae of courtship novels, our author refuses to believe that people cannot get married if they want to. As she does so, she implies that other novelists are more concerned with 'morality' than probability. All three of these interventions have a flavour of repudiation, with the author finally stepping on to the stage in order to refuse to follow some established narrative pattern.
Jane Austen never speaks in the first person in Emma; she cannot insert herself alongside her despotic protagonist. In Northanger Abbey, however, Austen is there all the time. One of the reasons why this novel feels so different from her others is that we are so constantly reminded of the author's presence, arranging and commenting and speaking as herself. Naturally Northanger Abbey has the last-chapter sign-off in the first person of her other novels.
The anxiety, which in this state of their attachment must be the portion of Henry and Catherine, and of all who loved either, as to its final event, can hardly extend, I fear, to the bosom of my readers, who will see in the tell-tale compression of the pages before them, that we are all hastening together to perfect felicity. (II. xvi)
It is a fearless reference to the fact that the reader knows from the physical reality of the very few remaining pages that a happy matrimonial ending is not far away. Suddenly there is the author, who has arranged the novel as an object that we have in our hands. Yet this is but the clinching use of a rhetorical device that has been used in the preceding chapters. Austen speaks in the first person for the first time in Northanger Abbey at the end of the third chapter, where she consigns her heroine to bed and wonders whether she might have dreamed of Henry Tilney, whom she has just met.
I hope it was no more than in a slight slumber, or a morning doze at most; for if it be true, as a celebrated writer has maintained, that no young lady can be justified in falling in love before the gentleman's love is declared,* it must be very improper that a young lady should dream of a gentleman before the gentleman is first known to have dreamt of her. (I. iii)
A footnote (*) refers the reader to an essay by Samuel Richardson for The Rambler, in which he declares 'That a young lady should be in love, and the love of the young gentleman undeclared, is an heterodoxy which prudence, and even policy, must not allow.' Austen intrudes to mock the teaching of this famous novelist that amorous fancies can be subject to some code of propriety.
This 'I' is the same author we hear, though less often, in the later novels, an author who wants to free her reader from any absurd expectations learned from other novels and other novelists. The number of times Austen speaks with the first-person pronoun in Northanger Abbey (fourteen) is a consequence of the author's dedication to debunking the formulae of other novels, but also vindicating the powers of fiction. So the next first-person intervention is to set off on her famous (but how ironical?) defence of the genre. 'Yes, novels; for I will not adopt that ungenerous and impolitic custom so common with novel-writers, of degrading by their contemptuous censure the very performances, to the number of which they are themselves adding . . . I cannot approve of it' (I. v) Austen's mockery of the conventions of fiction also pushes her to speak after the small disaster of Catherine going off with John Thorpe instead of the Tilneys. 'And now I may dismiss my heroine to the sleepless couch, which is the true heroine's portion; to a pillow strewed with thorns and wet with tears. And lucky may she think herself, if she get another good night's rest in the course of the next three months' (I. xi). Or here, when Catherine is brutally dismissed from his house by General Tilney, to travel back to Salisbury on her own:
the author must share in the glory she so liberally bestows. But my affair is widely different; I bring back my heroine to her home in solitude and disgrace; and no sweet elation of spirits can lead me into minuteness. A heroine in a hack post-chaise is such a blow upon sentiment, as no attempt at grandeur or pathos can withstand. (II. xiv)
She names herself as 'the author', something that she never does again in any novel. Most mischievous of all is the delighted explanation of Henry's love for Catherine when she is telling us of their final engagement. 'I must confess that his affection originated in nothing better than gratitude, or, in other words, that a persuasion of her partiality for him had been the only cause of giving her a serious thought' (II. xv). 'I must confess . . .': as if the author were disappointed at the ignoble workings of his affections. 'It is a new circumstance in romance, I acknowledge, and dreadfully derogatory of an heroine's dignity.' In fact, she is repudiating the psychology of love usually served up in novels.
So in Northanger Abbey, 'the reader' is present too, addressed three times directly (but not in any other of Austen's completed novels). 'Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, and Saturday have now passed in review before the reader; the events of each day, its hopes and fears, mortifications and pleasures, have been separately stated, and the pangs of Sunday only now remain to be described, and close the week' (I. xiii). In this novel as never again, the author is joined with the reader in an amused monitoring of her ingenuous heroine. The author's presence is needed because Catherine is so unworldly, and it assures us that she will not really come to harm. She must even be protected from her own self-condemnation. Listening to the Tilneys' educated talk of the picturesque on a walk above Bath, Catherine is 'heartily ashamed' of her ignorance of what makes for a good view (I. xiv). 'A misplaced shame,' the author immediately tells us. 'Where people wish to attach, they should always be ignorant . . . A woman especially, if she have the misfortune of knowing any thing, should conceal it as well as she can.' This ends in a jaundiced worldliness that any biographer would imagine speaks from the author's own experience. Austen's reflections on her unworldly heroine give a singular tone to the narratorial irony of Northanger Abbey. When Catherine is first hooked by Isabella Thorpe, she forgets her interest in Henry Tilney in the excitement of her new 'amity', and the narrator comments: 'Friendship is certainly the finest balm for the pangs of disappointed love' (I. iv). This judgement comes from outside the narrative and can easily be thought of as the wry voice of the author. Catherine has not yet discovered what anyone could properly call 'love', and the 'friendship' of Isabella is entirely a cloak for self-interest, so this slice of sententiousness is the author's faux wisdom. Similarly, when she comments on her heroine's interest in clothes – 'She cannot be justified in it. Dress is at all time a frivolous distinction' (I. x) – it is with the confidence that her reader will hear the author's scorn for such moralism.
Sometimes Jane Austen cannot resist . . .
Austen could not always remain aloof from her creations. She knew very well the impulse to make a mocking comment on people's behaviour, and gave this impulse to her most fallible heroine, Emma Woodhouse. Thus the line preceding Emma's worst act, the mortification of Miss Bates at Box Hill: 'Emma could not resist' (III. vii). Sometimes Jane Austen cannot resist either. Take the introduction in Emma of Frank Churchill's plans to arrange a ball in Highbury.
It may be possible to do without dancing entirely. Instances have been known of young people passing many, many months successively, without being at any ball of any description, and no material injury accrue either to body or mind;—but when a beginning is made—when the felicities of rapid motion have once been, though slightly, felt—it must be a very heavy set that does not ask for more. (II. xi)
This is larded with irony, but parades itself as commentary from personal experience. Even in later novels, she sometimes cannot resist, usually when awakening the reader to the difference between fact and wishfulness. In Mansfield Park, when the Bertrams and the Crawfords go riding in the hot weather, 'there were shady lanes wherever they wanted to go'. There is not a pause before Austen adds, 'A young party is always provided with a shady lane' (I. vii). She could not resist the remark. All that supposed shade was the excuse for the young people to do what they wanted to do anyway. When Austen describes Miss Goddard's school in Emma, she really cannot resist having a stab at modern girls' schools 'which professed, in long sentences of refined nonsense, to combine liberal acquirements with elegant morality upon new principles and new systems—and where young ladies for enormous pay might be screwed out of health and into vanity' (I. iii). Where does this come from? We are being told of something that does not occur to any of the characters in the novel. Is it sharp social commentary, or a bee in the authorial bonnet?
In her last completed novel, the devil in Austen produces comments that have taken readers aback down the years. As Captain Wentworth sits on the sofa with Mrs Musgrove in order kindly to condole with her over the death of her scapegrace son, Austen fails to imitate his 'self-command'. She cannot resist reflecting on how ridiculous a fat person's grief can seem.
Personal size and mental sorrow have certainly no necessary proportions. A large bulky figure has as good a right to be in deep affliction, as the most graceful set of limbs in the world. But, fair or not fair, there are unbecoming conjunctions, which reason will patronize in vain—which taste cannot tolerate—which ridicule will seize. (I. viii)
Ridicule, in the person of the author herself, has certainly seized this opportunity in a manner that many have often found 'not fair'. The author who occasionally intervenes in Persuasion cannot help laughing at what we might think sad. She steps aside from the drama on the Cobb just after Louisa Musgrove's fall to comment on the growing crowd collected 'to enjoy the sight of a dead young lady, nay, two dead young ladies, for it proved twice as fine as the first report' (I. xii). What the characters think of as tragedy is suddenly, from the author's perspective, a comedy. In this melancholy novel, a satirical author sometimes cannot stop herself from intervening. When Lady Russell calls at Uppercross at Christmas, the house is full of loud, cheerful children and she is relieved when she departs for Bath. But the author must tell us that Lady Russell's ears are not always so sensitive. 'Every body has their taste in noises as well as in other matters; and sounds are quite innoxious, or most distressing, by their sort rather than their quantity' (II. ii). She cannot abide the infant tumult at the Musgroves', but her spirits rise at the din of Bath when she enters the town in her carriage.
The literary admirer of Jane Austen does not want to know her views from her novels, for they are most apparent when her interpolated comments seem unsettlingly unironical. When, in Mansfield Park, Henry Crawford is not punished by the world as harshly as the former Mrs Rushworth, Austen explicitly acknowledges and regrets this inequality. 'That punishment, the public punishment of disgrace, should in a just measure attend his share of the offence is, we know, not one of the barriers which society gives to virtue. In this world the penalty is less equal than could be wished' (III. xvii). That 'we' is both the author and the reader, recognising together that a woman is for ever tainted by such an 'offence', while a man may go on in the world. It is in Sense and Sensibility, however, that we find a vein of authorial opinion that is diluted out of her subsequent novels. Take our introduction to the Steele sisters, who win over Lady Middleton by their rapturous attentions to her children. 'Fortunately for those who pay their court through such foibles, a fond mother, though, in pursuit of praise for her children, the most rapacious of human beings, is likewise the most credulous; her demands are exorbitant; but she will swallow anything' (I. xxi). This is amusing enough, but it is the dry observation of an author. The balanced and paradoxical form of her sentences in this novel seem to entice her to sententiousness.Take this, on Mrs John Dashwood's having Elinor and Marianne as companions in some of her London social forays:
Mrs. John Dashwood was obliged to submit not only to the exceedingly great inconvenience of sending her carriage for the Miss Dashwoods, but, what was still worse, must be subject to all the unpleasantness of appearing to treat them with attention: and who could tell that they might not expect to go out with her a second time? The power of disappointing them, it was true, must always be hers. But that was not enough; for when people are determined on a mode of conduct which they know to be wrong, they feel injured by the expectation of any thing better from them. (II. xiv)
That last sentence is just what we might expect from a well-meaning novelist of the period. Here is Maria Edgeworth in Patronage, published just three years after Sense and Sensibility, explaining why Caroline Percy's suitor Mr Barclay has not made more of an effort to persuade her to listen to his declarations of affection for her.
Love . . . let poets and lovers say what they will to the contrary, can no more subsist without hope than flame can exist without fuel. In all the cases cited to prove the contrary, we suspect that there has been some inaccuracy in the experiment, and that by mistake, a little, a very little hope has been admitted.
The obligation of a serious author is to offer us insights into the paradoxes of human behaviour. Here is Mary Brunton in her novel Self-Control, published a year before Sense and Sensibility, telling us that the rakish Colonel Hargrave is likely to fall short of even the very modest reformation (no more seducing servant girls) he plans in order to win pious Laura Montreville.
It might be supposed, that when the scale of duty which we trace is low, we should be more likely to reach the little eminence at which we aspire; but experience shews us, that they who poorly circumscribe the Christian race, stop as much short of their humble design, as does he of nobler purpose, whose glorious goal is perfection.
In Sense and Sensibility, Austen still has some of this wisdom-giving manner of her contemporaries, but she has another reason for authorial intervention that is unique to this novel: Marianne Dashwood. Austen finds the character so provoking that she sometimes cannot resist diagnosis and judgement. This is particularly clear in the wake of Willoughby's sudden departure, when Marianne retreats into an agonised display of wounded sensibility. 'She was without any power, because she was without any desire of command over herself' (I. xv). The analysis is not in Elinor's thoughts; it is the author passing judgement on Marianne's display of distress. This is Austen informing us of what we might not otherwise correctly perceive. The impression is confirmed by the next chapter, which begins with a description of Marianne's incessant weeping and her refusal to sleep or eat or even speak. She gives her mother and sisters pain, but will not be consoled by them. The author is pushed to an exclamation. 'Her sensibility was potent enough!' (I. xvi) We can hear all the author's scorn for the display of 'sensibility' in the sarcasm with which this demands to be read.
The exclamation mark indicates that the author, exasperated or disbelieving, has just had to speak. At the end of the opening chapter of Mansfield Park, Mrs Price, a little mystified at the Bertrams' decision to adopt one of her girls rather than one of her boys, has written to excuse Fanny's delicacy with the hope that she might be better for a 'change of air'. Austen is stopped by the truth behind the platitude. 'Poor woman! she probably thought change of air might agree with many of her children' (I. i). It is an odd device, by which the author has a good guess at the thoughts of a character she has herself invented. It is used with delicious sarcasm in Persuasion when Sir Walter Elliot fishes for compliments from Elizabeth and Mrs Clay by saying that women look at him and Colonel Wallis in the street in Bath because Colonel Wallis is 'a fine military figure' (II. iii). 'Modest Sir Walter!' exclaims someone who can only be the author. The opposite is surely true: Sir Walter is fully expecting to be told that his looks, not his companion's, are the cause of fluttering female attention. The character's vanity is so overwhelming that it has provoked even the author to derision. Similarly when Lady Russell, a 'good woman' who often excites ridicule from her creator, decides that Sir Walter's move to Bath is an excellent thing, Austen is nettled into an outburst. 'How quick come the reasons for approving what we like!' (I. ii). So they do. Yet the general aphorism has a special dramatic force. The author is driven to speak by the self-serving reasoning of her own character. She is struck by Lady Russell's behaviour, as if she were observing her rather than creating her. The author speaks for the best reason that an author can have: to credit her character with a life all of her own.
TWENTY
How Experimental a Novelist Is Jane Austen?
Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband.
Pride and Prejudice, I. xxii
Jane Austen knew that her novels were different. You can see it in her 'Plan of a Novel, according to hints from various quarters', which she wrote in around 1816, not long after publishing Emma. Based on the 'hints' (by which she means requests) of particular relations and acquaintances, it is also a list of ingredients learned from the very many novels that she had read. There was no doubt what would be expected of a female protagonist: 'Heroine a faultless Character herself—, perfectly good, with much tenderness & sentiment, & not the least Wit . . . All the Good will be unexceptionable in every respect—and there will be no foibles or weaknessses but with the Wicked, who will be completely depraved & infamous.' Her own notes indicate that her niece Fanny Knight, whom she elsewhere recorded 'could not bear Emma herself', had wanted a faultless protagonist, and that family friend Mary Cooke had preferred a heroine without wit. No more Elizabeth Bennets. The notion that a heroine should be faultless, which now sounds psychologically so improbable, would have been entirely familiar to a keen novel-reader of the period. It went back to the hugely influential fiction of Samuel Richardson, who, according to Henry Austen, was his sister's own favourite. When he revised his great novel Clarissa in response to what he thought were misreadings of the novel, Richardson upbraided critics who had suggested that his heroine was at fault in her conduct towards either her family or her would-be seducer, Lovelace. 'As far as she could be perfect, considering the people she had to deal with and those with whom she was inseparably connected, she is perfect.'
'Pictures of perfection as you know make me sick & wicked,' Austen wrote in a letter to Fanny Knight just a few months before her death (Letters, 155). Fanny had set a suitor, James Wildman, to read her aunt's novels (without telling him the identity of their author) and he had evidently objected that her female characters were not exemplary. 'I particularly respect him for wishing to think well of all young Ladies; it shews an amiable & a delicate Mind.' So 'faultless' is a word for heavy irony. In Austen's novels it is first used of a woman in Mansfield Park, and incredibly it is applied to Maria Bertram. 'Maria was indeed the pride and delight of them all—perfectly faultless—an angel' (I. iv). As a fragment of narration it seems extraordinary, but in context we see that it reflects Mrs Norris's opinion, and probably her words: not just 'faultless', but 'perfectly faultless'. The phrase dooms her. In Emma, it is Mr Knightley's word for Emma, immediately after she has accepted his proposal. 'He had ridden home through the rain; and had walked up directly after dinner, to see how this sweetest and best of all creatures, faultless in spite of all her faults, bore the discovery' (III. xiii). Even at his most enamoured, Mr Knightley knows that it is a lover's paradox. For has he not qualified to be her husband by being 'one of the few people who could see faults in Emma Woodhouse, and the only one who ever told her of them' (I. i)?
Austen's interest in her heroines' faults and errors was in itself something extraordinary in fiction. Yet the novelty went beyond this. She also developed techniques for showing the contradictoriness or even obscurity of her protagonist's motivations. Here is a typical heroine of a late eighteenth-century novel by probably the most accomplished woman novelist before Austen. It is from the opening chapter of Fanny Burney's Cecilia (1782).
But though thus largely indebted to fortune, to nature she had yet greater obligations: her form was elegant, her heart was liberal; her countenance announced the intelligence of her mind, her complexion varied with every emotion of her soul, and her eyes, the heralds of her speech, now beamed with understanding and now glistened with sensibility.
From 'her countenance . . .' onwards it is impossible to imagine Austen writing any of this. This heroine's outward and inner self are, in a sense, the same. She looks as she is. Her every feeling is apparently legible. And because she has to possess in fullest measure the qualities of a heroine – 'understanding' and 'sensibility' – we get all that beaming and glistening. Cecilia has much to endure before she manages to marry the man she loves, but, like most heroines before Austen, she never has to endure discovering that she has been fooled by her own feelings. Austen gave her readers an entirely new sense of a person's inner life, but through new kinds of narrative rather than new insights into human nature.
Nothing is more important in fiction than the means by which a novel renders a character's thoughts.
The managing of the attraction between Elizabeth and Mr Darcy, for instance, is a triumph of technique as much as of psychological subtlety. Elizabeth Bennet is an unprecedented creation not just because of her wit and 'archness', but because Austen is able to give us a sense of her self-ignorance. At the ball at Netherfield she is disappointed by Wickham's absence and dances first with Mr Collins and then with one of the officers.
When those dances were over, she returned to Charlotte Lucas, and was in conversation with her, when she found herself suddenly addressed by Mr. Darcy who took her so much by surprise in his application for her hand, that, without knowing what she did, she accepted him. He walked away again immediately, and she was left to fret over her own want of presence of mind. (I. xviii)
'Without knowing what she did'. It is the most innocent of phrases, but read one way directs us to perhaps the most important fact about Pride and Prejudice for most readers: the strong current of attraction between two characters who are superficially at odds. Elizabeth does something despite herself and by accepting the character's own version of what has happened – fretting over 'her own want of presence of mind' – the narrator encourages the reader to imagine another explanation. She does the same thing with Mr Darcy.
He wisely resolved to be particularly careful that no sign of admiration should now escape him, nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity; sensible that if such an idea had been suggested, his behaviour during the last day must have material weight in confirming or crushing it. (I. xii)
That 'wisely' is exquisite. You could call it Austen's irony, as she commends the self-control that will eventually turn out to have been a self-delusion. But it is also something like Mr Darcy's self-commendation, for the sentence clearly adopts his own stiff and self-important turn of phrase: 'nothing that could elevate her with the hope of influencing his felicity'.
'Till this moment, I never knew myself,' Elizabeth famously cries when she has read Mr Darcy's letter and reflects on her own folly at having believed everything Wickham told her (II. xiii). Austen's most powerful innovation was to realise this lack of self-knowledge in the very voice of the narration. In Emma she concentrates this effect as never before, narrating almost entirely from her heroine's point of view and bending reality to match her preconceptions. We hear Emma, as we heard Mr Darcy, commending her own judgement. As Harriet Smith's visits to Hartfield become 'a settled thing', Emma congratulates herself: '. . . in every respect as she saw more of her, she approved her, and was confirmed in all her kind designs' (I. iv). That 'kind' is Emma's complacent thought about her own motivations; the approval is not so much for Harriet as for herself. Emma's self-delusions are not the subject of the narration, they are its very substance. Here she is with Frank Churchill, who has been summoned back to Yorkshire, and who she thinks is on the verge of a marriage proposal.
He was silent. She believed he was looking at her; probably reflecting on what she had said, and trying to understand the manner. She heard him sigh. It was natural for him to feel that he had cause to sigh. He could not believe her to be encouraging him. A few awkward moments passed, and he sat down again . . . (II. xii)
We pass easily from what Emma supposes, to what she hears, to what seems to be fact. The cause of his sighing is not at all what she thinks. The drama of the moment is all in her imagination: he is, we later discover, considering telling her of his engagement to Jane Fairfax. Yet the narration behaves as if ruled by her consciousness.
Much later, in the twentieth century, critics came to call this technique 'free indirect style'. It is the most important narrative technique of novelists like Gustave Flaubert, Henry James, James Joyce and Franz Kafka. A third-person narrative takes on the habits of thought or even speech of a particular character. It is a style in which, as one admirer of Austen's formal daring has put it, 'the narration's way of saying is constantly both mimicking, and distancing itself from, the character's way of seeing'. Nothing is more important in fiction than the means by which a novel renders a character's thoughts. This is what novels were designed to do. 'The real world becomes fiction only by revealing the hidden side of the human beings who inhabit it.' The critic who wrote this, Dorrit Cohn, acknowledged Jane Austen as 'the first extensive practitioner' of what she calls 'narrated monologue' – her name for free indirect style. There is some disagreement about how easy it is to find earlier examples of the technique. David Lodge acknowledges Austen as the first great pioneer of the technique, while finding some sparse examples in Fanny Burney's later fiction. Jane Spencer detects glimmerings of free indirect style in the fiction of Austen's most notable contemporary, Maria Edgeworth, and something like the germ of the technique in the same novel that Lodge scrutinises, Fanny Burney's Camilla (1796). Certainly it is possible to find contemporaries of Austen who inserted the thoughts of their characters into the narrative without quotation marks. Here is Laura Montreville, the heroine of Mary Brunton's Self-Control, after she has been propositioned by the 'impetuous' Colonel Hargrave: 'He might now renew his visits, and how was it possible to prevent this? Should she now refuse to see him, her father must be made acquainted with the cause of such a refusal, and she could not doubt that the consequences would be such as she shuddered to think of.' Yet this is close to the omniscient reporting of her thoughts by the narrator. There is no room to doubt either what she is feeling, or what the reality of her situation is.
