Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Gaskell

  ‘She shall have the south pink room, opening out of mine by one door, you remember; and the dressing-room shall be made into a cosy little sitting-room for her, in case she likes to be by herself Parkes shall attend upon her, and I’m sure Mr. Gibson must know Parkes’s powers as a nurse by this time. We shall have all manner of agreeable people in the house to amuse her downstairs; and when she has got rid of this access of cold, I will drive her out every day, and write daily bulletins as I said. Pray tell Mr. Gibson all that, and let it be considered as settled. I will come for her in the close carriage to-morrow, at eleven. And now may I see the lovely bride-elect, and give her mamma’s present, and my own good wishes?’

  So Cynthia came in, and demurely received the very proper present, and the equally coveted congratulations, without testifying any very great delight or gratitude at either for she was quite quick enough to detect there was no great afflux of affection accompanying either. But when she heard her mother quickly recapitulating all the details of the plan for Molly, Cynthia’s eyes did sparkle with gladness; and, almost to Lady Harriet’s surprise, she thanked her as if she had conferred a personal favour upon her. Lady Harriet saw, too, that, in a very quiet way, she had taken Molly’s hand, and was holding it all the time, as if loth to think of their approaching separation—somehow, she and Lady Harriet were brought nearer together by this little action than they had ever been before.

  Molly had hoped that her father might have raised some obstacles to the project; in this she was disappointed. But she was satisfied when she perceived how he seemed to feel that, by placing her under the care of Lady Harriet and Parkes, he should be relieved from anxiety. And now he spoke of this change of air and scene as being the very thing he had been wishing to secure for her; country air, and absence of excitement as this would be; for the only other place where he could have secured her these advantages, and at the same time sent her as an invalid, was to Hamley Hall; and he dreaded the associations there with the beginning of her present illness.

  So Molly was driven off in state the next day, leaving her own home all in confusion with the assemblage of boxes and trunks in the hall, and all the other symptoms of the approaching departure of the family for London and the wedding. All the morning Cynthia had been with her in her room, attending to the arrangement of Molly’s clothes, instructing her what to wear with what, and rejoicing over the pretty smartnesses which, having been prepared for her as bridesmaid, were now to serve as adornments for her visit to the Towers. Both Molly and Cynthia spoke about dress as if it was the very object of their lives; for each dreaded the introduction of more serious subjects; Cynthia more for Molly than herself Only when the carriage was announced, and Molly was preparing to go downstairs, Cynthia said—

  ‘I’m not going to thank you, Molly, or to tell you how I love you.’

  ‘Don’t,’ said Molly, ‘I can’t bear it.’

  ‘Only you know you are to be my first visitor, and if you wear brown ribbons to a green gown, I’ll turn you out of the house!’ So they parted. Mr. Gibson was there in the hall to hand Molly in. He had ridden hard; and was now giving her two or three last injunctions as to her health.

  ‘Think of us on Thursday,’ said he. ‘I declare I don’t know which of her three lovers she mayn’t summon at the very last moment to act the part of bridegroom. I’m determined to be surprised at nothing; and will give her away with a good grace to whoever comes.’

  They drove away, and until they were out of sight of the house, Molly had enough to do to keep returning the kisses of the hand wafted to her by her stepmother out of the drawing-room window, while at the same time her eyes were fixed on a white handkerchief fluttering out of the attic from which she herself had watched Roger’s departure nearly two years before. What changes time had brought!

  When Molly arrived at the Towers she was convoyed into Lady Cumnor’s presence by Lady Harriet. It was a mark of respect to the lady of the house, which the latter knew that her mother would expect; but she was anxious to get it over, and take Molly up into the room which she had been so busy arranging for her. Lady Cumnor was, however, very kind, if not positively gracious.

  ‘You are Lady Harriet’s visitor, my dear,’ said she, ‘and I hope she will take good care of you. If not, come and complain of her to me.’ It was as near an approach to a joke as Lady Cumnor ever perpetrated, and from it Lady Harriet knew that her mother was pleased by Molly’s manners and appearance.

