Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER IV.

  MR. GIBSON'S NEIGHBOURS.

  [Illustration (untitled)]

  Molly grew up among these quiet people in calm monotony of life,without any greater event than that which has been recorded--thebeing left behind at the Towers--until she was nearly seventeen. Shehad become a visitor at the school, but she had never gone again tothe annual festival at the great house; it was easy to find someexcuse for keeping away, and the recollection of that day was nota pleasant one on the whole, though she often thought how much sheshould like to see the gardens again.

  Lady Agnes was married; there was only Lady Harriet remaining athome; Lord Hollingford, the eldest son, had lost his wife, and wasa good deal more at the Towers since he had become a widower. Hewas a tall ungainly man, considered to be as proud as his mother,the countess; but, in fact, he was only shy, and slow at makingcommonplace speeches. He did not know what to say to people whosedaily habits and interests were not the same as his; he would havebeen very thankful for a handbook of small-talk, and would havelearnt off his sentences with good-humoured diligence. He oftenenvied the fluency of his garrulous father, who delighted in talkingto everybody, and was perfectly unconscious of the incoherence of hisconversation. But, owing to his constitutional reserve and shyness,Lord Hollingford was not a popular man although his kindness ofheart was very great, his simplicity of character extreme, and hisscientific acquirements considerable enough to entitle him to muchreputation in the European republic of learned men. In this respectHollingford was proud of him. The inhabitants knew that the great,grave, clumsy heir to its fealty was highly esteemed for his wisdom;and that he had made one or two discoveries, though in what directionthey were not quite sure. But it was safe to point him out tostrangers visiting the little town, as "That's Lord Hollingford--thefamous Lord Hollingford, you know; you must have heard of him, he isso scientific." If the strangers knew his name, they also knew hisclaims to fame; if they did not, ten to one but they would make asif they did, and so conceal not only their own ignorance, but thatof their companions, as to the exact nature of the sources of hisreputation.

  He was left a widower with two or three boys. They were at a publicschool; so that their companionship could make the house in whichhe had passed his married life but little of a home to him, and heconsequently spent much of his time at the Towers; where his motherwas proud of him, and his father very fond, but ever so little afraidof him. His friends were always welcomed by Lord and Lady Cumnor; theformer, indeed, was in the habit of welcoming everybody everywhere;but it was a proof of Lady Cumnor's real affection for herdistinguished son, that she allowed him to ask what she called "allsorts of people" to the Towers. "All sorts of people" meant reallythose who were distinguished for science and learning, without regardto rank: and it must be confessed, without much regard to polishedmanners likewise.

  Mr. Hall, Mr. Gibson's predecessor, had always been received withfriendly condescension by my lady, who had found him established asthe family medical man, when first she came to the Towers on hermarriage; but she never thought of interfering with his custom oftaking his meals, if he needed refreshment, in the housekeeper'sroom, not _with_ the housekeeper, _bien entendu_. The comfortable,clever, stout, and red-faced doctor would very much have preferredthis, even if he had had the choice given him (which he never had) oftaking his "snack," as he called it, with my lord and my lady, in thegrand dining-room. Of course, if some great surgical gun (like SirAstley) was brought down from London to bear on the family's health,it was due to him, as well as to the local medical attendant, to askMr. Hall to dinner, in a formal and ceremonious manner, on whichoccasions Mr. Hall buried his chin in voluminous folds of whitemuslin, put on his black knee-breeches, with bunches of ribbon atthe sides, his silk stockings and buckled shoes, and otherwise madehimself excessively uncomfortable in his attire, and went forth instate in a post-chaise from the "George," consoling himself in theprivate corner of his heart for the discomfort he was enduring withthe idea of how well it would sound the next day in the ears of thesquires whom he was in the habit of attending: "Yesterday at dinnerthe earl said," or "the countess remarked," or "I was surprised tohear when I was dining at the Towers yesterday." But somehow thingshad changed since Mr. Gibson had become "the doctor" _par excellence_at Hollingford. Miss Brownings thought that it was because he hadsuch an elegant figure, and "such a distinguished manner;" Mrs.Goodenough, "because of his aristocratic connections"--"the son of aScotch duke, my dear, never mind on which side of the blanket." Butthe fact was certain; although he might frequently ask Mrs. Brownto give him something to eat in the housekeeper's room--he had notime for all the fuss and ceremony of luncheon with my lady--he wasalways welcome to the grandest circle of visitors in the house. Hemight lunch with a duke any day that he chose; given that a duke wasforthcoming at the Towers. His accent was Scotch, not provincial. Hehad not an ounce of superfluous flesh on his bones; and leanness goesa great way to gentility. His complexion was sallow, and his hairblack; in those days, the decade after the conclusion of the greatcontinental war, to be sallow and black-a-vised was of itself adistinction he was not jovial (as my lord remarked with a sigh, butit was my lady who endorsed the invitations), sparing of his words,intelligent, and slightly sarcastic. Therefore he was perfectlypresentable.

  His Scotch blood (for that he was of Scottish descent there could beno manner of doubt) gave him just the kind of thistly dignity whichmade every one feel that they must treat him with respect; so on thathead he was assured. The grandeur of being an invited guest to dinnerat the Towers from time to time, gave him but little pleasure formany years, but it was a form to be gone through in the way of hisprofession, without any idea of social gratification.