Extraordinarily, Austen not only discovered the possibilities of free indirect style, she produced in Emma an example of its use that has hardly been matched. So confident did she feel about her control of the technique that she made her plot depend upon it. When Harriet tells her that there is another man to whom she is becoming attached, Emma thinks she knows just what her protégé is saying. After the debacle of the Mr Elton misunderstanding, she imagines that she is being self-controlled when she tells Harriet that they will not actually mention the man whom she wishes to marry: 'Let no name ever pass our lips'. In fact Emma is condemning herself to the most painful of errors. Her mistakenness is dutifully followed by the narrator, who shares with her the illusion that Harriet wishes to marry Frank Churchill. So committed is the narration to this error that there is no room for any other perspective. When Emma meets Harriet after both women have learned of the death of Mrs Churchill, we have this: 'Harriet behaved extremely well on the occasion, with great self-command. Whatever she might feel of brighter hope, she betrayed nothing. Emma was gratified, to observe such a proof in her of strengthened character, and refrained from any allusion that might endanger its maintenance' (III. ix). To wonderfully comic effect, the narration copies Emma's confidence. Utterly wrong-headed as is this vision of events – Harriet is in fact entirely apathetic about the consequences of Mrs Churchill's death – it is also unwavering. It serves the plot of the novel because it is quite likely that a first-time reader will not even discern that this passage is revealing Emma at her most deluded. For the reader who does see this, there is the deeper pleasure of seeing how Emma is working against herself. Harriet has her eyes on Mr Knightley and Emma has encouraged her. All that queenly pleasure at her own influence ('Emma was gratified, to observe . . .') means she is heading for a fall.
One of the qualities of Emma is that the warping of reality by its heroine is at its least obvious when it is at its most complete. This would not work so well if there were not passages where Emma's thinking is more directly dramatised. 'The hair was curled, and the maid sent away, and Emma sat down to think and be miserable.—It was a wretched business indeed!—Such an overthrow of every thing she had been wishing for!—Such a development of every thing most unwelcome!—Such a blow for Harriet!—That was the worst of all.' The exclamation marks are the sure sign that we are following the movement of Emma's thoughts. Indeed, attending to this punctuation mark should help guide us past some of the pitfalls for critics, who might mistake Emma's judgments for the author's. Here, from near the end of the novel, is the revelation of Harriet's parentage.
She proved to be the daughter of a tradesman, rich enough to afford her the comfortable maintenance which had ever been hers, and decent enough to have always wished for concealment.—Such was the blood of gentility which Emma had formerly been so ready to vouch for!—It was likely to be as untainted, perhaps, as the blood of many a gentleman: but what a connexion had she been preparing for Mr. Knightley—or for the Churchills—or even for Mr. Elton!—The stain of illegitimacy, unbleached by nobility or wealth, would have been a stain indeed. (III. xix)
Emma may have been happily relieved of some illusions by Mr Knightley's declaration, but we can still follow her prejudices.
In Emma, narrative is refracted almost entirely through the consciousness of one character: Emma. In both Pride and Prejudice and Mansfield Park it allows access to the minds of many different characters, even if the heroines predominate. Here is an almost surreptitious example from Mansfield Park. We have been watching the Crawfords and Bertrams argue over the allocation of parts in their performance of Lovers' Vows and have seen Maria gain the desired role of Agatha ahead of her sister Julia. Now she will be able to enjoy all her tender scenes with Frederick, played by Henry Crawford. Julia is left to sulk.
The sister with whom she was used to be on easy terms was now become her greatest enemy: they were alienated from each other; and Julia was not superior to the hope of some distressing end to the attentions which were still carrying on there, some punishment to Maria for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr. Rushworth. (I. xvii)
The sentence opens with the provision of information about Julia's unstated feelings, but soon begins to slide into something more indirect. If we ask ourselves what 'some distressing end' might actually mean, we see that it is an evasive phrase for a scandalous outcome: Maria's disgrace in the eyes of her husband-to-be. The sentence ends with a whole-hearted adoption of what must be Julia's own thought pattern, imagining Maria's punishment 'for conduct so shameful towards herself as well as towards Mr. Rushworth'. 'Shameful' is not the author's word, it is Julia's, as she pretends to herself that she is exercising moral judgement rather than feeling mere envy. You can see her make herself believe that she feels as she does towards her sister because of her conduct towards Mr Rushworth. You might almost have forgotten that Julia really wants Henry Crawford for herself. Austen's extraordinary narrative sophistication allows us not just to know but somehow to experience Julia's hypocrisy.
One suspects that it was a special delight to Austen to smuggle in the judgements of some of her characters. A good example is Charlotte Lucas in Pride and Prejudice reflecting on her success in coaxing Mr Collins into a proposal of marriage, which she has just accepted. 'Her reflections were in general satisfactory. Mr. Collins, to be sure, was neither sensible nor agreeable; his society was irksome, and his attachment to her must be imaginary. But still he would be her husband' (I. xxii). Without 'to be sure', the first half of that sentence might be the narrator's assertion; the otherwise redundant phrase lets us hear it as Charlotte's internal speech. Equally, if it said 'his attachment to her was imaginary' we would be being told something. The 'must be' makes it into the character's unspoken reflection. The narration takes on the logic of Charlotte Lucas's thoughts and lets us almost hear her calculating. 'Must' often works like this in Austen's free indirect style. When Emma first has Harriet Smith visiting Hartfield, we are told that she is so becomingly deferential and 'artlessly impressed' that 'she must have good sense' (I. iii). This is the echo of Emma's self-regard. Or again, 'The friends from whom she had just parted, though very good sort of people, must be doing her harm . . . they must be coarse and unpolished.' This has nothing to do with reality: each 'must' is Emma building her own self-gratifying story. A little later, describing Harriet's traces of 'taste', the narrative adds 'though strength of understanding must not be expected', and we have the smack of Emma's complacent superiority (I. iv). When Emma thinks about Harriet's supposed attachment to Frank Churchill, a 'must' realises Emma's strange preoccupation. 'Its tendency would be to raise and refine her mind—and it must be saving her from the danger of degradation' (III. iv).
The trick is used to very different effect in Persuasion. We can feel the hopelessness of this self-lacerating, self-deceiving 'must' in the passage describing Anne Elliot's reaction to her sister's report of Captain Wentworth's comment about her: '"So altered that he should not have known her again!" These were words which could not but dwell with her. Yet she soon began to rejoice that she had heard them. They were of sobering tendency; they allayed agitation; they composed, and consequently must make her happier' (I. vii). 'Must make her happier'? This is self-delusion of a special kind. We might call it self-mortification. That rejoicing is an effort of correct thinking on Anne's part, beneath which we can sense her pain even more painfully. We are caught up in the very effort to make something good of something so excruciating. In Persuasion Austen takes to a new extreme the narrative technique she had pioneered. Take a small part of the description of Anne Elliot's meeting with Captain Wentworth after eight years apart.
Her eye half met Captain Wentworth's; a bow, a curtsey passed; she heard his voice—he talked to Mary; said all that was right; said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing: the room seemed full—full of persons and voices—but a few minutes ended it. Charles shewed himself at the window, all was ready, their visitor had bowed and was gone. (I. vii)
As Gillian Beer notices, we often seem to be not just in Anne Elliot's mind, but in her body. 'When she looks down, the scene is described to us only through hearing; when her eyes are lowered we see only what falls within her field of vision.' Even the contraction of time, an ordinary fact of much narrative report, here becomes foregrounded. It all hurries past us, as it hurried past her.
Such impressionistic effects were new to fiction and are hardly paralleled before the twentieth century. Austen carried them over into dialogue, where she showed that direct speech could be used to represent not so much what was said as what others might have heard. Here is Mrs Elton at the party at Donwell Abbey, talking as she picks strawberries.
'The best fruit in England—every body's favourite—always wholesome. These the finest beds and finest sorts.—Delightful to gather for one's self—the only way of really enjoying them.—Morning decidedly the best time—never tired—every sort good—hautboys infinitely superior—no comparison—the others hardly eatable—hautboys very scarce—Chili preferred—white wood finest flavour of all—price of strawberries in London—abundance about Bristol—Maple Grove—cultivation—beds when to be renewed—gardeners thinking exactly different—no general rule—gardeners never to be put out of their way—delicious fruit—only too rich to be eaten much of—inferior to cherries—currants more refreshing—only objection to gathering strawberries the stooping—glaring sun—tired to death—could bear it no longer—must go and sit in the shade.' (III. vi)
It is an extraordinarily impressionistic rendering of talk that becomes a slightly mad monologue. 'Such, for half an hour, was the conversation.' Conversation with Mrs Elton is not much like an exchange, so there is justice in stripping out all voices except hers. The ability to enter into dialogue at all is an achievement. Marilyn Butler observes of Emma: 'The comic characters are monologuists, whereas Emma, like Mr. Knightley, is supreme in dialogue.' The condensation of Mrs Elton's outpouring is fitting because the other guests at the party must be in the habit of not listening to much of what she says. A dedicated talker, she is condemned on this hot day to talk herself into exhaustion.
In his standard work on speech in fiction, Norman Page talks of the convention 'much favoured by Jane Austen, whereby the novelist is permitted to conflate into a single speech what must probably be supposed to have been uttered as several separate speeches'. In fact, this convention seems invented by Austen. At one extreme it is used for the 'incessant flow' of Miss Bates. Other people must sometimes be speaking during her unstoppable monologues, but their interventions or responses are excised. Take a slice of her talk at the ball at the Crown.
'Thank you, my mother is remarkably well. Gone to Mr. Woodhouse's. I made her take her shawl—for the evenings are not warm—her large new shawl— Mrs. Dixon's wedding-present.—So kind of her to think of my mother! Bought at Weymouth, you know—Mr. Dixon's choice. There were three others, Jane says, which they hesitated about some time. Colonel Campbell rather preferred an olive. My dear Jane, are you sure you did not wet your feet?—It was but a drop or two, but I am so afraid:—but Mr. Frank Churchill was so extremely—and there was a mat to step upon—I shall never forget his extreme politeness.—Oh! Mr. Frank Churchill, I must tell you my mother's spectacles have never been in fault since; the rivet never came out again. My mother often talks of your good-nature. Does not she, Jane?—Do not we often talk of Mr. Frank Churchill?—' (III. ii)
Other people are saying things, but their words are simply smothered. The contraction of time is part of the effect, as if the dialogue were boiling down the effects of listening to this character.
Even better, if we were to be able to hear what Jane Fairfax or Frank Churchill were saying we might detect their awkwardness. Miss Bates goes on about Weymouth and Frank Churchill's visit to mend the spectacles, and the subtext is the relationship between these two. In fact, Miss Bates is the novel's most reliable witness, being so circumstantial that no one listens to what she is saying. She provides a record of the goings-on in Highbury from which you could, if you were attentive, derive the true story. The fact that her monologues contain all the clues to the hidden plot of Emma was first pointed out by Mary Lascelles in her book Jane Austen and her Art, but readers and critics continue to miss the fact. Examine Miss Bates's speeches closely enough and you will get all that is hidden and important – but you will never look closely enough. P. D. James wrote of Emma as a detective story, but even she missed what would properly belong to a detective story: that the important clues are to be found in the unattended ramblings of a character beneath our notice.
'I am a talker you know; I am rather a talker; and now and then I have let a thing escape me which I should not. I am not like Jane; I wish I were. I will answer for it she never betrayed the least thing in the world. Where is she?—Oh! Just behind. Perfectly remember Mrs. Perry's coming.—Extraordinary dream indeed!' (III. v)
This is just after Miss Bates has revealed Frank Churchill's blunder about Mr Perry getting a carriage. In another ramble, she lets anyone who is attending know that Jane Fairfax's decision to accept Mrs Elton's implicitly hellish posting as a governess with the Smallridges was connected to, and directly followed, news of a chaise having been ordered to Randalls to take Frank Churchill off to Richmond (III. viii). Just listen to Miss Bates and you will understand what has been going on! As she says herself, she betrays everything.
The impression of Miss Bates's outpouring is shared by everyone present. All hear her, though none interpret her. With Miss Bates, everything is spoken. What free indirect style is able to render for Austen is the opposite of this, what cannot be spoken. Persuasion is characterised by the heroine's absence from speech and events around her – an inwardness so absorbing that things happen to her in a kind of blur, even though we can be sure that the other characters are not noticing. Thus when Captain Wentworth helps Anne into the Crofts' carriage – 'Yes, —he had done it. She was in the carriage, and felt that he had placed her there' (I. x). The narration is accurate to her feelings, though hardly at all to the objective reality. 'She understood him. He could not forgive her . . .': but she does not understand him at all. Austen pioneered a narration that could mimic not just how a character might think, but also how she might avoid thinking. An early, unsettling example is this description of Elinor Dashwood's reaction to the news that she, her mother and her sisters are to leave their home in Sussex for Devon.
Elinor had always thought it would be more prudent for them to settle at some distance from Norland, than immediately amongst their present acquaintance. On that head, therefore, it was not for her to oppose her mother's intention of removing into Devonshire. The house, too, as described by Sir John, was on so simple a scale, and the rent so uncommonly moderate, as to leave her no right of objection on either point; and, therefore, though it was not a plan which brought any charm to her fancy, though it was a removal from the vicinity of Norland beyond her wishes, she made no attempt to dissuade her mother from sending a letter of acquiescence. (I. iv)
The language of this is very close to Elinor's own reasoning process, but in following this it fails to mention the subtext: that Elinor loves Edward, and that moving to Devon means moving away from him. The narrative has taken on all her slightly chilly self-control.
As well as allowing the narrative to be shaped by a character's thoughts, Austen also had a technique for the suggestive avoidance of those thoughts. In Mansfield Park Edmund and Mary Crawford are discussing the character and occupation of clergymen, with the latter using the example of Dr Grant to show that members of the clergy are often not admirable men. Miss Crawford wishes Fanny a better fate than to be married to such a man, 'quarrelling about green goose' all week.
'I think the man who could often quarrel with Fanny,' said Edmund, affectionately, 'must be beyond the reach of any sermons.'
Fanny turned farther into the window; and Miss Crawford had only time to say, in a pleasant manner, 'I fancy Miss Price has been more used to deserve praise than to hear it,' when being earnestly invited by the Miss Bertrams to join in a glee, she tripped off to the instrument, leaving Edmund looking after her in an ecstasy of admiration of all her many virtues, from her obliging manners down to her light and graceful tread (I. xi).
Fanny turns into the window, and turns away from us too, for Austen absents herself from knowing, or anyway from telling us, what her heroine feels. The turning away dramatises the pitch of Fanny's feeling. Mary Crawford senses something, and covers the awkward moment graciously, but she does not know the half of what Fanny feels. The narrator's own reserve about Fanny's feelings enacts the character's own tenderness on the subject of her love for Edmund. She hardly dare admit to herself her impossible passion. Austen's audacious narrative technique allows Fanny's feelings to be the undercurrent of the narrative, without becoming its subject. Any novelist can tell us what a character feels; Austen developed a means of declining to tell us. In doing so she bequeathed new technical possibilities to later novelists. Catch the dramatic and narrative subtley of what Austen is doing as Fanny turns away from us and we indeed catch her in what Virginia Woolf called 'the act of greatness'. Characteristically, this moment of audacious fictional experiment is also an instance of the most perfect reticence.
Notes
Introduction
British Critic, July 1816, in Brian Southam, ed., Jane Austen. The Critical Heritage 1811–1870 (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1968), p. 71.
Gentleman's Magazine, September 1816, ibid., p. 72.
Henry Austen, 'Biographical Notice of the Author', in J. E. Austen-Leigh, A Memoir of Jane Austen and Other Family Recollections, ed. Kathryn Sutherland (Oxford: World's Classics, 2002), p. 140.
Henry Austen, 'Memoir of Miss Austen', ibid., p. 150.
Virginia Woolf, 'Jane Austen at Sixty', Nation and Athenaeum, 15 December 1923, reprinted in The Essays of Virginia Woolf, Vol. IV, ed. Andrew McNeillie (London: The Hogarth Press, 1994), p. 155.
The Journal of Sir Walter Scott, ed. W.E.K. Anderson (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1972), 14 March 1826, p. 114.
Henry James, 'The Lesson of Balzac' (1905) in Brian Southam, ed., Jane Austen, pp. 229–30.
Ibid, p. 300.
Vladimir Nabokov, Lectures on Literature, ed. Fredson Bowers (San Diego, CA: Harcourt, 1982), p. 13.
The Nabokov–Wilson Letters, ed. Simon Karlinsky (New York: Harper & Row, 1979), letter of 5 May 1950, p. 241.
Ibid., letter of 9 May 1950, p. 243.
Ibid., cited in Karlinsky introduction, p. 17.
Chapter 1: How Much Does Age Matter?
See E. A. Wrigley and R. S. Schofield, The Population History of England 1541–1871. A Reconstruction (1981; reprinted Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002), p. 255.
R. A. Austen-Leigh, ed., Austen Papers 1704–1856, introduction by David Gilson (London: Routledge/Thoemmes, 1995), pp. 156–7.
William Austen-Leigh and Richard Arthur Austen-Leigh, Jane Austen: A Family Record, rev. Deirdre Le Faye (London: The British Library, 1989), p. 134, and Hazel Jones, Jane Austen and Marriage (London: Continuum, 2009), p. 39.
Chapter 2: Do Sisters Sleep Together?
London Review of Books, 17. 24 (14 December 1995), p. 4. For Terry Castle's original article, see LRB, 17. 15 (3 August 1995), pp. 3–6. For the evidence, see Edward Copeland, 'The Austens and the Elliots: A Consumer's Guide to Persuasion', in Juliet McMaster and Bruce Stovel (eds), Jane Austen's Business: Her World and Her Profession (Basingstoke: Macmillan, 1996), p. 137.
Quoted in Kate Chisholm, Fanny Burney: Her Life (London: Chatto & Windus, 1998), p. 117.
See Amanda Vickery, Behind Closed Doors: At Home in Georgian England (London: Yale University Press, 2009), for contemporary evidence of husbands and wives having separate bedrooms.
Chapter 3: What Do the Characters Call Each Other?
Just one of the peculiarities of terms of address in Austen's fiction observed in Isaac Schapera, Kinship Terminology in Jane Austen's Novels (London: The Royal Anthropological Institute, 1977), p. 2.
The novels in which they feature are Samuel Richardson, Clarissa (1747-8), Fanny Burney, Evelina (1778), Cecilia (1782) and Camilla (1796), and Charlotte Smith, Emmeline (1788).
Maggie Lane, Jane Austen and Names (Bristol: Blaise Books, 2002)., pp. 12–13.
See E. G. Withycombe, The Oxford Dictionary of English Christian Names (1950; reprinted Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1973), p. 199.
Lane, Names, p. 33.
Ibid., p. 35.
Chapter 4: How Do Jane Austen's Characters Look?
Laurence Sterne, Tristram Shandy, ed. Melvyn and Joan New (London: Penguin, 1997), Vol. VI, Ch. xxxviii, p. 388.
Chapter 5: Who Dies in the Course of Her Novels?
Henry Fielding, Tom Jones, ed. John Bender and Simon Stern (Oxford: World's Classics, 1996), Vol. II, Ch. viii, p. 95.
See Anne Buck, Dress in Eighteenth-Century England (London: B. T. Batsford, 1979), pp. 60–6 and 82–5.
Phillis Cunnington and Catherine Lucas, Costume for Births, Marriages and Deaths (London: A & C Black, 1972), pp. 244–5.
Buck, Dress, p. 60.
Cunnington and Lucas, Costume, p. 268.
Fanny Burney, Evelina, ed. Edward A. Bloom (Oxford: World's Classics, 1982), p. 53.
Alison Adburgham, Shops and Shopping 1800–1914 (1964; reprinted London: Allen & Unwin, 1981), p. 59.
Linda Bree, introduction to Persuasion (Peterborough, Ontario: Broadview Press, 1998), p. 13.
Jane Austen, Catherine and Other Writings, ed. Margaret Anne Doody and Douglas Murray (Oxford: World's Classics 1993), p. 234.
See Wrigley and Schofield, The Population History of England, p. 249.
See Deirdre Le Faye's biographical index to Jane Austen's Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 495.
Chapter 6: Why Is It Risky to Go to the Seaside?
Allan Brodie, Colin Ellis, David Stuart and Gary Winter, Weymouth's Seaside Heritage (Swindon: English Heritage, 2006), p. 9.
David Selwyn, Jane Austen and Leisure (London: Hambledon, 1999), p. 47.
See Roger Sales, Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England (London: Routledge, 1994), pp. 141–2.
John K. Walton, The English Seaside Resort: A Social History 1750–1914 (Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1983), p. 17.
Ibid., pp. 126–7.
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 134.
Alain Corbin, The Lure of the Sea: The Discovery of the Seaside, 1750–1840 (1994; reprinted London: Penguin, 1995), pp. 66–7.
Ibid., p. 272.
Tony Tanner, Jane Austen (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986), p. 262.
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 124.
Chapter 7: Why Is the Weather Important?
Nature, No. 388 (10 July 1997), p. 137.
Chapter 8: Do We Ever See the Lower Classes?
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 155.
See Pamela Horn, Flunkeys and Scullions: Life Below Stairs in Georgian England (Stroud: Sutton Publishing, 2004), pp. 213–16.