  ‘Now, here you are in your own kingdom; and into this room I shan’t venture to come without express permission. Here’s the last new Quarterly, and the last new novel, and the last new essay. Now, my dear, you needn’t come down again to-day unless you like it. Parkes shall bring you everything and anything you want. You must get strong as fast as you can, for all sorts of great and famous people are coming to-morrow and the next day, and I think you’ll like to see them. Suppose for to-day you only come down to lunch, and if you like it, in the evening. Dinner is such a wearily long meal, if one isn’t strong; and you wouldn’t miss much, for there’s only my cousin Charles in the house now, and he’s the personification of sensible silence.’

  Molly was only too glad to allow Lady Harriet to decide everything for her. It had begun to rain, and was altogether a gloomy day for August; and there was a small fire of scented wood burning cheerfully in the sitting-room appropriated to her. High up, it commanded a wide and pleasant view over the park, and from it could be seen the spire of Hollingford Church, which gave Molly a pleasant idea of neighbourhood to home. She was left alone, lying on the sofa—books near her, wood crackling and blazing, wafts of wind bringing the beating rain against the window, and so enhancing the sense of indoor comfort by the outdoor contrast. Parkes was unpacking for her. Lady Harriet had introduced Parkes to Molly by saying, ‘Now, Molly, this is Mrs. Parkes, the only person I am ever afraid of. She scolds me if I dirty myself with my paints, just as if I was a little child; and she makes me go to bed when I want to sit up,’—Parkes was smiling grimly all the time;—‘so to get rid of her tyranny I give her you as victim. Parkes, rule over Miss Gibson with a rod of iron; make her eat and drink, and rest and sleep, and dress as you think wisest and best.’

  Parkes had begun to reign by putting Molly on the sofa, and saying, ‘If you will give me your keys, miss, I will unpack your things, and let you know when it is time for me to arrange your hair, preparatory to luncheon.’ For if Lady Harriet used familiar colloquialisms from time to time, she certainly had not learnt it from Parkes, who piqued herself on the correctness of her language.

  When Molly went down to lunch she found ‘cousin Charles,’ with his aunt, Lady Cumnor. He was a certain Sir Charles Morton, the son of Lady Cumnor’s only sister: a plain, sandy-haired man of thirty-five or so; immensely rich, very sensible, awkward, and reserved. He had had a chronic attachment, of many years’ standing, to his cousin, Lady Harriet, who did not care for him in the least, although it was the marriage very earnestly desired for her by her mother. Lady Harriet was, however, on friendly terms with him, ordered him about, and told him what to do, and what to leave undone, without having even a doubt as to the willingness of his obedience. She had given him his cue about Molly.

  ‘Now Charles, the girl wants to be interested and amused without having to take any trouble for herself; she’s too delicate to be very active either in mind or body. Just look after her when the house gets full, and place her where she can hear and see everything and everybody, without any fuss and responsibility.’

  So Sir Charles began this day at luncheon by taking Molly under his quiet protection. He did not say much to her; but what he did say was thoroughly friendly and sympathetic; and Molly began, as he and Lady Harriet intended that she should, to have a kind of pleasant reliance upon him. Then in the evening while the rest of the family were at dinner—after Molly’s tea and hour of quiet repose, Parkes came and dressed her in some of the new clothes prepared for the Kirkpatrick visit, and did her hair in some ne
w and pretty way, so that when Molly looked at herself in the cheval-glass, she scarcely knew the elegant reflection to be that of herself. She was fetched down by Lady Harriet into the great long formidable drawing-room, which, as an interminable place of pacing, had haunted her dreams ever since her childhood. At the farther end sat Lady Cumnor at her tapestry-work; the light of fire and candle seemed all concentrated on that one bright part where presently Lady Harriet made tea, and Lord Cumnor went to sleep, and Sir Charles read passages aloud from the Edinburgh Review to the three ladies at their work.