Jane Austen Society Collected Reports 1949–1965, p. 251.
J. J. Hecht, The Domestic Servant Class in Eighteenth-Century England (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1956), p. 7.
Chapter 9: Which Important Characters Never Speak in the Novels?
Ben Jonson, Timber, or Discoveries Made upon men and matter, in Ben Jonson, ed. Ian Donaldson (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1985), p. 574.
See the essays in The Talk in Jane Austen, ed. Bruce Stovel and Lynn Weinlos Gregg (Edmonton, Alberta: The University of Alberta Press, 2002), especially those by Juliet McMaster and Jeffrey Herrle.
Marilyn Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas (1975; reprinted Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987), p. 273.
Chapter 10: What Games Do Characters Play?
The Works of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman, Vol. VI, Minor Works, p. 325.
Charles Dickens, Nicholas Nickleby, ed. Michael Slater (1978; reprinted London: Penguin, 1986), Ch. 1, p. 63.
See David Selwyn (ed.), Collected Poems and Verse of the Austen Family (Manchester: Carcanet, 1996), pp. 19, 35–9 and 51–5 for Austen examples.
Chapter 11: Is There Any Sex in Jane Austen?
Martin Amis, The Pregnant Widow (London: Jonathan Cape, 2010), p. 138.
Ibid., p. 155.
See 'Biographical Notice of the Author', in The Works of Jane Austen, ed. R. W. Chapman, Vol. V, p. 7.
Samuel Richardson, Pamela, ed. Thomas Keymer and Alice Wakely (Oxford: World's Classics, 2001), Letter VIII, p. 20.
Lawrence Stone, Broken Lives: Separation and Divorce in England 1660–1857 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), p. 26.
See Sense and Sensibility, ed. Edward Copeland (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 78.
See Vickery, Behind Closed Doors, Ch. 2.
See Deirdre Le Faye's biographical index to Jane Austen's Letters (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 566.
Its suggestiveness is definitively analysed by Brian Southam, '"Rears" and "Vices" in Mansfield Park', Essays in Criticism, Vol. LII, No. 1 (January 2002), pp. 23–3.
Chapter 12: What Do Characters Say When the Heroine Is Not There?
Tony Tanner, Jane Austen, (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986), p. 157.
See for instance Norman Page, Speech in the English Novel (London: Longman, 1973), p. 106: 'Jane Austen's gentlemen are shown speaking only in the presence of ladies'.
Chapter 13: How Much Money Is Enough?
See Maggie Lane, A Charming Place: Bath in the Life and Novels of Jane Austen. (1988; reprinted Bath: Millstream Books, 2003), p. 36.
David Nokes, Jane Austen: A Life (London: Fourth Estate, 1997), pp. 274–7.
See Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, pp. 130–2.
W. H. Auden, 'Letter to Lord Byron', in The English Auden, ed. Edward Mendelson (London: Faber & Faber, 1978), p. 171.
Edward Copeland, Women Writing about Money: Women's Fiction in England, 1790–1820 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), p. 24.
Bridget Hill, Women Alone: Spinsters in England 1660–1850 (London: Yale University Press, 2001), p. 63.
Copeland, Women Writing, p. 28.
Edward Copeland, 'Money', in Janet Todd (ed.), Jane Austen in Context (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 321.
See G. E. Mingay, English Landed Society in the Eighteenth Century (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963), pp. 30–6.
Jones, Jane Austen and Marriage, p. 87.
Brian Southam, Jane Austen and the Navy (London: Hambledon, 2000), pp. 121–30.
Jones, Jane Austen and Marriage, p. 135.
Austen-Leigh and Austen Leigh, A Family Record, pp. 96 and 112. There is some dispute about the date of the purchase: see Robin Vick, 'Mr. Austen's Carriage', in Jane Austen Society Collected Reports, 1999–2000, pp. 226–8.
Copeland, Women Writing, p. 31.
Chapter 14: Why Do Her Plots Rely on Blunders?
Tanner, Jane Austen, p. 143.
Chapter 15: What Do Characters Read?
Lord Byron, The Giaour. A Fragment of a Turkish Tale (1813), in Lord Byron. The Complete Poetical Works, ed. Jerome McGann, Vol. III (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1981), p. 80, ll. 1269–80.
A letter to Cassandra from Lyme Regis (14 September 1804, Letters, ed. Le Faye) includes a joke from Tristram Shandy, while her earliest surviving letter (9 January 1796, Letters, ed. Le Faye) involves a comparison between Tom Lefroy and Tom Jones. A later letter to her sister mentions the birth of her brother Frank's second son and hopes that 'if he ever comes to be hanged' she and Cassandra will be too old to care. This odd sentiment is surely an allusion to Fielding's description of Tom Jones as 'certainly born to be hanged', Tom Jones, Vol. III, Ch. ii, p. 103.
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 83.
James Edward Austen-Leigh, Memoir of Jane Austen, p. 158.
Chapter 16: Are Ill People Really to Blame for Their Illnesses?
Tanner, Jane Austen, p. 99.
The Works of Jane Austen, ed. Chapman, Vol. VI, Minor Works, p. 321.
See Sales, Jane Austen and Representations of Regency England, pp. 147–50.
John Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the Body: The Picture of Health (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1992), p. 180.
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 216.
Chapter 17: What Makes Characters Blush?
Christopher Ricks, Keats and Embarrassment (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1974), p. 51.
Mary Ann O'Farrell, 'Austen's Blush', in NOVEL: A Forum on Fiction, Vol. 27, No. 2 (1994), p. 127.
Fanny's blushes are analysed in Wiltshire, Jane Austen and the Body, pp. 76–89.
Katie Halsey, 'The Blush of Modesty or the Blush of Shame? Reading Jane Austen's Blushes', in Forum for Modern Language Studies (2006), Vol. 42, No. 3, p. 237.
Chapter 18: What Are the Right and Wrong Ways to Propose Marriage?
See Amanda Vickery, The Gentleman's Daughter: Women's Lives in Georgian England (London: Yale University Press, 1998), pp. 46–7.
An anthology of such manuals is Eve Tavor Bannet (ed.), British and American Letter Manuals, 1680–1810, 4 vols (London: Pickering & Chatto, 2008).
David Fordyce, The New and Complete British Letter-Writer (London, 1800), pp. 75 and 82–3.
Jones, Jane Austen and Marriage, p. 26, and Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, p. 239.
Lawrence Stone, The Road to Divorce: A History of the Making and Breaking of Marriage in England, 1530–1987 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1995), pp. 88, 91.
Austen-Leigh and Austen-Leigh, A Family Record, pp. 121–2.
Chapter 19: When Does Jane Austen Speak Directly to the Reader?
Virginia Woolf, 'Jane Austen', in Woolf, Essays, IV, p. 148.
D. A. Miller, Jane Austen, or The Secret of Style (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2003), p. 1.
The Rambler, no. 97, in The Yale Edition of the Works of Samuel Johnson, Vol. IV, ed. W. J. Bate and Albrecht B. Strauss (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), p. 156.
Maria Edgeworth, Patronage (London, 1814), Vol. II, p. 101.
Mary Brunton, Self-Control, 2nd edition (Edinburgh, 1811), Vol. I, p. 84.
Chapter 20: How Experimental a Novelist Is Jane Austen?
Chapman, Vol. VI, pp. 428–30.
Samuel Richardson, preface to the third edition (1751) of Clarissa (1932; reprinted London: Dent, 1978), 4 vols, Vol. I, p. xiv.
Fanny Burney, Cecilia, ed. Margaret Anne Doody and Peter Sabor (Oxford: World's Classics, 1988), p. 6.
Miller, Jane Austen, p. 27.
Dorrit Cohn, Transparent Minds. Narrative Modes for Presenting Consciousness in Fiction (1983; reprinted Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1978), p. 5.
Ibid., p. 108.
David Lodge, Consciousness and the Novel (London: Secker & Warburg, 2002), pp. 46–9.
Jane Spencer, 'Narrative Technique: Austen and Her Contemporaries', in A Companion to Jane Austen, ed. Claudia L. Johnson and Clara Tuite (Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, 2009).
Brunton, Self-Control, p. 25.
Gillian Beer, introduction to Jane Austen, Persuasion (London: Penguin, 1998), p. xxi.
Marilyn Butler, Jane Austen and the War of Ideas, p. 272.
Norman Page, Speech in the English Novel (London: Longman, 1973), p. 29.
Mary Lascelles, Jane Austen and Her Art (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1939), pp. 177–8.
P. D. James, 'Emma considered as a detective story', in Jane Austen Society Collected Reports 1996–2000, pp. 189–200.
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Acknowledgements
I would like to thank all those who have given me advice and information used in the preparation of this book: Ann Channon at the Jane Austen's House Museum, Susan Allen Ford, Juliet McMaster, Sophie Missing, Charlotte Mitchell, the late Brian Southam, Elizabeth Steele, John Sutherland, Amanda Vickery and Henry Woudhuysen.
Julian Hoppit gave me guidance about money in the early nineteenth century; I owe Malthusian reflections in chapter 5 to Karen O'Brien; Deirdre Le Faye advised me on mourning habits and on money, again. I have also relied a good deal on her wonderful Chronology of Jane Austen.
Students whom I have taught in classes on Jane Austen's fiction at University College London over the years may well recognise their own insights in these pages. If so, I hope they will not be displeased, these classes having been my most dependable source of inspiration.
I have tested parts of this book out at talks I have given to members of the Jane Austen Society and the Jane Austen Society of North America. I would like to thank all my friends in these societies for their suggestions and unfailingly accurate corrections. Particular thanks are due to Marilyn Joyce and Jill Webster for their comments on draft chapters. It is a great sadness to me that Vera Quin, doyenne of the Jane Austen Society, died as this book was nearing completion. Vera had a knowledge of Austen and her predecessors unrivalled by most academics; I only wish she were here to read what I have written and gently put me right where necessary.
I am grateful to all those at Bloomsbury who have nudged me over the finishing line: Nick Humphrey, Emily Sweet, Catherine Best and above all my patient yet galvanising editor, Bill Swainson. I owe a special debt to my agent, Derek Johns, who gave me confidence in what I was doing from the very beginning.
I hope that my family's interest in Jane Austen will have survived what must have seemed my obsession with her writing and am grateful for their tolerance. I could never have finished the book without my wife Harriet's support and encouragement.
This book is dedicated to the memory of Tony Tanner, whose Penguin introductions to Jane Austen's novels first showed me how exciting they were. He later became my teacher at university and then a colleague; I hope that this book preserves some memories of the many conversations about Jane Austen that we had over the years.
By the Same Author
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EXIT
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofExpectedStdin(String expectedStdin) {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder()
.setType(Type.EXPECT_STDIN)
.setExpectedStdin(StandardCharsets.UTF_8.encode(expectedStdin))
.build();
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofExpectStdinClosed() {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder().setType(Type.EXPECT_STDIN_CLOSED).build();
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofStdout(String stdout) {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder()
.setType(Type.STDOUT)
.setStdout(StandardCharsets.UTF_8.encode(stdout))
.build();
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofStdoutBytes(ByteBuffer stdout) {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder().setType(Type.STDOUT).setStdout(stdout).build();
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofWaitNanos(long waitNanos) {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder().setType(Type.WAIT).setWaitNanos(waitNanos).build();
}
public static FakeListeningProcessState ofExit(int exitCode) {
return FakeListeningProcessState.builder().setType(Type.EXIT).setExitCode(exitCode).build();
}
public abstract Type getType();
public abstract Optional<ByteBuffer> getExpectedStdin();
public abstract Optional<ByteBuffer> getStdout();
public abstract Optional<ByteBuffer> getStderr();
public abstract Optional<Long> getWaitNanos();
public abstract Optional<Integer> getExitCode();
}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 4,516 |
Vall Ferrera is situated in the North of Catalunya which limits on one side with France and on the other with Andorra.
The Vall Ferrera with its rivers and vegetation during the different seasons of the year, is a unique valley. In the high mountains of the Vall Ferrera we find beautiful surroundings because due to the fact that an important quantity of protected species of flora and fauna live in these mountains.
FromÀreu you can do various interesting walks such as the ascent to the Pica d'Estats (the highest peak in Catalunya with 3,143 metres), to the Monteixo and go to renown natural lakes like the Lago de Baborte or the Lago de Aixeus.
Hidden in the depths of the mountains of Àreu and the valley (vídeo)we find cabins or huts, where the shepherds spent the nights in the high mountain. In the winter, mountain skiing, walking trips wearing snow shoes, etc. Also, there is fishing in spring and summer.
Besides Areu, we must also visit the villages of Ainet de Besan, Alins, Araos, with the church of Sant Esteve, the chapel of Sant Francesc and the woods of Viros. Besan, an uninhabited village, with its Romanesque church of Santa Maria. In Noris, the church of Sant Serni. In Tor, the highest village in the valley, we can visit the Romanesque church of Sant Pere, the castle of Tor and, though the forest trail, we can do excursions to the Puerto de Cabus and Andorra. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 3,942 |
"""Core DTensor Python API."""
import contextlib
import threading
from typing import Any, Callable, List, Optional, Sequence
from tensorflow.dtensor.python import config
from tensorflow.dtensor.python import dtensor_device
from tensorflow.dtensor.python import gen_dtensor_ops
from tensorflow.dtensor.python import layout as layout_lib
from tensorflow.python.eager import context
from tensorflow.python.framework import config as tf_config
from tensorflow.python.framework import device as tf_device
from tensorflow.python.framework import ops
from tensorflow.python.util.tf_export import tf_export
_dtensor_singleton = None
_dtensor_singleton_lock = threading.Lock()
# -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Main methods to launch DTensor computations.
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.call_with_layout", v1=[])
def call_with_layout(fn: Callable[...,
Any], layout: Optional[layout_lib.Layout],
*args, **kwargs) -> Any:
"""Calls a function in the DTensor device scope if `layout` is not None.
If `layout` is not None, `fn` consumes DTensor(s) as input and produces a
DTensor as output; a DTensor is a tf.Tensor with layout-related attributes.
If `layout` is None, `fn` consumes and produces regular tf.Tensors.
Args:
fn: A supported TF API function such as tf.zeros.
layout: Optional, the layout of the output DTensor.
*args: Arguments given to `fn`.
**kwargs: Keyword arguments given to `fn`.
Returns:
The return value of `fn` transformed to a DTensor if requested.
"""
if layout is not None:
if not context.executing_eagerly():
# This is a workaround for b/199324097, where functions such as tf.ones
# could attach an incorrect layout to the tf.const generated under the
# hood. The op runs successfully in eager mode, but in graph mode, MLIR
# passes sometimes attach the default layout to a scalar constant.
# %cst = tf.Const([1]) -- With the given layout
# %0 = "tf.DTensorLayout"(%cst). -- Fails in MLIR pass since shape for
# -- layout could be different than
# -- shape[0] for %cst.
# %1 = tf.Fill(%0, 1)
result = fn(*args, **kwargs)
return relayout(result, layout)
else:
with run_on(layout.mesh):
with _dtensor_device()._default_layout(layout): # pylint: disable=protected-access
return fn(*args, **kwargs)
return fn(*args, **kwargs)
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.run_on", v1=[])
@contextlib.contextmanager
def run_on(mesh: layout_lib.Mesh):
"""Runs enclosed functions in the DTensor device scope.
This function returns a scope. All the ops and tf.functions in this scope will
run on the DTensor device using the mesh provided.
This is useful for wrapping any tf.function that doesn't take a DTensor as
input but would like to produce DTensor as result. The scope will also make
sure all small constants be replicated as DTensor.
Args:
mesh: A Mesh instance to extract a default mesh from.
Yields:
A context in which all ops and tf.functions will run on the DTensor device.
"""
if not isinstance(mesh, layout_lib.Mesh):
raise ValueError(f"Expect `mesh` to be `Mesh`, got {type(mesh)}")
with _dtensor_device()._experimental_default_mesh(mesh): # pylint: disable=protected-access
with ops.device(device_name()):
yield
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.device_name", v1=[])
def device_name() -> str:
"""Returns the singleton DTensor device's name.
This function can be used in the following way:
```python
import tensorflow as tf
with tf.device(dtensor.device_name()):
# ...
```
"""
return _dtensor_device().name
# -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Data transfer methods.
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.copy_to_mesh", v1=[])
def copy_to_mesh(
tensor: Any,
layout: layout_lib.Layout,
source_layout: Optional[layout_lib.Layout] = None) -> ops.Tensor:
"""Copies a tf.Tensor onto the DTensor device with the given layout.
Copies a regular tf.Tensor onto the DTensor device. Use the mesh attached to
`layout` as target mesh. This method currently only supports replicated
layouts. To get a DTensor with a sharded layout, use the `pack` method.
Args:
tensor: A regular tf.Tensor to be copied as a DTensor.
layout: Target layout (and mesh) for the result DTensor.
source_layout: Source layout of the tensor before copy. This argument
is deprecated.
Returns:
A DTensor on the DTensor device with the given layout.
"""
del source_layout
return _dtensor_device().copy_to_mesh(tensor, layout)
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.pack", v1=[])
def pack(tensors: Sequence[Any], layout: layout_lib.Layout) -> Any:
"""Packs `tf.Tensor` components into a DTensor.
Packing and unpacking are inverse operations:
```
* unpack(pack(tensors)) == tensors
* pack(unpack(dtensor)) == dtensor
```
1. For any DTensor on the mesh, `unpack` returns the raw components placed on
each underlying device.
2. Packing these raw components in the same order using `pack` returns a
DTensor which should be identical to the original DTensor--both the content
value and the layout.
**Shape, Rank, and Scalars**: The rank of the DTensor is the same as the
rank of its raw components, i.e., rank is preserved. This leads to a
consistent interpretation for packing scalar values into a DTensor. The only
valid layout for a scalar value is fully replicated, and the individual
components must be identical scalars.
Each input `tensors[i]` will be copied to `layout.mesh.local_device[i]`
if not already on the local device. Non-local components should not be passed
to `pack`; use `copy_to_mesh` and `relayout` to place tensors on all global
devices on a mesh.
It is the caller's responsibility to ensure that the underlying values
for `pack` adhere to the specified layout, and that only as many values are
specified as there are local devices. Pack does not move data between clients.
See examples below for more detail about layouts.
For example, assume we have a mesh `[X(2), Y(3)]`, which has in total 6
underlying devices. Futuremore, assume that the device location mapping is
the following:
```
device_ID | location X, Y
0 0, 0
1 0, 1
2 0, 2
3 1, 0
4 1, 1
5 1, 2
```
1. For 1-D vector DTensor with shape `[128]` with layout `[mesh.X]` and value
as `range(128)`, the raw components will have shape `[64]` each, and the
raw components will be:
```
device_ID | raw component
0 range(0, 64)
1 range(0, 64)
2 range(0, 64)
3 range(64, 128)
4 range(64, 128)
5 range(64, 128)
```
This also means for a 1-D DTensor with shape `[2]` and layout `[mesh.X]`,
the raw components have shape `[1]` rather than the shape for scalar values
`[]`.
2. For 2-D vector DTensor with shape `[2, 3]` with layout `[mesh.X, mesh.Y]`
and value as `range(6)`, this is basically a fully-sharded DTensor.
From global view, the content looks like
```
[
[0.0, 1.0, 2.0],
[3.0, 4.0, 5.0],
]
```
The raw components will have shape `[1, 1]` each, and have the following
content:
```
device_ID | raw component
0 [[0.0]]
1 [[1.0]]
2 [[2.0]]
3 [[3.0]]
4 [[4.0]]
5 [[5.0]]
```
3. For a scalar value `123.0` DTensor, it can only have one legitimate layout
`[]` (no dimension, but fully replicated).
The raw components will have shape `[]` each, and have the following
content:
```
device_ID | raw component
0 123.0
1 123.0
2 123.0
3 123.0
4 123.0
5 123.0
```
Again, caller of `pack` is expected to provide 6 identical value raw
components with scalar shapes.
4. For 3-D vector DTensor with shape `[2, 2, 3]` with layout
`[X, unsharded, unsharded]` and value as `range(12)`,
From global view, the content looks like:
```
[
[
[0.0, 1.0, 2.0],
[3.0, 4.0, 5.0],
],
[
[6.0, 7.0, 8.0],
[9.0, 10., 11.],
],
]
```
The raw components will have shape `[1, 2, 3]` each, and have the following
content:
```
device_ID | raw component
0 range(6).reshape([1, 2, 3])
1 range(6).reshape([1, 2, 3])
2 range(6).reshape([1, 2, 3])
3 range(6, 12).reshape([1, 2, 3])
4 range(6, 12).reshape([1, 2, 3])
5 range(6, 12).reshape([1, 2, 3])
```
Args:
tensors: The list of local tensor components to pack into a DTensor.
layout: The layout of the DTensor to be created.
Returns:
A DTensor created from the individual component tensors.
Raises:
RuntimeError: When `pack` is not called eagerly.
"""
return _dtensor_device().pack(tensors, layout)
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.unpack", v1=[])
def unpack(tensor: Any) -> Sequence[Any]:
"""Unpacks a DTensor into `tf.Tensor` components.
Packing and unpacking are inverse operations:
```
* unpack(pack(tensors)) == tensors
* pack(unpack(dtensor)) == dtensor
```
1. For any DTensor on the mesh, `unpack` returns the raw components placed on
each underlying device.
2. Packing these raw components in the same order using `pack` returns a
DTensor which should be identical to the original DTensor--both the content
value and the layout.
See the documentation for `pack` for more information about how packing and
unpacking works.
Args:
tensor: The DTensor to unpack.
Returns:
The individual component tensors of the DTensor. This will include only the
client-local components, i.e. the components placed on the local devices.
Raises:
RuntimeError: When `unpack` is not called eagerly.
"""
return _dtensor_device().unpack(tensor)
# -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Layout-related methods.
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.fetch_layout", v1=[])
def fetch_layout(tensor: ops.Tensor) -> layout_lib.Layout:
"""Fetches the layout of a DTensor.
Args:
tensor: The DTensor whose layout is to be fetched.
Returns:
The `Layout` of this DTensor.
Raises:
RuntimeError: When not called eagerly.
"""
return _dtensor_device().fetch_layout(tensor)
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.check_layout", v1=[])
def check_layout(tensor: ops.Tensor, layout: layout_lib.Layout) -> None:
"""Asserts that the layout of the DTensor is `layout`.
Args:
tensor: A DTensor whose layout is to be checked.
layout: The `Layout` to compare against.
Raises:
ValueError: If the layout of `tensor` does not match the supplied `layout`.
"""
if fetch_layout(tensor) != layout:
raise ValueError("Layout of tensor: " + str(fetch_layout(tensor)) +
", did not match expected layout: " + str(layout))
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.relayout", v1=[])
def relayout(tensor: ops.Tensor, layout: layout_lib.Layout) -> ops.Tensor:
"""Changes the layout of `tensor`.
Changes the layout of `tensor` to `layout`. This is used to fine-tune the
behavior of ops following/connected to `tensor`, such as choosing one SPMD
expansion pattern over another. This works by forward propagating `layout`
to connected TensorFlow computation graphs during layout propagation.
Currently, only converting layouts from replicated to sharded or sharded to
replicated per mesh dimension is supported. That is, "x, y" -> "unsharded, y"
is supported, while "x, y" -> "z, y" is not supported.
We also support a special "match" sharding spec, which instructs the relayout
to act as an identity operation with respect to any sharding on these
mesh dimensions.
Relayout is internally lowered to a set of Split and/or AllToAll ops. When
tensor layouts are converted from replicated to sharded, the cost is
comparatively low because we only insert Split ops and no cross-device
communication is needed. However, when tensor layouts are converted from
sharded to replicated, cross-device communication may occur, causing potential
performance impact.
Args:
tensor: A DTensor to specify a new layout for.
layout: A Layout object specifying a new sharding spec.
Returns:
A DTensor output from the Relayout op.
"""
layout_str = layout.to_string()
return gen_dtensor_ops.relayout(tensor, layout_str)
# -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Distributed training-related methods.
#
# Most users should use DTensor utility methods to create a mesh. The methods
# here are only for advanced users who want to fully customize their meshes.
# Note that local_devices and num_local_devices return the actual number of
# locally attached devices. The others are set through environment variables.
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.local_devices", v1=[])
def local_devices(
device_type: str,
for_client_id: Optional[int] = None) -> List[tf_device.DeviceSpec]:
"""Returns a list of device specs configured on this client."""
if device_type.upper() not in ["CPU", "GPU", "TPU"]:
raise ValueError(f"Device type {device_type} is not CPU, GPU, or TPU.")
if for_client_id is None:
for_client_id = config.client_id()
# Directly generate a list of local devices to avoid
# triggering TensorFlow context initialization.
logical_devices = [
tf_device.DeviceSpec.from_string(f"/device:{device_type}:{i}")
for i in range(num_local_devices(device_type))
]
# Get the number of local devices.
device_count = 0
for d in logical_devices:
# d might have a partial name, e.g. /device:TPU:0.
if (d.job is None or d.job
== config.job_name()) and (d.task is None or d.task == for_client_id):
device_count = device_count + 1
# Return fully qualified device specs, sorted by increasing device index.
return [
tf_device.DeviceSpec( # pylint: disable=g-complex-comprehension
job=config.job_name(),
replica=0, # replica is deprecated and mostly hard-coded now.
task=for_client_id,
device_type=device_type,
device_index=i) for i in range(device_count)
]
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.num_local_devices", v1=[])
def num_local_devices(device_type: str) -> int:
"""Returns the number of devices of device_type configured on this client."""
# Reads from config because CPU and GPU can use logical devices.
if device_type.upper() in ["CPU", "GPU"]:
context_config = context.get_config()
return context_config.device_count[device_type.upper()]
return len(tf_config.list_physical_devices(device_type))
@tf_export("experimental.dtensor.num_global_devices", v1=[])
def num_global_devices(device_type: str) -> int:
"""Returns the number of devices of device_type in this DTensor cluster."""
return num_local_devices(device_type) * config.num_clients()
# -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Private methods.
def is_tpu_present() -> bool:
"""Returns true if TPU devices are present."""
# Check if TPU is present from initialized context.
# TPU_SYSTEM is a logical device that indicates TPUs are present.
tpu_system_devices = tf_config.list_physical_devices("TPU_SYSTEM")
return len(tpu_system_devices) > 0 # pylint: disable=g-explicit-length-test
def is_gpu_present() -> bool:
"""Returns true if TPU devices are present."""
return len(tf_config.list_physical_devices("GPU")) > 0 # pylint: disable=g-explicit-length-test
def _set_dtensor_device(device: dtensor_device.DTensorDevice) -> None:
global _dtensor_singleton
_dtensor_singleton = device
def _dtensor_device() -> dtensor_device.DTensorDevice:
with _dtensor_singleton_lock:
if _dtensor_singleton is None:
_set_dtensor_device(dtensor_device.DTensorDevice(meshes=[]))
return _dtensor_singleton
def _reset() -> None:
global _dtensor_singleton
if _dtensor_singleton is not None:
_dtensor_singleton.clear_tpu_core_ids()
with _dtensor_singleton_lock:
_dtensor_singleton = None
# ----------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Gradients
@ops.RegisterGradient("Relayout")
def _relayout_gradient(op, grad):
del op
return grad
@ops.RegisterGradient("CopyToMesh")
def _copy_to_mesh_gradient(op, grad):
grad = gen_dtensor_ops.copy_to_mesh_grad(
grad,
forward_input=op.inputs[0],
reference_layout=op.get_attr("layout"),
)
return grad
@ops.RegisterGradient("CopyToMeshGrad")
def _copy_to_mesh_grad_gradient(op, grad):
grad = gen_dtensor_ops.copy_to_mesh_grad(
grad,
forward_input=op.inputs[0],
reference_layout=op.get_attr("reference_layout"),
)
return grad, None
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 4,704 |
This FREE chapter slice includes a section from our Cells: The Building Blocks of Life title.
Enjoy 6 FREE worksheets from our Cells: The Building Blocks of Life title. These worksheets can be used on their own, or paired with the individual resources. And the best part is, it's FREE.
CELL-ebrate as your students study the topic of cells in an exciting yet integrated fashion. We study the differences between one-celled and multi-celled organisms. Characteristics and functions of cells are studied, as well as an investigation of tissues, organs, organ systems, and diffusion and osmosis. Student assignments include an amoeba-labelling exercise, cell reproduction, plant and animal cells, and a study of the bizarre nature of cancer cells. The use of the microscope is an important part of this unit, and information on the proper use of this instrument is provided. This Life Science lesson provides a teacher and student section with a variety of reading passages, activities, crossword, word search and answer key to create a well-rounded lesson plan. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 7,888 |
We are instrumental in offering Passenger Elevator to our prestigious clients. The offered elevators are specifically designed by our deft professionals using quality tested raw material and pioneering technology in compliance with set international norms. Highly seen in apartments and other residential buildings, the provided elevators are used for carrying passengers from one floor to another. Along with this, Passenger Elevators can be availed from us at competitive prices.
A Passenger lift is designed to ferry people from point A to Point B vertically. The modern passenger lift is a simple means of transport within a building. Passenger elevators capacity is related to the available floor space. Generally passenger elevators are available in typical capacities from 4 TO 26 PASSENGERS and speed varying between 0.5 Meter/sec to 2.5 Meter/Sec. Choice of passenger elevator typically depends on type of building (Commercial, Residential, Hotel, Mall, Housing society etc.,) and parameter such as passenger traffic movement. Budget involved is also a deciding factor between manual door and auto door passenger elevators.We offers all types of passenger elevator whether auto door or manually operated doors with variety of aesthetic choices for interior, flooring & false ceiling. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 376 |
Tesco denies Welwyn Garden City jobs cut rumours
Published: 7:02 AM February 10, 2009
TESCO bosses have denied rumours head office staff are facing the chop. The supermarket giant employs 3,000 workers at its base in Shire Park, WGC. A report in the Financial Mail on Sunday stated 'deeper than usual cuts' were planned this month. As report
TESCO bosses have denied rumours head office staff are facing the chop.
The supermarket giant employs 3,000 workers at its base in Shire Park, WGC.
A report in the Financial Mail on Sunday stated "deeper than usual cuts" were planned this month.
As reported in last week's WHT, 10 full-time warehouse workers are being made redundant at the supermarket's depot in Travellers Lane, Welham Green.
But a Tesco spokesman denied the potential loss of head office staff.
He said: "It's speculation.
"I'm not aware of any cuts. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 8,132 |
Home Music & Entertainment Bollywood Kiara Advani to star opposite Kartik Aaryan in 'Bhool Bhulaiyaa 2'
Kiara Advani to star opposite Kartik Aaryan in 'Bhool Bhulaiyaa 2'
News Mobile Entertainment Bureau
Kiara Advani who recently received an overwhelming response for her role in 'Kabir Singh' has been roped in for 'Bhool Bhulaiyaa 2' opposite Kartik Aaryan.
Taking her successful association with the producers Bhushan Kumar and Murad Khetani forward with her latest flick post 'Kabir Singh', the actress is all set to share screen space with Kartik for the first time in the horror-comedy whose prequel left fans asking for more.
"Kartik and I are working together for the first time, can't wait to begin this journey so we can bring the film to you soon!" said Kiara.
https://twitter.com/Advani_Kiara/status/1175267826623504384
Talking about the upcoming film, the actor revealed, "Bhool Bhulaiyaa was the first-ever horror film that I watched. Being a huge fan of the first one, It's super exciting to get the opportunity to be a part of the franchise."
The comic supernatural thriller will be helmed by Anees Bazmee, unlike the first one which was directed by Priyadarshan.
"It's my first time being directed by Anees sir and I'm looking forward to the experience. It's being produced by the makers of my most special film so it feels like home working with Cine1 and T-Series again," she added.
ALSO READ: Get ready to be stupefied with Hrithik and Tiger's friendly dance…
"I always look forward to working with Gen-Z actors, this is my first collaboration with Kartik and Kiara. I am sure they will bring new energy to the table, hoping to have a blast," said Bazmee.
The highly-anticipated horror-comedy is scheduled to go on floors in October this year and will hit the screens on July 31, 2020.
The first part of the film was a remake of the Malayalam blockbuster 'Manichitrathazhu' and starred Vidya Balan, Shiney Ahuja and Amisha Patel in the lead roles.
(With ANI inputs)
For viral videos and Latest trends subscribe to NewsMobile YouTube Channel and Follow us on Instagram
Bhool Bhulaiyaa
Previous articleGet ready to be stupefied with Hrithik and Tiger's friendly dance face-off in 'Jai Jai Shivshankar'!
Next articleNewsMobile Saturday Wrap | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 7,670 |
Q: User ACEs in ACL for created directories outside AD Security Group Control We control access to our file shares using Security Groups in AD.
\ZONE
ZONE Group (Read & Execute, This Folder only)
ZONE-Write Group (Modify, This folder, subfolders and files)
user "rick.deckard" is in the ZONE-Write Security Group and so has Modify access to the whole \ZONE folder.
If rick.deckard creates a directory
\ZONE\BR1
A "rick.deckard" ACE goes into the ACL for the BR1 directory, with "Full Control, This folder only".
If we subsequently remove "rick.deckard" from the ZONE-Write Security Group, he can't access the ZONE tree at all.
Unless, he maps to \ZONE\BR1 direct and then he still has full control in that directory!
These user based ACE entries in ACL remain even after access via the Security Group has been revoked.
Is this normal behaviour?
How do we set up a "Security Group only" method of conferring access to the ZONE directory, whereby upon directory creation, specific user ACE's are not installed?
Any help would be appreciated.
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 1,575 |
<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?>
<LinearLayout xmlns:android="http://schemas.android.com/apk/res/android"
xmlns:tools="http://schemas.android.com/tools"
tools:ignore="MissingPrefix"
android:orientation="horizontal"
android:layout_width="match_parent"
android:layout_height="wrap_content"
android:gravity="center_vertical"
android:descendantFocusability="blocksDescendants"
android:padding="@dimen/content_margin">
<android.support.v7.widget.AppCompatCheckBox
android:id="@+id/checkbox"
android:layout_width="wrap_content"
android:layout_height="wrap_content"
android:layout_gravity="center_vertical"
android:layout_marginRight="@dimen/content_padding"
android:layout_marginEnd="@dimen/content_padding"
android:clickable="false"
android:background="@android:color/transparent"
android:theme="@style/CheckBoxStyle"/>
<TextView
android:id="@+id/title"
android:layout_width="0dp"
android:layout_weight="1"
android:layout_height="wrap_content"
android:drawablePadding="@dimen/content_margin"
android:gravity="center_vertical"
android:textColor="?android:attr/textColorPrimary"
android:textSize="@dimen/text_content_subtitle"
fontPath="fonts/Font-Regular.ttf"/>
</LinearLayout> | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaGithub"
} | 9,517 |
{"url":"http:\/\/ieeexplore.ieee.org\/xpl\/mostRecentIssue.jsp?reload=true&punumber=408","text":"By Topic\n\n# Proceedings Scalable High Performance Computing Conference SHPCC-92.\n\n## Filter Results\n\nDisplaying Results 1 - 25 of 71\n\u2022 ### Proceedings. Scalable High Performance Computing Conference SHPCC-92 (Cat. No.92TH0432-5)\n\nPublication Year: 1992\n| PDF\u00a0(33 KB)\n\u2022 ### Incremental mapping for solution-adaptive multigrid hierarchies\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):401 - 408\n| | PDF\u00a0(548 KB)\n\nThe full multigrid method uses a hierarchy of successively finer grids. In a solution-adaptive grid hierarchy each grid is obtained by adaptive refinement of the grid on the previous level. On a distributed memory multiprocessor, each grid level must be partitioned and mapped so as to minimize the multigrid cycle execution time. In this report, several grid partitioning and load (re)mapping strate... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Adaptive methods and rectangular partitioning problem\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):409 - 415\n| | PDF\u00a0(544 KB)\n\nPartitioning problems for rectangular domains having nonuniform workload for mesh-connected SIMD architectures are discussed. The considered rectangular workloads result from application of adaptive methods to the solution of hyperbolic differential equations on SIMD machines. A new form of the partitioning problem is defined in which sub-meshes of processors are assigned to tasks, each task being... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Portable parallel Level-3 BLAS in Linda\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):416 - 423\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (1)\n| | PDF\u00a0(564 KB)\n\nDescribes an approach towards providing an efficient Level-3 BLAS library over a variety of parallel architectures using C-Linda. A blocked linear algebra program calling the sequential Level-3 BLAS can now run on both shared and distributed memory environments (which support Linda) by simply replacing each call by a call to the corresponding parallel Linda Level-3 BLAS. The authors summarise some... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### A parallel scalable approach to short-range molecular dynamics on the CM-5\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):240 - 245\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(356 KB)\n\nPresents a scalable algorithm for short-range molecular dynamics which minimizes interprocessor communications at the expense of a modest computational redundancy. The method combines Verlet neighbor lists with coarse-grained cells. Each processing node is associated with a cubic volume of space and the particles it owns are those initially contained in the volume. Data structures for own' and v... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Complete exchange on a circuit switched mesh\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):300 - 306\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (31) \u00a0|\u00a0 Patents (3)\n| | PDF\u00a0(424 KB)\n\nThe complete exchange (`all-to-all personalized') communication pattern is at the heart of numerous important multicomputer algorithms. Recent research has shown how this pattern can efficiently be performed on circuit-switched hypercubes. However, on circuit-switched meshes, this pattern is difficult to perform efficiently because the sparsity of the mesh interconnect leads to severe link content... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Debugging mapped parallel programs\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):200 - 203\n| | PDF\u00a0(320 KB)\n\nAs more sophisticated tools for parallel programming become available, programmers will inevitably want to use them together. However, some parallel programming tools can interact with each other in ways that make them less useful. In particular, it a mapping tool is used to adapt a parallel program to run on relatively few processors, the information presented by a debugger may become difficult t... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### HeNCE: graphical development tools for network-based concurrent computing\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):129 - 136\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (9)\n| | PDF\u00a0(460 KB)\n\nHeNCE (heterogeneous network computing environment) is an X Window based graphical parallel programming environment that was created to assist scientists and engineers with the development of parallel programs. HeNCE provides a graphical interface for creating, compiling, executing, and debugging parallel programs, as well as configuring a distributed virtual computer (using PVM). HeNCE programs c... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### A methodology for visualizing performance of loosely synchronous programs\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):424 - 432\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(756 KB)\n\nIntroduces a new set of views for displaying the progress of loosely synchronous computations involving large numbers of processors on large problems. The authors suggest a methodology for employing these views in succession in order to gain progressively more detail concerning program behavior. At each step, focus is refined to include just those program sections or processors which have been det... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Scalability of data transport\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):1 - 8\n| | PDF\u00a0(584 KB)\n\nPeak floating point rate is a very limited way to characterize high performance computer systems. A better method is to use the bandwidth and latency of data transport for the major components of a system. Bandwidth scales well with increasing system size, but latency does not. The demands placed by a program on data transport determine how well an architecture will execute it. The article discuss... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### A runtime data mapping scheme for irregular problems\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):216 - 219\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (3)\n| | PDF\u00a0(304 KB)\n\nIn scalable multiprocessor systems, high performance demands that computational load be balanced evenly among processors and that interprocessor communication be limited as much as possible. In this paper, the authors study the problem of automatically choosing data distributions for irregular problems. Irregular problems are programs where the data access pattern cannot be determined during compi... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### A parallel implementation of the chemically reacting CFD code, SPARK\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):342 - 349\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (1)\n| | PDF\u00a0(616 KB)\n\nDescribes a parallel version of the two-dimensional, chemically reacting CFD code, SPARK. The sequential code has been ported to run on the Intel iPSC\/860-based parallel computers. Routines have been added to the code which partition the problem based on the global mesh, and then assign the resulting subdomains across the processors. Two subdomain mappings have been considered. The routines which ... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Scalable parallel molecular dynamics on MIMD supercomputers\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):246 - 251\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(520 KB)\n\nPresents two parallel algorithms suitable for molecular dynamics simulations over a wide range of sizes, from a few hundred to millions of atoms. One of the algorithms is optimally scalable, offering performance proportional to N\/P where N is the number of atoms (or molecules) and P is the number of processors. Their implementation on three MIMD parallel computers (nCUBE2, Intel Gamma, and Intel D... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Towards a distributed memory implementation of Sisal\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):385 - 392\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (3)\n| | PDF\u00a0(680 KB)\n\nSisal is a functional language for scientific applications implemented efficiently on shared memory, vector, and hierarchical memory multiprocessors. The current compiler assumes a flat, shared addressing space, and the runtime system is implemented using locks and shared queues. This paper describes a first implementation of Sisal on the nCUBE 2 distributed memory architecture. Most of the effort... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### A matrix product algorithm and its comparative performance on hypercubes\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):190 - 194\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (7)\n| | PDF\u00a0(280 KB)\n\nA matrix product algorithm is studied in which one matrix operand is transposed prior to the computation. This algorithm is compared with the Fox-Hey-Otto algorithm on hypercube architectures. The Transpose algorithm simplifies communication for nonsquare matrices and for computations where the number of processors is not a perfect square. The results indicate superior performance for the Transpos... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Applications of FORALL-formed computations in large scale stochastic dynamic programming\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):182 - 185\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(224 KB)\n\nData parallel broadcasting methods have been developed by taking the advantages of the properties of stochastic, nonlinear, continuous-time dynamical systems. The stochastic components include both Gaussian and Poisson random white noise. An example of a grand challenge level application is the resource management problem. The purpose of this paper is to demonstrate that broadcasting can be effici... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Load information distribution via active interconnection networks\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):174 - 177\n| | PDF\u00a0(292 KB)\n\nExisting multicomputers typically use passive, dedicated network interfaces. By comparison, an active interconnect network can manipulate the data in messages transitting through a node; these might use existing systolic processors as the network interface. Active interconnects will become increasingly common in distributed memory multicomputers because they can be used to implement a variety of r... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### An object oriented approach to boundary conditions in finite difference fluid dynamics codes\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):145 - 148\nCited by:\u00a0 Patents (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(276 KB)\n\nParallel computers have been used to solve computational fluid dynamics (CFD) problems for many years; however, while the hardware has greatly improved, the software methods for describing CFD algorithms have remained largely unchanged. From the physics and software engineering points of view, the boundary conditions consume most of the algorithmic development and programming time, but only a smal... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Intercube communication for the iPSC\/860\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):307 - 313\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (5)\n| | PDF\u00a0(408 KB)\n\nIn this paper, new functions that enable efficient intercube communication on the Intel iPSC\/860 are introduced. Communication between multiple cubes (power-of-two number of processor nodes) within the Intel iPSC\/860 is a desirable feature to facilitate the implementation of interdisciplinary problems such as the grand challenge problems of the High Performance Computing and Communications Project... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Using atomic data structures for parallel simulation\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):30 - 37\nCited by:\u00a0 Patents (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(432 KB)\n\nSynchronizing access to shared data structures is a difficult problem for simulation programs. Frequently, synchronizing operations within and between simulation steps substantially curtails parallelism. The paper presents a general technique for performing this synchronization while sustaining parallelism. The technique combines fine-grained, exclusive locks with futures, a write-once data struct... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Applications of a parallel pressure-correction algorithm to 3D turbomachinery flows\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):153 - 156\n| | PDF\u00a0(308 KB)\n\nA parallel algorithm for the solution of three-dimensional compressible flows in turbomachinery has been developed and demonstrated on a scalable distributed memory multicomputer. The algorithm solves the compressible form of the Euler or Navier-Stokes equations via a compressible pressure correction formulation. To achieve high accuracy for highly turning blade rows, the computational grid is con... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Toward a scalable concurrent architecture for real-time processing of stochastic control and optimization problems\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):46 - 50\n| | PDF\u00a0(344 KB)\n\nReports on the development of a scalable multiple-instruction multiple-data (MIMD) concurrent architecture which is intended to serve as an effective alternative for solving stochastic differential and optimization systems. This architecture has in turn motivated the application of group theory and invariance analysis to acquire further insights in understanding the original problem. The speed-up ... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Parameterized memory\/processor optimizing FORTRAN compiler for parallel computers\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):204 - 207\nCited by:\u00a0 Patents (2)\n| | PDF\u00a0(312 KB)\n\nA new approach to generating low-conflict parallel instructions for complex applications is introduced in this paper. This method is presented within the context of a FORTRAN compiler. An approximate simulator has been incorporated within a parallel-code\/domain-decomposition loop within the compiler. The simulator estimates the performance of candidate instruction segments, and guides the selectio... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Phase modeling of a parallel scientific code\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):322 - 327\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (1)\n| | PDF\u00a0(424 KB)\n\nDescribes a performance model for a parallel program that solves the nonlinear shallow water equations using the spectral transform method. The model is generated via a phase analysis, and consists of a sequence of simple models whose sum describes the performance of the entire code. This use of a sequence of simple models increases the range of validity of the model as the problem and machine par... View full abstract\u00bb\n\n\u2022 ### Selective monitoring using performance metric predicates\n\nPublication Year: 1992, Page(s):162 - 165\nCited by:\u00a0 Papers (4) \u00a0|\u00a0 Patents (1)\n| | PDF\u00a0(304 KB)\n\nThe field of parallel processing is going through an important evolution in technology characterized by a significant increase in the number of processors within such systems. As the number of processors increases, the conventional techniques for monitoring the performance of parallel systems will produce large amounts of data in the form of event trace files. The authors propose one possible solu... View full abstract\u00bb","date":"2017-06-23 16:45:45","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 1, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.21782304346561432, \"perplexity\": 4516.350643119606}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2017-26\/segments\/1498128320070.48\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20170623151757-20170623171757-00689.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
Q: Changing colour of floating action button I would like to change the colour of my floating action button, as it is currently set to the standard blue, but the below does not seem to be working.