  When Molly went to bed she was constrained to admit that staying at the Towers as a visitor was rather pleasant than otherwise; and she tried to reconcile old impressions with new ones, until she fell asleep. There was another comparatively quiet lay before the expected guests began to arrive in the evening. Lady Harriet took Molly a drive in her little pony-carriage; and for the first time for many weeks Molly began to feel the delightful spring of returning health; the dance of youthful spirits in the fresh air cleared by the previous day’s rain.

  CHAPTER 58

  Reviving Hopes and Brightening Prospects

  If you can without fatigue, dear, do come down to dinner to-day; you’ll then see the people one by one as they appear, instead of having to encounter a crowd of strangers. Hollingford will be here too. I hope you’ll find it pleasant.’

  So Molly made her appearance at dinner that day; and got to know, by sight at least, some of the most distinguished of the visitors at the Towers. The next day was Thursday, Cynthia’s wedding-day; bright and fine in the country, whatever it might be in London. And there were several letters from the home people awaiting Molly when she came downstairs to the late breakfast. For, every day, every hour, she was gaining strength and health, and she was unwilling to continue her invalid habits any longer than was necessary. She looked so much better that Sir Charles noticed it to Lady Harriet; and several of the visitors spoke of her this morning as a very pretty, lady-like, and graceful girl. This was Thursday; and Friday, as Lady Harriet had told her, some visitors from the more immediate neighbourhood were expected, to stay over the Sunday; but she had not mentioned their names, and when Molly went down into the drawing-room before dinner, she was almost startled by perceiving Roger Hamley in the centre of a group of gentlemen, who were all talking together eagerly, and as it seemed to her, making him the object of their attention. He made a hitch in his conversation, lost the precise meaning of a question addressed to him; answered it rather hastily, and made his way to where Molly was sitting, a little behind Lady Harriet. He had heard that she was staying at the Towers, but he was almost as much surprised as she was, by his unexpected appearance, for he had only seen her once or twice since his return from Africa, and then in the guise of an invalid. Now in her pretty evening dress, with her hair beautifully dressed, her delicate complexion flushed a little with timidity, yet her movements and manners bespeaking quiet ease, Roger hardly recognized her, although he acknowledged her identity. He began to feel that admiring deference which most young men experience when conversing with a very pretty girl: a sort of desire to obtain her good opinion in a manner very different to his old familiar friendliness. He was annoyed when Sir Charles, whose especial charge she still was, came up to take her in to dinner. He could not quite understand the smile of mutual intelligence that passed between the two, each being aware of Lady Harriet’s plan of sheltering Molly from the necessity of talking, and acting in conformity with her wishes as much as with their own. Roger found himself puzzling, and watching them from time to time during dinner. Again in the evening he sought her out, but found her again preoccupied with one of the young men staying in the house, who had had the advantage of a two days of mutual interest, and acquaintance with the daily events, and jokes and anxieties of the family circle. Molly could not help wishing to break off all this trivial talk and to make room for Roger: she had so much to ask him about everything at the Hall; he was, and had been such a stranger to them all for these last two months and more. But though both wanted to speak to the other more than to any one else in the room, it so happened that everything seemed to conspire to prevent it. Lord Hollingford carried off Roger to the clatter of middle-aged men; he was wanted to give his opinion upon some scientific subject. Mr. Ernest Watson, the young man referred to above, kept his place by Molly, as the prettiest girl in the room, and almost dazed her by his never-ceasing flow of clever small talk. She looked so tired and pale at last that the ever-watchful Lady Harriet sent Sir Charles to the rescue, and after a few words with Lady Harriet, Roger saw Molly quietly leave the room; and a sentence or two which he heard Lady Harriet address to her cousin made him know that it was for the night. Those sentences might bear another interpretation than the obvious one.

  ‘Really, Charles, considering that she is in your charge, I think you might have saved her from the chatter and patter of Mr. Watson; I can only stand it when I am in the strongest health.’