Probably an easy fix that I am overlooking. Any thoughts?
floatingActionButton: ConstrainedBox(
constraints: BoxConstraints.tightFor(width: 80, height: 80),
child: ElevatedButton(
child: Icon(Icons.center_focus_strong, size: 39),
onPressed: () {
Navigator.push(context,
MaterialPageRoute(builder: (context) => CameraScreen()));
},
style: ElevatedButton.styleFrom(
shape: CircleBorder(),
colors.Color(0xffC6CBD1),
),
),
),
A: You have to add primary attribute in your style, like this:
style: ElevatedButton.styleFrom(
shape: CircleBorder(),
primary: colors.Color(0xffC6CBD1)
),
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
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Ferdy Mayne (or Ferdie Mayne) (born Ferdinand Philip Mayer-Horckel; 11 March 1916 – 30 January 1998) was a German-British stage and screen actor. Born in Mainz, he emigrated to the United Kingdom in the early 1930s to escape the Nazi regime. He resided in the UK for the majority of his professional career. Working almost continuously throughout a 60 year-long career, Mayne was known as a versatile character actor, often playing suave villains and aristocratic eccentrics in films like The Fearless Vampire Killers, Where Eagles Dare, Barry Lyndon, and Benefit of the Doubt.
Early life
He was born Ferdinand Philip Mayer-Horckel in Mainz, Germany. His German father was the judge of Mainz, while his half-English mother was a singing instructor.
Because his family was Jewish, a teenage Mayne was sent to Britain in 1932 to protect him from the Nazis. He stayed with his aunt, Li Osborne (1883-1968), nee Luisa Friedericka Wolf, a well-known German theatre and film portrait photographer. Just a few years previously, she fled Germany for England, married, became Li Hutchinson-Wolf, and, as a noted sculptress, used the name Lee Hutchinson. Mayne obtained British citizenship. His parents were detained briefly in Buchenwald but, due to his mother's British family connections, were able to leave Germany for Britain, where they settled permanently.
At the start of the Second World War, Mayne operated as an informant for MI5. Significant clues to his secret service work were provided by Joan Miller in her posthumously published memoir One Girl's War (1986). Mayne had served as a witness at her marriage in 1945.
Career
Mayne appeared in 230 films and television programmes. In 1967, he achieved international recognition in his role as Count von Krolock in Roman Polanski's The Fearless Vampire Killers.
In 1977, he appeared in "It Pays to Advertise", an episode of Are You Being Served?, in the role of "The Ten Pound Perfume".
Later, Mayne moved to the United States and played the semi-regular role of Albert Grand in the TV series Cagney and Lacey.
In 1983, he played the role of Ludwig Rosenthal, a wealthy Jewish merchant persecuted and dispossessed by the Nazis, in Winds of War, a television miniseries based on the eponymous novel by Herman Wouk.
Personal life
In 1955, Mayne married actress Deirdre de Payer. Their daughter Belinda Mayne is also an actress. They also adopted a daughter, Fernanda, in 1965. The couple divorced in 1972.
Illness and death
In the 1990s, Mayne developed Parkinson's disease, from which he died on 30 January 1998 in London, aged 81.
Partial filmography
References
External links
1916 births
1998 deaths
20th-century German male actors
Neurological disease deaths in England
Deaths from Parkinson's disease
German emigrants to England
German expatriates in the United States
German male film actors
German male television actors
Jewish German male actors
Jews who immigrated to the United Kingdom to escape Nazism
MI5 personnel
Actors from Mainz
World War II spies for the United Kingdom
German people of Jewish descent
German people of English descent | {
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2019.03.02 Lies about Sanders' Speech
While MSNBC has always been the propaganda arm of the DNC, when they get caught making mistakes (like claims about Bernie Sanders), will they correct them? The answer would be "no", like most mistakes. Bernie is a threat to the DNC establishment, so the truth takes a backseat to the agenda. And the Intercept earns a gold star for doing actual journalism and calling them out on it.
After Bernie Sanders speech, the first "analyst" that MSDNC went to was Zerlina Maxwell, a paid official for Hillary Clinton's 2016 campaign against Sanders. Her complaint, "I clocked it. He did not mention race or gender until 23 minutes into the speech"... ignoring that race/gender should not be the highest priority in the first place (unless you're a divisive intersectional snowflake), it is factually wrong:
he started by thanking the Tokens/Props that introduced him, thanking Shaun King (race Huckster),
the next thing he said was, "the core message of his campaign is that the underlying principles of our government ...[will] not be racism, sexism, xenophobia, homophobia, and religious bigotry."
the next thing after that was, "the principles of our government will be based on justice: on economic justice, on social justice, on racial justice, on environmental justice"
MSNBC half corrected a tweet, but not the online broadcast -- but even then they lied about it, and said there was a passing comment that their commenter missed. No, there were a few strong callouts, so even the half-correction was wrong. The left of center Intercept calls MSNBC out on this. While the Intercept may biased, they do have journalistic standards and will write at least a few honest pieces that irritate the left.
Scathing takedown of MSNBC: https://theintercept.com/2019/03/03/msnbc-yet-again-broadcasts-blatant-lies-this-time-about-bernie-sanders-opening-speech-and-refuses-to-correct-them/
Retrieved from "http://igeek.com/index.php?title=2019.03.02_Lies_about_Sanders%27_Speech&oldid=26820" | {
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South Reach Networks Proud to Welcome Dexter Cartwright as New CFO/CSO
We are thrilled to welcome Mr. Dexter Cartwright as South Reach Networks' new Chief Financial Officer ("CFO") and Chief Strategy Officer ("CSO"), with a start date effective today. Dexter's impressive career spans 30 years, including 22 years in telecommunications operations. He offers our company a wealth of industry experience in both operations and international management in regions such as the Bahamas, Canada, US, Caribbean and Latin America. In his new position as CFO/CSO, Dexter will provide leadership, direction and management of SRN's financial duties and spearhead the ongoing evolution and execution of strategy that is critical to the company's continued success.
"We are excited to welcome Dexter to our executive team here at SRN, and working closely on new and exciting growth initiatives, leveraging his expertise and excellent track record in the telecommunications industry, particularly in the area focused on telecom operations and carrier relations," comments our President, Michael Sevret. "This strategic new hire represents SRN's increased visibility and strength in the marketplace and our commitment to the company's ongoing growth."
Cartwright most recently held the position of CFO at Cable & Wireless, overseeing its Business to Business ("B2B") $1M+ revenue division from August 2018; and as the interim CEO of Bahamas Telecommunications Company between 2017 and 2018. Highlights of his extensive career include successfully managing the deployment of more than $1.5B of capital investments comprising over 48,000 kilometers of submarine fiber optic networks spanning across 40 countries and 60 cable landing stations along with over 13,000 miles of metro and long-haul fiber networks. In 2000, he was one of the initial 15 employees responsible for the planning and construction of the ARCOS-1 Submarine Network, a $400M capital project. ARCOS-1 was completed in 2001 and connects the US with 14 countries in the Caribbean, South and Central America. In this role, he set up the company's tax, legal, regulatory, human resources and operating structure for its international wholesale operations. He also played an important role in the launch of a telecom B2B operation that involved acquisitions in eight countries and greenfield startup operations in several more countries, along with the creation of cloud compute facilities within the Caribbean, Central and South America. Additionally, Cartwright was integral in the formation of the 2013 joint venture with Cable & Wireless that expanded the wholesale operations and later the 2015 Columbus Communications merger with Cable & Wireless, before Liberty Global acquired the company in 2016.
Read our full press release announcement, and ask you to please join us in welcoming Dexter to our team! We are very excited for the amazing work, insight, and thought leadership he will provide to SRN.
Connected2Fiber In-Building Wireless Trends and 5G Virtual Roundtable Replay Now Available November 12, 2020
Kevin Rocks Talks In-Building Wireless Trends and 5G on Oct. 29 Virtual Roundtable with Connected2Fiber October 26, 2020
Connectivity Matters: Back to School in 2020 September 17, 2020
Don't Miss Out: Hot Summer Deals from South Reach Networks August 17, 2020
Live from ITW 2020: South Reach Networks' Mike Sevret Discusses Acquisition, New Hires & Growth in 2020 June 22, 2020 | {
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from markdown import markdown
from base import BaseMarkup
class MarkdownMarkup(BaseMarkup):
def markup(self):
self.html_content = markdown(self.content)
| {
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Kenta Kobayashi, född 12 mars 1981 i Soka, Saitama prefektur, Japan, är en japansk professionell fribrottare. Hans nuvarande arbetsgivare är Pro-Wresling NOAH som är ett japanskt förbund. Han brottas under artistnamnet KENTA som också är hans förnamn. KENTA är en före detta GHC Junior Heavyweight Mästare samt en före detta GHC Junior Tag-Team Mästare. KENTA brottas ofta i lag med Naomichi Marufuji som även han är en japansk lättviktarbrottare. Tillsammans har de gått en hel del minnesvärda kamper, t.ex. emot Takeshi Rikio & Takeshi Morishima på gala ifrån juni 2006.
KENTA i Ring of Honor
KENTA vs. Low Ki, ROH Final Battle 2005
KENTA & Naomichi Marufuji vs. Samoa Joe & Bryan Danielson, ROH Best in the World
KENTA vs.Samoa Joe vs. Bryan Danielson, ROH In your Face
KENTA vs. Roderick Strong, ROH Throwdown
KENTA vs. Austin Aries, ROH Chi-Town Struggle
KENTA & Davey Richards vs. The Briscoe Brothers, ROH Time to Man-Up
KENTA vs. Davey Richards, ROH Fight of the Century
Signatur Moves
Go 2 Sleep (Avslutare)
Busaiku Knee Kick (Avslutare)
Fisherman Buster
German Suplex (Ofta med brygga)
KENTA Rush
Avalanche/Super Falcon Arrow
Death Valley Driver
Tiger Suplex
Stiffa Sparkar
Födda 1981
Japanska fribrottare
Män
Levande personer
WP:Projekt Japan | {
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\section*{Acknowledgement}
This research was supported in part by the Natural Sciences and
Engineering Research Council of Canada.
\vspace{10ex}
\noindent Figure (1): A, B, and C each display six curves
with significant overlap. \({\it F}({f_{a}}(x), \Delta t)/{\zeta _{a}}\), \({\it G}({f_{a}}(x), \Delta t)/{\xi _{a}}\) and \({\it H}({f_{a}}(x), \Delta t)/{\kappa _{a}}\) are defined in (\ref{e5}--\ref{e7}) with
the six functions \({f_{a}}(x)\) and constants (\({\zeta _{a}}\), \({\xi _{a}}\), \({\kappa _{a}}\)) specified in (\ref{e10}). The additional dashed line
in A corresponds to \({\it f}(x)=x^{4}\), while the dashed line in each of B and C corresponds to \({\it f}(x)=x^{2}\). To produce B and C we have removed from the data the well known
correlation between volatility and time of day. This changes the shape
of the curves but not their overlap.
\begin{center} \includegraphics{figs.eps}
\end{center}
\newpage
| {
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Taking the time to stop and watch something so simple as the grace and ease of a butterfly can soothe the soul when the world around us seems to have gone a bit crazy.
Watching from afar, some pretty unimaginable events have happened here in the U.S. and beyond over the course of this summer. Now is the time to stop and remember what is good and right on this planet. To stop the stinging so to speak and turn our energies towards what is good.
To remember how we each have the choice everyday to find the littlest of victories and help where we can to make the world right again.
Muhammad Ali, who we can all probably remember saying the words, "I am the greatest!" said his eternal goodbye in June. He was a gentle giant of man that went on to give back to the world in so many ways. It was touching to see how many people were deeply moved by his passing - including my husband.
His funeral played out with a pretty diverse who's who list among the 20,000 people that attended. There was much laughter and of course tears shared by those who eulogized him.
I felt a tribute in the Victory Letter to this bigger than life personality was important especially this month as we honor the Master Mind principle of our Unique Personality here in the Victory Circles. He most definitely had that one mastered.
Ali founded the Ali Center in his hometown of Louisville, Kentucky (actually the city I was born) based on the 6 core principles he felt fueled his life. Each one in itself comes with strength and the promise to float majestically and sting when necessary. After all we do in fact need to protect ourselves from time to time.
1. Confidence – Belief in oneself, one's abilities, and one's future.
2. Conviction – A firm belief that gives one the courage to stand behind the belief despite pressure to do otherwise.
3. Dedication – The act of devoting all of one's energy, effort, and abilities to a certain task.
4. Giving –To present voluntarily without expecting something in return.
5. Respect – Esteem for, or a sense of the worth or excellence of, oneself and others.
6. Spirituality – A sense of awe reverence, and inner peace inspired by a connection to all of creation and/or that which is great than oneself.
In what can become a complex world the simplicities are without a doubt so important to keep us grounded and moving forward.
Think of the challenges that lay before you, both big and small. How could one or more of his principles help guide you forward?
When the day comes that you are eulogized after you leave the planet – what do you want to be remembered for doing and being? What matters most to you?
As you cruise forward this week remember to let your true self-shine. You are the greatest you that there ever was or will be again. Ali also once said, "I said I was the greatest, I never said I was the smartest." Greatness without a doubt comes from the inside out and does not require perfection.
Here is to your greatness! | {
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Татьяна Архипова:
Архипова, Татьяна Валерьевна (род. 1983) — российская легкоатлетка.
Архипова, Татьяна Григорьевна (род. 1941) — российский историк, профессор РГГУ.
Архипова, Татьяна Сергеевна (род. 1967) — директор БДТ. | {
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FROM golang:1.9 as builder
WORKDIR /go/src/github.com/lvzhihao/zhiya
COPY . .
RUN CGO_ENABLED=0 GOOS=linux go build -a -installsuffix cgo .
FROM alpine:latest
RUN apk --no-cache add ca-certificates tzdata
WORKDIR /usr/local/zhiya
COPY --from=builder /go/src/github.com/lvzhihao/zhiya/zhiya .
COPY ./docker-entrypoint.sh .
ENV PATH /usr/local/zhiya:$PATH
RUN chmod +x /usr/local/zhiya/docker-entrypoint.sh
ENTRYPOINT ["/usr/local/zhiya/docker-entrypoint.sh"]
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1 Centre Street is located in Manhattan and was completed in 1914. This building was designed by McKim, Mead and White and stands 580 feet tall with 40 floors. This pewter replica stands just over 4 inches tall and is finished in new pewter. This model's scale is 1 inch = 150 feet.For more pics check out our special February blog.
This is such a beautifully designed building, I was amazed at the level of detail the model has!
Like the real thing, you can admire this in your collection thanks to its fine details. Love this piece. | {
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{"url":"https:\/\/mathlesstraveled.com\/2018\/06\/28\/chromatic-number-of-the-plane-roundup\/","text":"## Chromatic number of the plane\u00a0roundup\n\nI\u2019ve had fun writing about the Hadwiger-Nelson problem to determine the chromatic number of the plane, but I think this will be my last post on the topic for now!\n\n# More 7-colorings\n\nOf course, the original point of the hexagonal 7-coloring in my last two posts is that it establishes an upper bound of CNP $\\leq 7$ (although it turns out it\u2019s also just a really cool pattern). Again, there is a balancing act here: we have to give each hexagon a diameter of $< 1$, so no two points in the same hexagon will be 1 unit apart; but we also have to make the hexagons big enough that same-colored hexagons are more than 1 unit from each other. This is indeed possible, since same-colored hexagons always have two \u201clayers\u201d of other hexagons in between them. Denis Moskowitz made a really nice graphic illustrating this:\n\nIn a comment on my previous post, Will Orrick pointed out that if you tile 3-dimensional space with cubes and color them with seven colors so that each cube is touching six others with all different colors, then take a diagonal slice through that space, you get this!\n\nThis is the same as the 7-colored hexagonal tiling I showed before, but with extra triangles in between the hexagons (and the colors of the triangles follow a pattern similar to the hexagons). I could stare at this all day! Here\u2019s a version with numbers if you find it helpful. (If you support me on Patreon you can get automatic access to bigger versions of all the images I post\u2014though to be honest if there\u2019s a particular image you want a bigger version of, you can just ask nicely!)\n\n# What is CNP?\n\nSo, we know CNP is either 5, 6, or 7. So which is it? No one is really sure. With some unsolved problems, there is widespread agreement in the mathematical community on what the right answer \u201cshould be\u201d, it\u2019s just that no one has managed to prove it. That isn\u2019t the case here at all. If you ask different mathematicians you will probably get different opinions on which number is correct. Some mathematicians even think the \u201cright\u201d answer might depend on which axioms we choose as a foundation of mathematics!\u2014in particular that the answer might change depending on whether you allow the axiom of choice (a topic for another post, perhaps).\n\nAssistant Professor of Computer Science at Hendrix College. Functional programmer, mathematician, teacher, pianist, follower of Jesus.\nThis entry was posted in geometry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.\n\n### 7 Responses to Chromatic number of the plane\u00a0roundup\n\n1. Denis says:\n\nOh, I\u2019m glad you liked the graphic enough to use it as-is. It occurred to me afterwards that using your coloring for the hexes and changing the hue of the highlighted hexes to red or green would be clearer than using the rainbow coloring and changing the saturation, but oh well.\n\nIt\u2019s difficult to imagine what a valid chromatic coloring of the plane might look like if CNP is 5 or 6, since it couldn\u2019t be symmetrical in the same way as this pattern. Maybe something semiperiodic based on Penrose Tiles? Perhaps someday someone will discover it and it will take over the world like the Mandelbrot Set did. \ud83d\ude42 (Admittedly it might be unvisualizeable like the Banach-Tarski division.)\n\n\u2022 Brent says:\n\nYeah, a semiperiodic 6-coloring of the plane would be super cool, although there has been so much work on semiperiodic tilings that I guess I find it implausible that no one has found one if it exists. Personally I am going to go out on a limb and conjecture that CNP = 7, unless you allow the axiom of choice, in which case CNP = 6, as witnessed by some infinitely detailed Banach-Tarski monstrosity that you cannot hope to visualize.\n\n2. Denis says:\n\nThe WP article about this has an oversight that I\u2019m sure I can\u2019t be the first to notice, but you would know better than I.\n\nDiscussing higher dimensions, it says: \u201cFor n>1, a lower bound of n+2 is available using a generalization of the Moser spindle: a pair of the objects (each 2 simplexes glued together on a facet) which are joined on 1 side by a point and the other side by a line.\u201d\n\nThe line at the other end of the spindle can instead be a simplex of n-1, which gives a lower bound of 2n.\n\n\u2022 Brent says:\n\nI don\u2019t think I understand. How would you connect two points with an n-1 simplex?\n\n\u2022 Denis says:\n\nThe full rephrase would be \u201cFor n>1, a lower bound of 2n is available using a generalization of the Moser spindle: n of the objects (each 2 simplexes glued together on a facet) which are joined on 1 side by a point and the other side by an n-1 simplex.\u201d\n\n\u2022 Denis says:\n\nOh, never mind \u2013 there\u2019s nothing forcing you to use the same set of N colors for the glued facet, so the argument doesn\u2019t work.\n\n\u2022 Brent says:\n\nOh, I see now. I almost believed you. =) But I agree, this ends up only being a more complicated proof that n+2 is a lower bound. Your construction is not n+1 colorable but it is always n+2 colorable.\n\nThis site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.","date":"2018-09-25 15:53:24","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 2, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 0, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.6898437142372131, \"perplexity\": 679.948104766394}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.3, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2018-39\/segments\/1537267161661.80\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20180925143000-20180925163400-00338.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
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Comments: TEXT OR CALL *JAMES JOSEPH* (440-339-6259) AT CLASSIC MAZDA FOR FULL DETAILS! A LIKE NEW VEHICLE WITH A BETTER THAN NEW WARRANTY! YOU WILL ALSO BE ABLE TO SAVE TAX BY SUBTRACTING YOUR TRADE VALUE FROM THE TAXABLE AMOUNT JUST LIKE WITH NEW CAR PURCHASES. Well maintained by Classic Mazda's service department this 2019 CX-3 Touring AWD service loaner is the perfect value! Along with the balance of Mazda's 3 year / 36,000 mile Comprehensive Warranty Certified Pre-Owned includes 12 month / 12,000 Additional Comprehensive Warranty and a 7 year/100,000 mile Powertrain Warranty with 24/7 Roadside Assistance! Our CX-3 Touring in Eternal Blue Mica delivers an exceptional blend of performance, utility, efficiency, and style! Powered by a 2.0 Liter 4 Cylinder that offers a spirited 146hp while paired with a responsive 6 Speed Automatic transmission that offers brisk acceleration. This All Wheel Drive offers impressive maneuverability plus near 33mpg on the open road while enjoying a design that is athletic and graceful with its 18 inch alloy wheels, rear roof spoiler, and dual exhaust. Inside the Touring cabin, find a wealth of amenities that make you feel perpetually indulged. Sit back in your ultra-supportive heated leatherette seat and take note of keyless entry/ignition, Power Moonroof, Bose Audio, Bluetooth, Mazda Connect infotainment full-color display with voice commands/central controller, and a sound system with CD, USB port, auxiliary jack, and internet radio. A Top Safety Pick, our Mazda has been engineered with safety systems such as Smart City Brake Support, a blind-spot monitor with rear cross traffic alert, a rear camera, anti-lock brakes, stability/traction control, front side airbags, side curtain airbags and more to provide peace of mind while you are behind the wheel. It's time to reward yourself with a crossover SUV that checks off all the boxes on your list - the Mazda CX-3 Touring! PRINT THIS PAGE AND PLEASE REMEMBER TO ASK FOR *JAMES JOSEPH* TEXT OR CALL ME DIRECTLY (440-339-6259) TO HAVE YOUR TEST DRIVE PULLED UP AND READY TO GO!! | {
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Week 12 NEPA rankings
Week 12 saw the fall of #1 and #2, records falling at the hands of Johnny Football, and some pretty incredible MAC-tion. Oh, and Tavon Austin tried to destroy our computers. Here's how NEPA sees the top 10 at each position. I'm presenting this in a new way, a top 10 for each position:
Jordan Lynch, NIU (190.1 NEPA; .384 NEPA per play)
2582 passing yards, 1504 rushing yards, 38 total TD, 4 INT
MAC football is fun this year. No, it might not be the greatest conference in the land, and no, these teams probably wouldn't win the SEC or Big Ten. That's not the point. The point is that the MAC is fun. Jordan Lynch is a major reason why. On Wednesday, in what was basically the MAC West title game, Lynch passed for 407 yards and 3 TD - and ran for 162 - in the 31-24 win. The guy is pretty much single-handedly winning the conference by himself. According to NEPA, Lynch's performance was over 20 points better than the average player. As someone who looks at NEPA on a regular basis, I can tell you that anything over 20 is extremely good. Now, here's the kicker - it was only his 5th best game of the year. I'm not saying Lynch should definitely win the Heisman, but he definitely should be in the conversation, and it's a shame he's not.