  Why was Molly in Sir Charles’s charge? why? Then Roger remembered many little things that might serve to confirm the fancy he had got into his head; and he went to bed puzzled and annoyed. It seemed to him such an incongruous, hastily-got-up sort of engagement, if engagement it really was. On Saturday they were more fortunate: they had a long tête-à-tête in the most public place in the house—on a sofa in the hall where Molly was resting at Lady Harriet’s command before going upstairs after a walk. Roger was passing through, and saw her, and came to her. Standing before her, and making pretence of playing with the gold-fish in a great marble basin close at hand,—

  ‘I was very unlucky,’ said he. ‘I wanted to get near you last night, but it was quite impossible. You were so busy talking to Mr. Watson, until Sir Charles Morton came and carried you off—with such an air of authority? Have you known him long?’

  Now this was not at all the manner in which Roger had predetermined that he would speak of Sir Charles to Molly; but the words came out in spite of himself.

  ‘No! not long. I never saw him before I came here—on Tuesday. But Lady Harriet told him to see that I did not get tired, for I wanted to come down; but you know I have not been strong. He is a cousin of Lady Harriet’s, and does all she tells him to do.’

  ‘Oh! he’s not handsome; but I believe he’s a very sensible man.’

  ‘Yes! I should think so. He is so silent though, that I can hardly judge.’

  ‘He bears a very high character in the county,’ said Roger, willing now to give him his full due.

  Molly stood up.

  ‘I must go upstairs,’ she said; ‘I only sat down here for a minute or two because Lady Harriet bade me.’

  ‘Stop a little longer,’ said he. ‘This is really the pleasantest place; this basin of water-lilies gives one the idea, if not the sensation of coolness; besides—it seems so long since I saw you, and I’ve a message from my father to give you. He is very angry with you.’

  ‘Angry with me!’ said Molly in surprise.

  ‘Yes! He heard that you had come here for change of air; and he was offended that you hadn’t come to us—to the Hall, instead. He said that you should have remembered old friends!’

  Molly took all this quite gravely, and did not at first notice the smile on his face.

  ‘Oh! I am so sorry!’ said she. ‘But will you please tell him how it all happened? Lady Harriet called the very day when it was settled that I was not to go to—’ Cynthia’s wedding, she was going to add, but she suddenly stopped short, and, blushing deeply, changed the expression, ‘go to London, and she planned it all in a minute, and convinced mamma and papa, and had her own way. There was really no resisting her.’

  ‘I think you will have to tell all this to my father yourself if you mean to make your peace. Why can you not come on to the Hall when you leave the Towers?’

  To go in the cool manner suggested from one house to another, after the manner of a royal progress, was not at all according to Molly’s primitive home-keeping notions.
She made answer,—

  ‘I should like it very much some time. But I must go home first. They will want me more than ever now—’

  Again she felt herself touching on a sore subject, and stopped short. Roger became annoyed at her so constantly conjecturing what he must be feeling on the subject of Cynthia’s marriage. With sympathetic perception she had discerned that the idea must give him pain; and perhaps she also knew that he would dislike to show the pain; but she had not the presence of mind or ready wit to give a skilful turn to the conversation. All this annoyed Roger, he could hardly tell why. He determined to take the metaphorical bull by the horns. Until that was done, his footing with Molly would always be insecure; as it always is between two friends, who mutually avoid a subject to which their thoughts perpetually recur.

  ‘Ah, yes!’ said he. ‘Of course you must be of double importance now Miss Kirkpatrick has left you. I saw her marriage in The Times yesterday.’

  His tone of voice was changed in speaking of her, but her name had been named between them, and that was the great thing to accomplish.

  ‘Still,’ he continued, ‘I think I must urge my father’s claim for a short visit, and all the more, because I can really see the apparent improvement in your health since I came—only yesterday. Besides, Molly,’ it was the old familiar Roger of former days who spoke now, ‘I think you could help us at home. Aimée is shy and awkward with my father, and he has never taken quite kindly to her,—yet I know they would like and value each other, if some one could but bring them together,—and it would be such a comfort to me if this could take place before I have to leave.’