Fun Fact: Lynch is averaging over 60 yards per punt this season.
Johnny Manziel, Texas A&M (177.3; .335)
Manziel had an under-the-radar but typical Johnny Football kind of game - 267 passing, 100 rushing, 5 TDs - but against Sam Houston State, it's easy to overlook. The thing is, Manziel has been making almost every team this year look like Sam Houston State. It's the 7th game in which he has topped 20 NEPA, and were it not for his awful showing against LSU, he'd be running away with the lead here.
Fun Fact: Manziel is the only player, freshman or any other class, in SEC history, with over 3000 passing yards and 1000 rushing yards in a season. In fact, he's only the 5th player period to accomplish it.
Tajh Boyd, Clemson (174.5; .361)
3367 passing yards, 466 rushing yards, 41 total TD, 11 INT
Boyd is peaking at the right time when it comes to Heisman voters. Unfortunately, he won't have an ACC title game to pad his stats, but if he performs against South Carolina the way he did against NC State, he might not need one. Against NC State this weekend, Boyd had a ridiculous 31.5 NEPA. 426 passing yards, 103 rushing, and 8 total TDs accounted for. He hasn't had a below average game once this year. That's something neither player ahead of him can boast.
Fun Fact: Boyd's 8 TDs established a new ACC record.
Nick Florence, Baylor (155.9; .346)
A date of mine once made me watch the film 27 Dresses. In it, Katherine Heigl is quite literally always the bridesmaid, never the bride. She has many friends marry and come and go, but she's always there, the one constant of these weddings standing near center-stage each weekend. It's a delightfully formulaic and predictable film. Nick Florence is NEPA's bridesmaid. He's been in the top 5 seemingly all season. He watches other QBs come and go, but he's the one constant, each weekend finishing near the top but never #1. In the movie, Heigl's character finds love in the most unexpected place (unless you were watching the movie or had seen the preview, in which it was the most expected place whatsoever, but I digress). Florence may have not gotten his dream wedding, but knocking off the #1 team in the country is his unexpected fairy tale ending. Yes, I just compared beating Kansas State to falling in love with James Marsden.
Fun Fact: I remembered all those plot details without any internet research.
Seth Doege, Texas Tech (151.8; .311)
3575 passing yards, -19 rushing yards, 30 receiving yards, 35 total TD, 11 INT
Doege (pronounced DAY-ghee) had his 2nd worst game of the year this week in the loss to OSU. Regardless, he's done such a good job beating up on bad defenses he remains in the top 10. Doege (pronounced Dojjh) is a product of his system, sure, but who isn't?
Fun Fact 1: After an INT early in summer camp, Tommy Tuberville tried to remove Doege (pronounced Dodge) from a game, but was unable to rip his helmet off his head, and Doege (pronounced Dog) has remained the starter ever since.
Fun Fact 2: Nothing about Fun Fact 1 was, in fact, factual.
Colby Cameron, Louisiana Tech (146.9; .287)
3679 passing yards, 182 rushing yards, 31 TD, 2 INT
Cameron threw his first 2 INTs of the year on Saturday, snapping an NCAA record 444 attempt streak without an INT.
Collin Klein, Kansas State (143.5; .338)
Klein became the only player in NCAA history with multiple seasons of 10+ TD passes and 20+ TD rushes. The only other players to do it once? Cam Newton, Tim Tebow, and Eric Crouch.
Marcus Mariota, Oregon (140.2; .369)
2371 passing yards, 607 yards from scrimmage, 33 TD, 6 INT
Mariota looked oddly human in the OT loss to Stanford, just one week after piling up over 30 NEPA against California.
Cody Fajardo, Nevada (140.1; .305)
A drumbeat of consistency, Fajardo has topped 20 NEPA just once this year but has never dipped into negative territory.
David Fales, San Jose State (139.4; .341)
3431 passing yards, -130 rushing yards, 28 TD, 8 INT
Fales has been more productive on actual passes than any QB in the country this year (180 NEPA). Unfortunately, he gets sacked a lot, leading to a loss of over 40 NEPA on sacks alone.
Dri Archer, Kent State (93.9; .546)
1684 yards from scrimmage, 18 TD, 37.3 yards per KR, 3 KR TD, 24 passing yards, 1 TD pass
Archer takes the lead thanks to his 17 carry, 241 yard, 2 TD game against a solid Bowling Green defense. He had 2 runs of over 70 yards, which helped his NCAA leading 10.3 ypc average. The guy just does it all. If Jordan Lynch is reason #1 to watch the MAC this year, Dri Archer is a close 2nd. I should note that KR stats are not factored into Archer's NEPA. If they were, he'd be running away with this thing. If all that isn't enough, consider this - Archer is the only RB who has not had a single below average performance in a game this season.
Kenjon Barner, Oregon (76.0; .309)
1658 yards from scrimmage, 20 TD
Barner didn't have a good week, for the 2nd straight week, but he remains near the top thanks largely to his monumental game against USC (25.9).
Kenneth Dixon, Louisiana Tech (68.3; .333)
Dixon extends his Freshman record for scoring, and had a decent game against Utah State, despite the loss.
Giovani Bernard, North Carolina (63.8; .307)
1523 yards from scrimmage, 16 TD, 2 KR TD
The sophomore has established himself as the best ground weapon in the ACC by being consistently above-average, though rarely great.
Ka'Deem Carey, Arizona (63.4; .221)
Carey leads the country in both rushing and combined yardage, but Carey has had two types of games this year: Wow (Oregon State, Stanford, and his masterpiece against Colorado) and Meh (every other game). The Mehs have it.
Fun Fact: If Jordan Lynch hadn't thrown a pass all year long, he'd occupy this spot, with over 65 NEPA on rushes alone.
Kerwynn Williams, Utah State (59.5; .256)
As a Sophomore in 2010, Williams led the country in KR yardage, but he rarely handles the duties anymore now that he's the feature back. He had a huge game against LaTech in what amounted to the WAC championship - 20 carries for 162, 4 catches for 125, and 3 TD.
De'Anthony Thomas, Oregon (56.5; .467)
945 yards from scrimmage, 12 TD, 1 PR TD
Thomas doesn't touch the ball much, but when he does, it usually winds up a long way away from where it was snapped.
Antonio Andrews, Western Kentucky (55.0; .186)
Andrews had a great game this weekend (252 combined yards / 2 TD) to push him into the top 10. Also worth noting is that Johnny Manziel, without the benefit of a single pass, would rank here.
Orwin Smith, Georgia Tech (53.4; .529)
944 yards from scrimmage, 5 TD
Smith ranks so highly because Tech simply doesn't give him the ball very much. When he gets the ball, it's for big yardage. When he doesn't... is most of the time.
Johnathan Franklin, UCLA (53.3; .207)
Others may have had more yards this weekend, but Franklin might have the biggest run - his 29 yard TD sealed the game against rival USC, clinched the Pac-12 South, and effectively convinced the world that yes, the monopoly in Los Angeles really is over.
Stedman Bailey, West Virginia (92.8; .786)
88 catches, 1260 receiving yards, 20 TD
Bailey leads the country in receiving touchdowns, including 4 this weekend against Oklahoma.
Marqise Lee, USC (91.7; .569)
118 plays, 1712 yards, 14 TD
The sophomore leads the country in receptions (107) and receiving yards (1605).
Tavon Austin, West Virginia (86.3; .523)
Oh, let us bask in the glory that was Tavon Austin's day against Oklahoma: 4 catches, 82 yards. 21 rushes, 344 yards. 8 kick returns, 146 yards. That's 33 touches for... 572 yards.
Terrance Williams, Baylor (85.2; .681)
84 plays, 1518 yards, 11 TD
Nick Florence's go-to guy all year, he just keeps producing every week.
DeAndre Hopkins, Clemson (80.7; .799)
Hopkins, unlike the 4 that precede him on this list, has not had a NEPA under zero in a single game this season. This week at NC State was the closest he's come.
Noel Grigsby, San Jose State (73.3; .788)
Austin Hill, Arizona (66.8; .675)
Kenny Stills, Oklahoma (66.0; .718)
Brent Leonard, UL-Monroe (63.8; .510)
Alec Lemon, Syracuse (61.4; .661)
Brent Blackwell compiles the NEPA rankings for cfbtn.com. Follow Brent on Twitter by mashing the pretty button below. Follow @brentblackwell
By Brent Blackwell
Championship Week Preview, Part II
Preview: Alabama vs. Georgia
Friday's trip around the statverse
Championship Week Preview, Part I
A closer look at yards per play
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Coaching Carousel: California
Week 13's Best Offensive Performances
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My Heisman ballot, Bama/Georgia play for two, and ...
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Ohio plays football, so does the west coast and Lo...
Week 11 NEPA leaders
Ranking the teams with NEPA
Alabama is only mostly dead
Fantasy Bumpers Week 11
Making the Case: Johnny Football for Heisman
Week 11 in Review
Vegas vs. CFBTN, Week 11
More fun with the transitive property, the SEC is ...
Coaching Carousel: Joker Phillips
Thursday's Trip around the Statverse
Combinatorics in College Football
Idaho starts the coaching carousel
Weighing in on Kickers
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Week 10 EPA Preview
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Running Back EPAs, Week 9: Attack of the Ducks | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 6,686 |
Q: publich asp.net mvc web site to server I publich asp.net mvc web site to server.and after that I made some changes in it, and I want to republish it.
I republish the mvc control but, it does not work.
should I republish the whole web site when I update the code in one of mvc controls??
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 8,215 |
Q: shell script to create backup of table in oracle database I need a shell script to check if table is present in database or not , if present then take backup of it (Bak_tables). If Bak_table is present than it should take backup with the name bak_table_sysdate.
I need to connect to oracle database. I have searched but not finding anything although I got few hints for MySQL but that does not help.
#!/bin/bash
LogDirectory='/home/maintain/log'
read -p "Enter DBUSER : " USER
read -p "Enter password : " PASSWORD
read -p "Enter table name : " TABLE
sqlplus -s <<EOF > ${LogDirectory}/query.log
${USER}/${PASSWORD}
set linesize 32767
set feedback off
set heading off
IF[
(SELECT COUNT(*) FROM ALL_TABLES WEHRE TABLE_NAME =$TABLE;) -eq 1];
then
create table bak_$TABLE as select * from $TABLE;
else
echo "Table does not exits in database"
fi
EOF
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaStackExchange"
} | 4,516 |
\subsection*{Abstract}
\noindent {\bf Purpose -- } A key aspect of word of mouth marketing are emotions. Emotions in texts
help propagating messages in conventional advertising. In word of mouth scenarios,
emotions help to engage consumers and incite to propagate the message further. While
the function of emotions in offline marketing in general and word of mouth marketing
in particular is rather well understood, online marketing can only offer a limited
view on the function of emotions. In this contribution we seek to close this gap.
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Design/methodology/approach -- } More than 30,000 brand marketing messages from the Google+ social networking site are collected. Using
state of the art computational linguistics classifiers, we compute the sentiment
of these messages. Starting out with Poisson regression-based baseline models,
we extend upon earlier research by computing multi-level mixed effects models that compare the
function of emotions across different industries.
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Findings -- } We find that while the well known notion of activating emotions propagating messages for marketing purposes holds in general for our data as well, there are significant differences between the observed industries.
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Practical implications -- } Despite its importance for marketing in general and brand management in particular, the precise mechanism of word of mouth message propagation in online social networks has not yet been adequately researched. We set out to fill this gap with additional insights, that will empower practitioners to better harness the power of word of mouth propagation across industries and help academia understand the different needs of consumers.
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Originality/value -- } To the best of our knowledge, this is the most comprehensive study of brand marketing in social networking sites in general and the first one using Google+ data. Our work's innovative value is rooted in shifting the focus from listening in on user streams to observing brand owners.
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Keywords} Marketing, Social media, Word of mouth, Propagation, Google+, Mixed effects, Emotion, Text mining, Computational linguistics
\vskip 0.2cm
\noindent {\bf Paper type} Research paper
\newpage
}{
\begin{abstract}
A key aspect of word of mouth marketing are emotions. Emotions in texts
help propagating messages in conventional advertising. In word of mouth scenarios,
emotions help to engage consumers and incite to propagate the message further. While
the function of emotions in offline marketing in general and word of mouth marketing
in particular is rather well understood, online marketing can only offer a limited
view on the function of emotions. In this contribution we seek to close this gap. We
therefore investigate how emotions function in social media. To do so, we collected
more than 30,000 brand marketing messages from the Google+ social networking site. Using
state of the art computational linguistics classifiers, we compute the sentiment
of these messages. Starting out with Poisson regression-based baseline models,
we seek to replicate earlier findings using this large data set. We extend upon
earlier research by computing multi-level mixed effects models that compare the
function of emotions across different industries. We find that while the well known
notion of activating emotions propagating messages holds in general for our data
as well. But there are significant differences between the observed industries.
\end{abstract}
\noindent {\bf Keywords} Marketing, Social media, Word of mouth, Propagation, Google+, Mixed effects, Emotion, Text mining, Computational linguistics
}
\section{Introduction}\label{introduction}
An important factor in marketing is the propagation of messages by word
of mouth. This lends the marketer's original message additional
credibility and extends its reach. This is an essential contribution in
the co-creation process of brands. The advent of social media and social
networking sites gave marketing a broader access to people's social
circle and their word of mouth message networks. Despite its importance
for marketing in general and brand management in particular, the precise
mechanism of word of mouth message propagation in online social networks
has not yet been adequately researched. In this paper we set out to fill
this gap with additional insights, that will empower practitioners to
better harness the power of word of mouth propagation across industries
and help academia understand the different needs of consumers.
In order to do so, we harvested a large number of social media marketing
messages. To the best of our knowledge, this is the most comprehensive
study of brand marketing in social networking sites in general and the
first one using Google+ data. We then computed their sentiment using
advanced state of the art computer linguistic classifiers. Starting from
well established Poisson-based regression models and extending to mixed
effects models, we seek to trace the precise function of sentiment in
marketing messages in the digital world. Due to the large number of
observations, the results are expected to be very reliable.
This paper is organized as follows. We first distill the
interdependencies between brand management, marketing and emotions in
Section \ref{marketing-brands-and-emotions}. Then we review other
contributions towards a better understanding of emotions in social
networks and word of mouth marketing in Section
\ref{word-of-mouth-in-social-networking}. In Section
\ref{research-design} we first describe our data and methods and then
the results of our analysis in the subsequent section. Finally, we
discuss our findings and offer some concluding remarks in Section
\ref{discussion-implications}.
\section{Marketing, Brands and
Emotions}\label{marketing-brands-and-emotions}
At the beginning of the 21st century, marketing theory took a sharp
turn. When conceptualizing marketing along the lines of the production
of goods, many phenomena remained unexplained: For instance, brands and
the involvement of consumers with brands could not be captured with a
production logic. In contrast, a service-dominant logic is much more
powerful in explaining especially the interactions between consumers and
brands \citep{merz2009evolving, vargo2004evolving, vargo2008service}.
There, consumers work with brand managers in concert to co-create a
brand. So instead of pure recipients of messages, consumers are
attributed with an active role in the marketing and communication
process \citep{hollenbeck2012consumers}. This active role revolves
around taking up messages that have been seeded by marketers and
propagate them further, with possible own additions to the original
message.
In essence, much of the co-creation process in marketing depends on word
of mouth \citep{moldovan2011different}. This is, the receiving and
taking up and altering of a message by consumers. \citet{holt2002brands}
describes that this also becomes one of the greatest challenges in the
process. Due to the distance between brand managers and consumers, a
lack of authenticity hinders much of the co-creation process. They find,
however, that with increased use of word of mouth, authenticity becomes
restored. This is also seconded by \citet{chu2011determinants} who find
that it is these connection properties that are intimately linked to
word of mouth effects.
There are two aspects to bolstering the building of brands with word of
mouth effects. One is the role of emotions, that in general are a very
powerful vehicle in marketing. The study by
\citet{stokburger2012drivers} identifies the memorable brand experiences
are one of the key drivers behind consumer--brand identification, and
emotions are triggering these experiences more easily
\citep{pham2013influence}. And the other one is the augmenting effect
that brand communities can have.
Strictly speaking, an emotion is a feeling or a sensation that is a
process within a human being. This narrow definition of emotion allows
emotions to be triggered by external influences \citep{bagozzi1999role}.
While this distinction is perhaps worthwhile for psychological analyses,
widening this definition, would apply the term emotion also to the
triggering influence. This allows a more natural interpretation of
emotions in texts. For instance a text that \emph{is} sad will trigger
the emotion of sadness in its readers. We use the term emotion in this
latter, wider sense.
Emotions have various effects on the way marketing messages are
received. In a word of mouth marketing context, for instance
\citet{berger2012makes} found that using the right emotions increases
the likelihood of virality of a message. In their work they conclude
that high-arousal emotions like awe and anger will increase the virality
of a message. Less activating emotions, like sadness, work against the
propagation of messages. \citet{romani2012emotions} arrive at different
conclusions when diagnosing that anger and sadness as emotions in
marketing messages will trigger negative word of mouth events.
Therefore, emotions in brand messages affect the degree of consumer
involvement in the co-creation process.
An area that is or should be of elevated interest to marketers are brand
communities \citep{schau2009brand}. Brand communities are groups of
people that form around brands. They are not necessarily geographically
close and might share nothing more than their common interest in a brand
\citep{muniz2001brand}. Obviously, due to the centrality of a brand in
these communities, they play an important role in the co-creation of the
brand \citep{kozinets2010networked}.
\section{Word of Mouth in Social
Networking}\label{word-of-mouth-in-social-networking}
The advent of social media plays along well with the renewed
understanding of marketing as omnidirectional co-creating process
\citep{onishi2012marketing, kunz2011toward}. Instead of simply selling
news to the masses \citep{iyengar2010news}, social media allows for
users selecting messages to propagate themselves. This makes social
media ideal for word of mouth based marketing. Social networking sites
(like Facebook) are a special case of social media that emphasizes
shortness and multimedia over more elaborate texts.
When translating the mechanics of word of mouth marketing to the social
networking arena, some equivalents become apparent
\citep{matteo2013branding}. The propagation of a message can be achieved
by using one of two forms of endorsement: a lesser and a more potent
one. The details of these forms vary by implementation, but there is a
general pattern. Each form of endorsement leads to the original message
being injected into the news stream of users connected to the endorsing
user. The lesser form of endorsement (Facebook's likes, Twitter's stars
and Google's +1s) leads to a less prominent injection and does not allow
to enrich the original message with own content. The second form of
endorsement (Reshares or Retweets) prominently adds the original story
(possibly with additional information) to the users news streams.
The brand community has multiple equivalents. One is the official
company sponsored social networking presence. There users can meet to
retrieve seeded brand messages directly from the source. They can use
these messages to propagate them further down their own stream of
followers, possibly enriching it with their own respective contents on
the way. Other brand community analogues are less formal communities or
unofficial fan pages.
While word of mouth based marketing can be readily implemented using
social media, in the past there have also been some challenges to
companies discovered. \citet{onishi2012marketing} find that social media
and traditional mass media marketing can be hindering each other if not
planned well. Only by taking into consideration the particularities of
each channel can an optimal outcome be secured.
However, the greatest challenge perhaps is, that in social media in
general but social networking in particular, brand managers are much
harder pressed to anticipate what consumers want
\citep{arango2013social}. This is mainly because consumers can (and
will) react instantly to seeds planted by the brand manager. Because of
the nature of social media, these reactions can be far reaching, indeed.
Take for instance the by now canonical example of the brand of a media
manager that she managed to destroy during a flight from the US to
Africa by posting a single negative message.
It is therefore crucial for brand managers to understand which messages
lead to increased resharing of her brand messages. As stated above, the
equivalent of word of mouth in social media is the two forms of
endorsement. We have also established the notion, that emotions are
viable predictors for the virality of social media messages. However,
most current research is focused on single industries. For instance,
both \citet{berger2012makes} and \citet{chevalier2006effect} focus on
the book publishing industry. While informative, their research is hard
to generalize, given their limited sample. The results described above
draw an inconsistent picture with the role of emotions still being
fuzzy. This is potentially due to the same emotions functioning
differently across industries.
In this paper we want to focus on differences between industries. In
this paper we focus on two key aspects of message sentiment and their
effects on message endorsements: 1. How does message polarity affect
message endorsements? 2. How does the use of emotions affect message
endorsements?
In sight of the current state of the art, we offer the following
hypotheses:
\begin{enumerate}
\def\arabic{enumi}.{\arabic{enumi}.}
\itemsep1pt\parskip0pt\parsep0pt
\item
Messages with a positive polarity are more likely to be endorsed.
\item
The use of (right) emotions in social media marketing messages
increases the count of endorsements that message receives.
\item
Not all emotions have the same effect across industries.
\end{enumerate}
In the following section we are going to discuss both method and data we
used to answer this question.
\section{Research Design}\label{research-design}
In order to generate a complete picture of the determinants of emotional
brand marketing in social media, a large host of brands needs to be
analyzed. We used the Open Knowledge Foundation's Brand Repository data
base \citep{okfn}. At the time of analysis, that data base contained the
names, identifiers and websites of 4151 different brands. To ensure
comparability, we reduced this list further to contain only brands that
used a .com top-level domain. This effectively excludes local and
localized brands, focusing on internationally available brands. This
step also excluded brands that did not use digital marketing at all, as
demonstrated by their lack of a brand website. We further excluded any
brands that either did not have a Google+ profile at all or one with a
very limited +1 count ($p1 < 250$). The resulting list of 199 brands was
then manually checked and each brand assigned to an industry. During the
manual check and classification, we removed another 50 brands from the
list that either had not posted anything on Google+ or that had slipped
through our selection heuristic. Because brands from the automotive
industry were somewhat underrepresented, we added nine randomly chosen
brands to the list. In the end, 156 brands remained.
For each brand, all the posts to their Google+ page were retrieved using
R \citep{Rcore} and the \emph{plusser} extension package
\citep{plusser}. This yielded 32409 posts in total. Table
\ref{tab:indBrands} gives the distribution of brands and posts over
industries.
\begin{table}[ht]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{rlrr}
\hline
& Industry & Pages & Posts \\
\hline
1 & Apparel & 31 & 6368 \\
2 & Automotive & 11 & 2200 \\
3 & Cosmetics & 37 & 7742 \\
4 & Electronics & 14 & 2985 \\
5 & Food/Beverages & 43 & 8927 \\
6 & Sports & 8 & 1600 \\
7 & Other & 12 & 2587 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Number of analyzed brands and posts per industry.}
\label{tab:indBrands}
\end{table}
Using the naive Bayes classifier implemented in the sentiment package
\citep{sentiment}, the messages' polarity and emotionality were
computed. The package delivers a negative-positive ratio to measure
polarity based on keywords that occur in the message. To arrive at an
estimation of sentiment, the package uses a similar approach for the
emotions \emph{Anger}, \emph{Disgust}, \emph{Fear}, \emph{Joy},
\emph{Sadness}, and \emph{Surprise}.
As stated above, the key concept we seek to analyze is the propagation
of a message in social networks. The analogue of word of mouth
propagation in the online scenario is the higher form of endorsement:
reshares. In order to be able to analyze the and compare the
distribution of reshares, we built two types of linear models. One type
to establish a Google+ baseline that is interesting in itself, as
Google+ has not yet received widespread academic attention, is a simple
generalized linear model (GLM). We chose a GLM because the reshare
counts of messages cannot be considered to be normally distributed.
Rather, they represent rare (given the number of followers) events that
are best modeled using a Poisson process. GLMs permit just that. The
following equation summarizes our model.
\[ r \sim p + \mathbf{e} + \mathbf{cv} + \mathrm{offset(t)} + \mathrm{offset(f)}\]
On the left hand side, $r$ represents the number of reshares a message
has received. The variables $p$ and $\mathbf{e}$ contain the polarity
ratio and the emotions encoded within a message in six dimensions,
respectively. There are other determinants that might influence reshare
frequency independent to our analytical problem. Among those are message
length and time of day the post was put online
\citep{stieglitz2012political, cha2010measuring, suh2010want, yang2010predicting, hochreiter2013stochastic}.
Among other covariates that have been identified to be relevant for
Twitter, but are not implemented in the Google+ search API are
e.g.~hashtags and media attachments. Message length and time of day are
contained in $\mathbf{cv}$.
Poisson based regression assumes a constant window of measurement. In
the case at hand, the window's dimensions are given by the age of a post
($t$) and the number of followers it has been exposed to ($f$). While
the age of the post can be reliably determined, we assume the number of
page followers to have remained constant over the period of
investigation and therefore take this figure as the number of followers
the post has been exposed to. Both terms need to be included as offsets
in the model to adequately model the relationships between the number of
reshares and the message properties as described above.
This simple model is then extended to allow for brand and industry
comparisons by using mixed effects models. Conceptually, we consider our
selection of brands and industries to be random. Therefore, we model any
effects due to industry and brand as random effects. We test both random
intercept and random slope models against each other.\footnote{All
modelling was done using the lme4 package \citep{lme}; graphics were
produced using ggplot2 \citep{ggplot}.}
In this section we described our method of retrieving posts from Google+
and computing the posts' sentiments. We proposed Poisson regression
models to use sentiment to explain the reshare count of a message. In
order to incorporate company and industry differences, we use mixed
effect models. The results of our analyses will be given in the next
section.
\section{Results}\label{results}
In order to establish a baseline of message propagation mechanisms in
Google+, we initially computed simple Poisson regression models. We
started out with an empty model and included it as a reference ($m_0$).
Next, we added variables to control for the message length (number of
characters) and time of day (deviance from noon in hours). This formed
model $m_1$. In a next step, we controlled for the number of comments
and the number ob +1s a message has received in $m_2$. Finally, in $m_3$
and $m_4$, the polarity and emotionality predictors were added. All
models were tested successively against each other using standard
Likelihood Ratio tests. All test yielded highly significant results with
$p<2.2 \times 10^{-16}$. This is to be expected given the large sample
size. More appropriately, we compared the models using the AIC
criterion. The results from this baseline estimation are given in Table
\ref{tab:glm}.
\begin{table}[ht]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{rrrrrr}
\hline
& $m_0$ & $m_1$ & $m_2$ & $m_3$ & $m_4$ \\
\hline
Intercept & 0.00 & 0.00 & 0.00 & 0.00 & 0.00 \\
Message length & & 1.00 & 1.00 & 1.00 & 1.00 \\
Time of Day & & 1.04 & 1.01 & 1.01 & 1.01 \\
Comments & & & 1.01 & 1.01 & 1.01 \\
+1s & & & 1.00 & 1.00 & 1.00 \\
Polarity & & & & 1.00 & 1.00 \\
Anger & & & & & 1.05 \\
Disgust & & & & & 0.89 \\
Fear & & & & & 0.76 \\
Joy & & & & & 0.95 \\
Sadness & & & & & 0.95 \\
Surprise & & & & & 1.02 \\
AIC & 926202.56 & 921079.66 & 794331.11 & 793457.15 & 786504.72 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Comparison of simple Poisson-based GLMs. Incidence Rate Ratios and model AIC.}
\label{tab:glm}
\end{table}
In order to analyze and compare the effects of emotions on message
propagation across industries, we computed multi-level models. There,
messages are nested within industries. We compared two kinds of model
types, all containing the same baseline fixed effects as $m_4$ above and
one sentiment. We tested both model types for all seven sentiments
(polarity and six emotions) using likelihood ratio tests. All tests
produced overwhelming evidence that random slope models were required.
Table \ref{tab:eff} contains the incidence rate ratios that were
computed using the models' random effects into account for the different
industries in the data set. The table's $\sigma$ line describes the
standard deviation of the random effects. The larger the value becomes,
the more heterogeneous the function of this sentiment is across the
surveyed industries.
\begin{table}[ht]
\centering
\begin{tabular}{rrrrrrrr}
\hline
& Polarity & Anger & Disgust & Fear & Joy & Sadness & Surprise \\
\hline
Apparel & 1.01 & 0.86 & 0.73 & 0.63 & 0.94 & 0.96 & 0.98 \\
Automotive & 1.00 & 1.14 & 1.75 & 1.12 & 1.01 & 1.05 & 1.02 \\
Cosmetics & 1.00 & 0.96 & 0.88 & 0.83 & 1.02 & 1.05 & 1.08 \\
Electronics & 1.00 & 0.55 & 0.74 & 0.77 & 0.83 & 1.05 & 0.98 \\
Food/Beverages & 1.01 & 0.73 & 1.20 & 0.72 & 1.00 & 0.96 & 1.24 \\
Sports & 1.00 & 0.94 & 1.94 & 0.96 & 1.03 & 1.05 & 0.99 \\
Other & 1.02 & 1.04 & 0.52 & 0.85 & 1.07 & 0.82 & 0.90 \\
$\sigma$ & 0.01 & 0.28 & 0.30 & 0.26 & 0.07 & 0.09 & 0.09 \\
\hline
\end{tabular}
\caption{Varying functions of emotions as indicated by incidence rate ratios for message sentiment.}
\label{tab:eff}
\end{table}
In this section we first established a base line for the function of
sentiments in Google+ posts in the context of word of mouth marketing.
We could validate previous findings for other forms of social media in
the importance of covariates. We then proceeded with including random
effects to model different industries. Using hypothesis testing, we
conclude that more complex random slope models are required. In the next
section we are going to discuss the implications of these findings.
\section{Discussion \& Implications}\label{discussion-implications}
The results exhibited above allow for two important insights. One is
that Google+ does not behave differently from other social networks, in
terms of covariates explaining the likelihood of message propagation.
The other key insight are the differences between industries in the
function of sentiments.
\subsection{Baseline}\label{baseline}
Looking at the results from $m_4$, it becomes evident that the findings
by \citet{berger2012makes} hold also for Google+. When controlling for
message length and time of day, activating emotions like \emph{Anger} or
\emph{Surprise} exhibit incidence rate ratios larger than 1. This
indicates that every increase in \emph{Anger} also leads to an increase
in the likelihood of the message being reshared. As expected, the
\emph{Sadness} emotion is different. There, an increase in
\emph{Sadness} leads to a decrease in expected reshares. Due to the
large number of brands and messages sampled and all results being
significant, these results allow for a high degree of confidence.
\subsection{Industry comparison}\label{industry-comparison}
Turning to the comparison of the function of sentiments across
industries reveals a different picture. When discussing random effects
models, there are two key figures. One is the variability observed and
the other one the random effects computed.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[scale=0.6]{figure/boxp}
\caption{Boxplot comparing the variablity in sentiment effect accross industries.}
\label{fig:boxp}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
Figure \ref{fig:boxp} compares the variability in all seven sentiments
of the industries observed. \emph{Disgust} exhibits a very large
variability, closely followed by \emph{Fear} and \emph{Anger}. The
remaining emotions and \emph{Polarity} appear to have almost constant
effects across industries. While there is very little variation in
\emph{Joy} but also in \emph{Sadness} and \emph{Surprise}, negative but
activating emotions like \emph{Anger}, \emph{Disgust} and \emph{Fear}
differ radically in their function across industries.
Figure \ref{fig:barch} displays the different effects the measured
emotions have on message propagation for brands of different industries.
The high variability of \emph{Disgust} is also clearly visible in its
panel in this figure, while \emph{Joy} and \emph{Sadness} remain fairly
constant. Looking at \emph{Anger}, we find that most random effects
indicate a negative effect on message propagation. Only the automotive
industry can harness \emph{Anger} successfully. The emotion of
\emph{Disgust} has some strong propagating effects also in the
automotive and the sports industries. \emph{Fear} is an emotion that is
unpopular with consumers of goods from most industries but particularly
apparel.
\begin{figure}
\begin{center}
\includegraphics[scale=0.8]{figure/barch}
\caption{Effect of emotion on message propagation likelihood accross industries.}
\label{fig:barch}
\end{center}
\end{figure}
The findings of \citet{berger2012makes} would suggest that \emph{Anger}
contributes to and \emph{Sadness} hinders message propagation. We can
confirm the function of \emph{Sadness} in our data. For almost all
industries, \emph{Sadness} in the message leads to a decrease in the
likelihood of a message being reshared. While brands from the
automotive, cosmetics and electronics industries enjoy a slightly
positive effect of \emph{Sadness}, it is so small, that it can safely be
ignored. This, however, is at odds with the results provided by
\citet{romani2012emotions}, that would expect sadness to lead to
increased word of mouth effects. Our data does not support this.
\emph{Anger} on the other hand does not behave as the predicted word of
mouth driver. It is only the automotive industry that can benefit
clearly from an angry emotion in its messages. There are barely
noticeable effects for cosmetics and sports. Anger, however, clearly
hinders message promotion in the industries of Electronics and
Food/Beverages.
Recurring to the research questions we posited in the beginning, we have
to conclude that message polarity does not only not vary across
industries. Message polarity does not influence the likelihood of
message propagation at all. There are, therefore, no connections between
the polarity of a message and the strong form of endorsement.
Turning to the second question, it is apparent that there are stark
differences in the functioning of emotions between the brands of
different industries. The perhaps most important finding lies here:
activating emotions do not function in the expected way for a majority
of industries.
This has serious managerial implications. While traditional word of
mouth based marketing literature asserts that activating emotions will
\emph{always} support the propagation of word of mouth, we find that
this is only the case for select industries. Brand managers seeking to
extend their involvement in the co-creation process are required to
tread carefully in the light of these findings. While \emph{Anger} will
help in getting messages adopted by consumers for the automotive
industry, managers responsible for electronics brands will need to avoid
this emotion in their messages.
In the last instance, it appears that the brand co-creation process is
more complicated than previously thought. With clear and significant
differences in the function of sentiments between industries, brands and
their advertisements remains a game for highly skilled players and
careful considerations.
\bibliographystyle{plainnat}
| {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaArXiv"
} | 1,315 |
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"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 9,910 |
{"url":"https:\/\/newproxylists.com\/tag\/algorithm\/","text":"## Confused in calculating the shortest path using Dijkstra's algorithm\n\nI have to find the shortest way using Dijkstra's algorithm. After performing the calculations, are the following values \u200b\u200bcorrect?\n\n``````A = 0\nB = 13\nC = 8\nD = 20\nE = 14\nF = 25\nG = 31\nH = 38\nI = 46\nJ = 52\n``````\n\n## where does the mathematical proof of Early Finish Time work for the greedy algorithm of interval scheduling vs the early start time OR greedy by duration?\n\nwhere does the mathematical proof of Early Finish Time work for the greedy algorithm of interval scheduling vs the early start time OR greedy by duration?\n\nI tried to search the internet but not much\n\n`no code`\n\n`no code`\n\n## algorithm \u2013 Using HLL_COUNT.MERGE outside SQL\n\nI can use the following query to generalize all the HLL sketches of the different accounts:\n\n``````SELECT category, number (distinct city), HLL_COUNT.INIT (city) FROM `table`\nGROUP BY CATEGORY\n``````\n\nAnd I get something like this:\n\nAlthough I normally use the `HLL_COUNT.merge (...)` function to get the total number, for example:\n\n``````select 'all - hll', HLL_COUNT.MERGE (x), null from (select category, account (separate city), HLL_COUNT.INIT (city) x in group `datadocs-163219.010ff92f6a62438aa47471f98fc9.inv` , by category) _\n``````\n\nFor various reasons, I have to do the `MERGE` outside of SQL \/ BigQuery. Is there some kind of open source library \/ library where I could do something like this:\n\n``````>>> hll_set\n>>> {& # 39; CHAQMBgCIAuCBz8QFBgPIBQyN8hxlqEBvMMBnLMBgWnD5gTB3AH + ROgD \/ YMEpM8Jr70C6Q2LwwfZlQ3QMNu8AYDSBKf7AbOSqgE = & # 39 ;, & # 39; & # 39 ;, CHAQDhgCIAuCBxwQBxgPIBQyFP3PBMBtibMR3sgC77oViasKwfMF & # 39; CHAQJxgCIAuCBzIQEBgPIBQyKshxlqEBvMMBzfECh6gJxJABoNwF \/ rEGwf0PgYYFvOoFmzjJPZwg2y3nbw == & # 39 ;, & # 39; & CHAQBBgCIAuCBw4QAhgPIBQyBpSJAfapKA == # 39 ;, & # 39; & # 39 CHAQBRgCIAuCBxEQAxgPIBQyCbaJBfqsH57tBw == ;, & # 39; CHAQGBgCIAuCBykQDRgPIBQyId6SAtNvwJ0XgO8Ct \/ EFlvUOskG1E87ZA7 \/ OApwg2y3nbw == & # 39 ;, \"CHAQZhgCIAuCB2MQIxgPIBQyW5SJAcqJAbzDAcvcAoIV2xSMFsTyA42IAYkl + WVJ \/ AHqdJxRlEGbywG \/ WNjoAqS9BP3CAuPrBNSFAfdDt + + YEoeIBr ICmIYF6CL \/ MaLNAqKdA8k9rxntBrPVrAE = & # 39 ; & # 39; CHAQEBgCIAuCByQQChgPIBQyHN6SAqjtArAJ \/ esCj9wSg + 8KiVKNygHrpgXIogU = & # 39; CHAQpgkYAiALggfZAhChARgPIBQyzwKPBMwRkAzxP + + wPogyqC8qJAeBo8BHsSOypAbAJriL MYYR \/ 1jnKqIyzR3wJIkI \/ QXkecNH7WCzQZgMuDvxFLh xkboA7QB12akDhu5E + + 4 + + + 3KgBjAZ4nxLBRMw0xRWvIPZYszt v1gnz2a0BZoF4wzQggHqOewsJeAxgguGErUCjGG3KuhKgUyfCtItkjOMZZwCpi3phgHlA wRknEhwiq1Os4slgmhELEWl1f1rgH + B6e4AdCtAdkE4R7fK \/ gihHSRFqipAbYY9BmqP5oBgqsBvhrvEKGRAcpj7XHEVaAUrY8BylLRDgWn1wGpT6IS6irPHewb \/ AbKHqgQj QPyAeU82zuSHpgQ04UBzwqkFIADiBD4X6ABjBihFsIy6wmovgHNKssPsQOvGcADrQOQevMQvxKMBtANizqbP7l21 + kB0UDxy92rVYCBMcD5HC\n\n>>> hll_merge_method (hll_set)\n>>> 193\n``````\n\nIs it possible to do this in any way using a library outside BQ with the hash generated from it?\n\n## graphs \u2013 Optimization of the algorithm of De Boor & # 39; s\n\nAccording to the De Boor algorithm, a basic B-Spline function can be evaluated using the formula:\n\n$$B_ {i, 0} = left { begin {array} {ll} 1 & mbox {if} t_i the x\n\n$$B_ {i, p} = frac {x-t_i} {t_ {i + p} -t_i} B_ {i-1, p} (x) + frac {t + {i + p + 1} \u2013 x} {t_ {i + p + 1} -t_ {i + 1}} B_ {i + 1, p-1} (x)$$\n\nwhere the function $$B$$ is defined for $$n$$ checkpoints for the degree curve $$d$$. The domain $$t$$ is divided into $$n + d + 1$$ points called nodes (in the node vector). To evaluate this, we can define a recursive function $$B (i, p)$$.\n\nB-Spline itself is represented by:\n$$S (x) = sum {c_iB_ {i, p}}$$.\n\nTo evaluate this, Wikipedia's algorithm tells us to take $$p + 1$$ checkpoints from $$c_ {k-p}$$ at $$c_p$$and then repeatedly take the weighted average of each consecutive pair, eventually reducing it to one point.\n\nI find this algorithm very good for one or two evaluations; However, when we draw a curve, we take hundreds of points in the curve and connect them to make it smooth. The recursive formula still requires up to $$(p-1) + (p-2) + (p-3) \u2026$$ calculations, no? (To take the weighted averages)\n\nIn my research, however, we need to evaluate only one polynomial \u2013 because B-Spline is ultimately composed of $$p + d + 1$$ basic polynomials (as I will show).\n\nSuppose we take a node vector $$[0, .33, .67, 1]$$ and checkpoints $$[0, 1, 0]$$ (diploma $$1$$), we can then represent the basic polynomials in the form:\n\n$$c_0B_ {0,1} = 0, mbox {if} 0 leq x <.25, + 0, mbox {if} .25 leq x <.5$$\n$$c_1B_ {1,1} = 4x-1, mbox {si} .25 leq x <.5, + , , \u2013 4x + 3, mbox {si} .5 leq x <.75$$\n$$c_2B_ {2,1} = 0, mbox {if} .5 leq x <0,75 + 0, mbox {if} .75 leq x <1$$\n\nNow we can flatten that they produce:\n$$S (x) = sum {c_i B_ {i, 1}} = left { begin {array} {ll} 0 & mbox {if} 0 the x <.25 \\ 4x-1 & mbox {if} .25 the x <.5 \\ -4x + 3 & mbox {if} .5 the x <.5 \\ 0 & mbox {if} .75 the x <1 \\ end {array} right.$$\n\nNow, if we were to calculate $$S$$ to no matter $$x$$, we can directly deduce which polynomial to use and then calculate it $$d$$ multiplications and $$d + 1$$ additions.\n\nI've implemented this calculation explicitly using `Polynomial` objects in JavaScript. See https:\/\/cs-numerical-analysis.github.io\/.\n\nSource: https:\/\/github.com\/cs-numerical-analysis\/cs-numerical-analysis.github.io\/blob\/master\/src\/graphs\/BSpline.js\n\nI want to know why people do not use the algorithm that I have described. If you calculated the polynomial representation of B-Spline then flatten outside, it will be a one-time cost. Should not this one-time cost be offset by removing the unnecessary recursive average?\n\n## Bellman-Ford Algorithm with n-1 iterations\n\nI am supposed to find the graph for the Bellman-Ford algorithm, where I have to use all the n-1 number of iterations.\n\nCan I use this graph, where S is my initial node?\n\nView post on imgur.com\n\nThank you.\n\n## sorting \u2013 Quicksort algorithm with pivot element as the median\n\nI can not understand the concept \u2013\nLet's say that our partition algorithm always chooses the median as the pivot element, so what will be the temporal complexity of Quicksort when the entries are the following?\n\nCase a) Table I \/ P is sorted or almost sorted (sorted in ascending order in ascending order)\n\nCase b) Table I \/ P is sorted in reverse order.\n\nCase c) all elements of the input array are identical \/ identical.\n\nCase d) i \/ p is an unsorted arbitrary \/ random array.\n\nHow about split partition algorithms? Will they always be balanced like almost n \/ 2 and n \/ 2 in all cases?\n\n## Open Source database on the cloud to test the algorithm\n\nI have developed an algorithm that would probably optimize the execution of queries and the accuracy of the results. I am looking for free or open source database systems to run this algorithm. Even a simulator or emulator would work. I ask to suggest some resources \/ websites \/ platforms available. In addition, which database would be suitable for testing the algorithm? Thank you.\n\n## algorithm \u2013 Optimization of a slow pixel count for the loop\n\nI have therefore read the following questions:\n\nBut they both use libraries that I do not use (CPython) or are very specific in their approach and their requirement for optimization.\n\nHere is my current simple loop:\n\n``````image = Image.open (\"basic.jpg\")\nimarr = np.array (image)\n\n# Iteration on y \/ x first because of NP rank \/ col configuration\ny = 0\nfor yrow in imarr:\nfor x in the following campaign:\npass\n# use (x, y) for manipulation in the table and comparison\ny + = 1\n``````\n\nUsing `time` (`python of time c.py`) \u2013 it takes about 6 seconds to exceed an image of 250,000 bytes. That's fine, but I think it could be a lot faster, and since it's a continuous-streaming image manipulation algorithm, the latency would be better if it's low.\n\nDo you recommend resources and learning new concepts? Also, how can I optimize this?\n\nUntil there numpy knowledge table and pillow the knowledge has led me far, but not effectively.\n\n## algorithm \u2013 What is the best way to turn a 2D vector into a closest 8-direction compass direction?\n\nThe easiest way is probably to get the angle of the vector using `atan2 ()`, as Tetrad suggests in the comments, then resize it and round it up, e.g. (Pseudocode):\n\n``````\/\/ listed counterclockwise, starting from east = 0:\nenum compassDir {\nE = 0, NE = 1,\nN = 2, NW = 3,\nW = 4, SW = 5,\nS = 6, SE = 7\n};\n\n\/\/ for string conversion, if you can not just do it, say dir.toString ():\nconst string[8] titles = {\"E\", \"NE\", \"N\", \"NW\", \"W\", \"SW\", \"S\", \"SE\"};\n\n\/\/ current conversion code:\nfloating angle = atan2 (vector.y, vector.x);\nint octant = round (8 * angle \/ (2 * PI) + 8)% 8;\n\ncompassDir dir = (compassDir) octant; \/\/ cast characters in enum: 0 -> E etc.\n``````\n\nthe `octant = round (8 * angle \/ (2 * PO) + 8)% 8` the line might need explanation. In just about every language I know who has it, the `atan2 ()` function returns the angle in radians. By dividing it by 2\u03c0 convert it from radians to fractions of a complete circle, and by multiplying it by 8, it converts it to eighths of a circle, which we then round to the nearest integer. Finally, we reduce the modulo 8 to take into account the looping, so that the values \u200b\u200b0 and 8 are correctly mapped to the east.\n\nThe reason for the `+ 8`, that I jumped higher, in some languages `atan2 ()` can return negative results (that is to say \u2013\u03c0 to +\u03c0 rather than 0 to 2\u03c0) and the modulo operator (`%`) can be set to return negative values \u200b\u200bfor negative arguments (or its behavior for negative arguments can be undefined). Add `8` (ie one full turn) at the input before reduction ensures that the arguments are always positive, without affecting the result in any other way.\n\nIf your language does not provide a practical rounding function to nearest, you can use a truncated integer conversion and simply add 0.5 to the argument, like this:\n\n``````int octant = int (8 * angle \/ (2 * PI) + 8,5)% 8; \/\/ int () rounds\n``````\n\nNote that, in some languages, the default conversion from integer to rounded rounds negative entries to zero rather than down, which is another reason to ensure that the input is always positive.\n\nOf course, you can replace all occurrences of `8` on this line with another number (for example, 4 or 16, or even 6 or 12 if you are on a hex card) to divide the circle in as many directions. Simply adjust the enum \/ array accordingly.\n\n## Algorithm appropriate for a graph theory problem\n\nSo, I've recently encountered a graph theory problem and I'm unable to find a matching algorithm for the problem or to reformulate the problem so that it matches an existing algorithm.\n\nThe problem is quite simple: with a weighted graph, choose edges to maximize the sum of all the weights of the selected edges. A maximum edge can point to another vertex and no vertex can be the head of more than one edge.\n\nUntil now, this might seem to be a problem that can be solved with a matching algorithm, but there is an additional disadvantage: a vertex can not be the head of an edge that s & # 39; 39, it does not correspond to any of the edges of the given graph, or if it is a tail. for one of the chosen edges. In addition, the graph of selected edges must be acyclic.\n\nA good analogy would be to imagine each vertex as a cell. I can mark all the vertices that are initially the tails of certain edges as cells containing objects. Choosing an edge would mean moving the object from one cell to another. This analogy seems perfect because:\n\n\u2022 `A vertex can be the tail of a maximum of one edge` (aka the object can only be moved to another cell)\n\u2022 `A vertex can be the head of max an edge` (alias only one object can be moved in a cell)\n\u2022 `A vertex can not be the head of an edge unless it matches any tail, or if it is a tail for one of the edges selected.` (aka the cell was either initially empty or the object could be transported to another cell, thus emptying the cell)\n\nAs good as it is, I did not find any algorithm that could be useful. Is pure bruteforcing for edge combinations as good as it is? Where can I get the edges in a more optimized way?","date":"2019-05-27 02:22:01","metadata":"{\"extraction_info\": {\"found_math\": true, \"script_math_tex\": 0, \"script_math_asciimath\": 0, \"math_annotations\": 0, \"math_alttext\": 0, \"mathml\": 0, \"mathjax_tag\": 0, \"mathjax_inline_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_display_tex\": 0, \"mathjax_asciimath\": 0, \"img_math\": 0, \"codecogs_latex\": 0, \"wp_latex\": 0, \"mimetex.cgi\": 0, \"\/images\/math\/codecogs\": 0, \"mathtex.cgi\": 0, \"katex\": 0, \"math-container\": 25, \"wp-katex-eq\": 0, \"align\": 0, \"equation\": 0, \"x-ck12\": 0, \"texerror\": 0, \"math_score\": 0.45323532819747925, \"perplexity\": 2264.0596958963324}, \"config\": {\"markdown_headings\": true, \"markdown_code\": true, \"boilerplate_config\": {\"ratio_threshold\": 0.18, \"absolute_threshold\": 10, \"end_threshold\": 15, \"enable\": true}, \"remove_buttons\": true, \"remove_image_figures\": true, \"remove_link_clusters\": true, \"table_config\": {\"min_rows\": 2, \"min_cols\": 3, \"format\": \"plain\"}, \"remove_chinese\": true, \"remove_edit_buttons\": true, \"extract_latex\": true}, \"warc_path\": \"s3:\/\/commoncrawl\/crawl-data\/CC-MAIN-2019-22\/segments\/1558232260358.69\/warc\/CC-MAIN-20190527005538-20190527031538-00490.warc.gz\"}"} | null | null |
package io.druid.java.util.http.client.response;
import org.jboss.netty.handler.codec.http.HttpChunk;
import org.jboss.netty.handler.codec.http.HttpResponse;
import java.nio.charset.Charset;
/**
*/
public class FullResponseHandler implements HttpResponseHandler<FullResponseHolder, FullResponseHolder>
{
private final Charset charset;
public FullResponseHandler(Charset charset)
{
this.charset = charset;
}
@Override
public ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> handleResponse(HttpResponse response)
{
return ClientResponse.unfinished(
new FullResponseHolder(
response.getStatus(),
response,
new StringBuilder(response.getContent().toString(charset))
)
);
}
@Override
public ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> handleChunk(
ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> response,
HttpChunk chunk
)
{
final StringBuilder builder = response.getObj().getBuilder();
if (builder == null) {
return ClientResponse.finished(null);
}
builder.append(chunk.getContent().toString(charset));
return response;
}
@Override
public ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> done(ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> response)
{
return ClientResponse.finished(response.getObj());
}
@Override
public void exceptionCaught(
ClientResponse<FullResponseHolder> clientResponse, Throwable e
)
{
// Its safe to Ignore as the ClientResponse returned in handleChunk were unfinished
}
}
| {
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Vaughan's and Dümmen Orange are constantly striving to deliver innovative products which brings improvements for growers throughout North America. Basewell™ is the next step into the future of floriculture. The innovative Basewell™ technology utilizes an off-shore propagation process to deliver high quality bare-root cuttings directly to the grower.
Because two steps are better than three.
Finding availability on Basewell rooted cuttings is easy. Simply enter Basewell in the search field to bring up live availabilities for 52-weeks a year. | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaC4"
} | 4,453 |
Trustees and Public Documents
Latest news > Aasia Bibi and family safely resettled in Canada
Aasia Bibi and family safely resettled in Canada
International news outlets report that Aasia Bibi, who was acquitted of "blasphemy" charges by the Supreme Court on 31 October 2018 has left Pakistan. Barnabas Fund has been aware for some time that Aasia Bibi and her family had left Pakistan and were safely resettled in Canada. However, at the request of Pakistani Christian leaders we did not publicise this information for her safety and to avoid the possibility of violence on the streets of Pakistan.
The Islamist Tehreek-e-Labaik party in Pakistan had threatened to incite national disorder if Aasia Bibi was released and widespread street protests erupted after her conviction was overturned.
Barnabas Fund is delighted to be able to finally share the news that Aasia Bibi has settled with her family in Canada
Hard-line Islamists called for Aasia Bibi's execution after the acquittal. Her husband appealed directly to the UK for asylum stating, "The current situation is very dangerous for us. We have no security and are hiding here and there, frequently changing our location."
Stringent secrecy has been maintained over Aasia Bibi's whereabouts since her release under government protection on 7 November 2018. The Christian mother of five, who spent nearly eight years on death row, was flown to an undisclosed place of safety in Islamabad after her release from Multan woman's prison.
Her lawyer, Saif-ul-Mulook, fled Pakistan in November 2018 after receiving several death threats.
Pakistan's Supreme Court threw out a petition filed against the acquittal of Aasia Bibi on 29 January 2019. The three judges stated no flaw could be found and upheld their original verdict dismissing the accusations against her as a false "concoction".
Aasia Bibi had angered Muslim co-workers on 14 June 2009 by drinking from the shared cup when she fetched them a bucket of water as they picked crops together on a sweltering summer's day. The Muslims considered that her action made the water "unclean". An argument ensued, and Aasia Bibi was later accused of "blasphemy" by a local cleric who was not present during the quarrel and heard about the matter afterwards from the other women.
Middle Eastern Christians flown to Australia by Barnabas Fund to escape life-threatening persecution
Eight wounded in Islamic State car bombing outside church in Syrian city
Christian wins free speech battle in UK Court of Appeal
Eight Christian prisoners of conscience on death row in Pakistan
© Barnabas Aid 1997 - 2019 All rights reserved. Barnabas Aid & Barnabas Aid are registered trade marks. Terms & conditions | Data protection | {
"redpajama_set_name": "RedPajamaCommonCrawl"
} | 245 |
Tugtupit, auch als Berylliumsodalith oder Rentierstein bekannt, ist ein selten vorkommendes Mineral aus der Mineralklasse der "Silikate und Germanate" mit der chemischen Zusammensetzung Na4[Cl|BeAlSi4O12] und ist damit chemisch gesehen ein Natrium-Beryllium-Aluminium-Silikat mit zusätzlichen Chlorionen.
Tugtupit kristallisiert im tetragonalen Kristallsystem, entwickelt aber nur selten Kristalle im Millimeterbereich mit einem glasähnlichen Glanz auf den Oberflächen. Meist findet er sich in Form von körnigen bis massigen Mineral-Aggregaten bis etwa 10 cm Größe.
In reiner Form ist Tugtupit farblos und durchsichtig. Durch vielfache Lichtbrechung aufgrund von Gitterbaufehlern oder polykristalliner Ausbildung kann er aber auch weiß erscheinen, wobei die Transparenz entsprechend abnimmt. Durch Fremdbeimengungen kann Tugtupit zudem eine rosa, karminrote, bläuliche oder grünliche Farbe annehmen.
Etymologie und Geschichte
Europäische Geologen entdeckten Tugtupit im Jahre 1957. Die grönländischen Inuit kannten diesen Stein allerdings schon seit Jahrhunderten. Sie benannten Tugtupit nach dem Blut von Rentieren ("tuttu"). Seinen offiziellen Namen erhielt das Mineral allerdings 1962 von seinem Erstbeschreiber H. Sørensen, der es nach seiner Typlokalität Tuttup Attakoorfia (nach alter Rechtschreibung Tugtup Agtakôrfia) benannte.
Klassifikation
Bereits in der veralteten, aber teilweise noch gebräuchlichen 8. Auflage der Mineralsystematik nach Strunz gehörte der Tugtupit zur Mineralklasse der "Silikate und Germanate" und dort zur Abteilung der "Gerüstsilikate (Tektosilikate), mit Zeolithen", wo er zusammen mit Bicchulith, Haüyn, Hydrosodalith, Kamaishilith, Lasurit, Nosean, Sodalith und Tsaregorodtsevit die "Sodalith-Reihe" mit der System-Nr. VIII/J.11 bildete.
Die seit 2001 gültige und von der International Mineralogical Association (IMA) verwendete 9. Auflage der Strunz'schen Mineralsystematik ordnet den Tugtupit dagegen in die Abteilung der "Gerüstsilikate (Tektosilikate) ohne zeolithisches H2O" ein. Diese ist weiter unterteilt nach der möglichen Anwesenheit zusätzlicher Anionen, so dass das Mineral entsprechend seiner Zusammensetzung in der Unterabteilung "Gerüstsilikate (Tektosilikate) mit zusätzlichen Anionen" zu finden ist, wo es zusammen mit Bicchulith, Danalith, Genthelvin, Haüyn, Helvin, Kamaishilith, Lasurit, Nosean, Sodalith und Tsaregorodtsevit die "Sodalith-Danalith-Gruppe" mit der System-Nr. 9.FB.10 bildet.
Auch die vorwiegend im englischen Sprachraum gebräuchliche Systematik der Minerale nach Dana ordnet den Tugtupit in die Klasse der "Silikate und Germanate" und dort in die Abteilung der "Gerüstsilikate: Al-Si-Gitter" ein. Hier ist er in der "Sodalithgruppe" mit der System-Nr. 76.02.03 innerhalb der Unterabteilung "Gerüstsilikate: Al-Si-Gitter, Feldspatvertreter und verwandte Arten" zu finden.
Kristallstruktur
Tugtupit kristallisiert tetragonal in der mit den Gitterparametern a = 8,64 Å und c = 8,87 Å sowie zwei Formeleinheiten pro Elementarzelle.
Eigenschaften
Im Tageslicht reicht das Farbspektrum von Tugtupit von weiß über pink bis zu einem tiefen Rot. Sehr selten werden auch bläuliche Steine gefunden. Die rote Farbe resultiert aus kleinen Mengen Schwefel im Tugtupit. Wenn ein blasser Tugtupit dem UV-Licht oder dem Sonnenlicht ausgesetzt wird, verstärkt sich das Rot. Diese Farbvertiefung kann wochenlang andauern. In der Dunkelheit verblasst das Rot wieder (Photochromie). Tugtupite können auch auf Wärme reagieren.
Tugtupit ist bekannt für seine ausgezeichnete Fluoreszenz. Unter kurzwelligem UV-Licht leuchtet das Mineral kirschrot, unter langwelligem UV-Licht mehr oder weniger stark orange. Dunkelroter Tugtupit aus dem Kvanefjeld-Gebiet zeigt die stärkste Reaktion auf UV-Licht. Dieser Tugtupit zeigt keine Phosphoreszenz. Blassrosa Tugtupit aus dem Taseq-Gebiet zeigt eine andere UV-Reaktion: ein schwächeres Rot unter kurzwelligem UV, Lachs-Orange unter langwelligem UV und Pink-Violett unter mittelwelligem UV. Dieser Tugtupit zeigt eine starke, weißliche Phosphoreszenz. Wieder anders reagieren Steine von anderen Fundgebieten im Ilímaussaq-Komplex: ein Pink-Orange unter kurzwelligem UV, ein sehr helles Weiß unter mittelwelligem UV und Orange unter langwelligem UV, dabei auch phosphoreszierend.
Des Weiteren hat Tugtupit piezoelektrische Eigenschaften, baut also ähnlich wie Quarz bei periodisch wechselnder, elastischer Verformung eine elektrische Spannung auf.
Die Angabe der Mohs'schen Härte wird je nach Quelle mit 4 bzw. 5,5 bis 6 angegeben.
Bildung und Fundorte
Tugtupit bildet sich vorwiegend in Hydrothermal-Adern von Syenit-Pegmatiten, wo es den Chkalovit ersetzt.
Das Vorkommen beschränkt sich auf ein 8 × 17 km großes Gebiet im Süden Grönlands, den "Ilimmaasaq-Komplex". Dort finden sich mehr als 250 unterschiedliche Mineralien (Grönland: mehr als 500 Mineralien, mit 77 Typlokalitäten). Hier wurde 1957 der erste Tugtupit gefunden: in Tuttup Attakoorfia, am nördlichen Ufer des Fjords Tunulliarfik, der diese Nephelin-Syenit-Intrusion durchschneidet. Die kleine Stadt Narsaq liegt 11 km westlich des Zentrums des Ilimmaasaq-Komplexes. Das Gebiet ist nur spärlich mit niedrigen Pflanzen bewachsen, sehr verwittert und steigt von SO nach NW an. Der Ilimmaasaq (1390 m) ist die höchste Erhebung des Komplexes. Das Fundgebiet kann nur in den Sommermonaten zu Fuß erreicht werden.
Tugtupit wird auch noch in Mont-Saint-Hilaire (Québec, Kanada) und im Lovozero-Massiv auf der Halbinsel Kola im Norden Russlands gefunden. Das United States Geological Survey berichtet, dass größere Mengen Tugtupit in Flüssen Nepals gefunden worden sind.
Verwendung
Durchscheinende oder transparente, tiefrote (im Tageslicht) Steine aus der Region Kvanefjeld werden zu Schmucksteinen verarbeitet (Ringe, Anhänger usw.). Inuit-Künstler bessern sich ihr Einkommen auf, indem sie die Rohsteine schleifen, polieren und dann verkaufen. Gute Tugtupite sind relativ durchscheinend und ohne sonstige sichtbare Einschlüsse von Fremdmineralien. Die besten Steine sind fast transparent, kräftig rot und von Edelstein-Enthusiasten sehr gesucht. Allerdings muss man die geringe Mohs-Härte berücksichtigen. Tugtupite sollten daher nicht in alltäglich gebrauchten Ringen verwendet werden. Nur Grönland kann den internationalen Markt mit ausreichenden Mengen wertvollen, manchmal tiefroten und sehr gesuchten Tugtupits versorgen.
Siehe auch
Liste der Minerale
Literatur
Weblinks
Mineralienatlas:Tugtupit (Wiki)
RRUFF Database-of-Raman-spectroscopy – Tugtupite (englisch)
American Mineralogist Crystal Structure Database – Tugtupite (englisch)
Realgems.org – Bildreihe zu rohen und geschliffenen Tugtupiten
Satellitenbilder der Gebiete von Narsaq und Narsarsuak, mit Bezeichnung von Fundstellen
Einzelnachweise
Mineral
Schmuckstein
Tetragonales Kristallsystem
Gerüstsilikate (Strunz)
Natriummineral
Chlormineral
Schwefelmineral
Berylliummineral
Aluminiummineral
Siliciummineral | {
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