  But when Lord Hollingford returned to make the Towers his home,affairs were altered. Mr. Gibson really heard and learnt things thatinterested him seriously, and that gave fresh flavour to his reading.From time to time he met the leaders of the scientific world;odd-looking, simple-hearted men, very much in earnest about theirown particular subjects, and not having much to say on any other. Mr.Gibson found himself capable of appreciating such persons, and alsoperceived that they valued his appreciation, as it was honestlyand intelligently given. Indeed, by-and-by, he began to sendcontributions of his own to the more scientific of the medicaljournals, and thus partly in receiving, partly in giving outinformation and accurate thought, a new zest was added to his life.There was not much intercourse between Lord Hollingford and himself;the one was too silent and shy, the other too busy, to seek eachother's society with the perseverance required to do away with thesocial distinction of rank that prevented their frequent meetings.But each was thoroughly pleased to come into contact with the other.Each could rely on the other's respect and sympathy with a securityunknown to many who call themselves friends; and this was a sourceof happiness to both; to Mr. Gibson the most so, of course; forhis range of intelligent and cultivated society was the smaller.Indeed, there was no one equal to himself among the men with whom heassociated, and this he had felt as a depressing influence, althoughhe never recognized the cause of his depression. There was Mr.Ashton, the vicar, who had succeeded Mr. Browning, a thoroughly goodand kind-hearted man, but one without an original thought in him;whose habitual courtesy and indolent mind led him to agree to everyopinion, not palpably heterodox, and to utter platitudes in the mostgentlemanly manner. Mr. Gibson had once or twice amused himself, byleading the vicar on in his agreeable admissions of arguments "asperfectly convincing," and of statements as "curious but undoubted,"till he had planted the poor clergyman in a bog of hereticalbewilderment. But then Mr. Ashton's pain and suffering at suddenlyfinding out into what a theological predicament he had been brought,his real self-reproach at his previous admissions, were so greatthat Mr. Gibson lost all sense of fun, and hastened back to theThirty-nine Articles with all the good-will in life, as the onlymeans of soothing the vicar's conscience. On any other subject,except that of orthodoxy, Mr. Gibson could lead him any lengths; butthe
n his ignorance on most of them prevented bland acquiescence fromarriving at any results which could startle him. He had some privatefortune, and was not married, and lived the life of an indolent andrefined bachelor; but though he himself was no very active visitoramong his poorer parishioners, he was always willing to relieve theirwants in the most liberal, and, considering his habits, occasionallyin the most self-denying manner, whenever Mr. Gibson, or any oneelse, made them clearly known to him. "Use my purse as freely as ifit was your own, Gibson," he was wont to say. "I'm such a bad one atgoing about and making talk to poor folk--I daresay I don't do enoughin that way--but I am most willing to give you anything for any oneyou may consider in want."

  "Thank you; I come upon you pretty often, I believe, and make verylittle scruple about it; but if you'll allow me to suggest, it is,that you shouldn't try to make talk when you go into the cottages;but just talk."

  "I don't see the difference," said the vicar, a little querulously;"but I daresay there is a difference, and I have no doubt what yousay is quite true. I shouldn't make talk, but talk; and as both areequally difficult to me, you must let me purchase the privilege ofsilence by this ten-pound note."

  "Thank you. It's not so satisfactory to me; and, I should think, notto yourself. But probably the Joneses and Greens will prefer it."

  Mr. Ashton would look with plaintive inquiry into Mr. Gibson's faceafter some such speech, as if asking if a sarcasm was intended. Onthe whole, they went on in the most amicable way; only beyond thegregarious feeling common to most men, they had very little actualpleasure in each other's society. Perhaps the man of all othersto whom Mr. Gibson took the most kindly--at least, until LordHollingford came into the neighbourhood--was a certain Squire Hamley.He and his ancestors had been called squire as long back as localtradition extended. But there was many a greater land-owner in thecounty, for Squire Hamley's estate was not more than eight hundredacres or so. But his family had been in possession of it long beforethe Earls of Cumnor had been heard of; before the Hely-Harrisonshad bought Coldstone Park; no one in Hollingford knew the time whenthe Hamleys had not lived at Hamley. "Ever since the Heptarchy,"said the vicar. "Nay," said Miss Browning, "I have heard that therewere Hamleys of Hamley before the Romans." The vicar was preparinga polite assent, when Mrs. Goodenough came in with a still morestartling assertion. "I have always heerd," said she, with all theslow authority of an oldest inhabitant, "that there was Hamleys ofHamley afore the time of the pagans." Mr. Ashton could only bow, andsay, "Possibly, very possibly, madam." But he said it in so courteousa manner that Mrs. Goodenough looked round in a gratified way, asmuch as to say, "The Church confirms my words; who now will daredispute them?" At any rate, the Hamleys were a very old family, ifnot aborigines. They had not increased their estate for centuries;they had held their own, if even with an effort, and had not solda rood of it for the last hundred years or so. But they were notan adventurous race. They never traded, or speculated, or triedagricultural improvements of any kind. They had no capital in anybank; nor what perhaps would have been more in character, hoards ofgold in any stocking. Their mode of life was simple, and more likethat of yeomen than squires. Indeed Squire Hamley, by continuing theprimitive manners and customs of his forefathers, the squires of theeighteenth century, did live more as a yeoman, when such a classexisted, than as a squire of this generation. There was a dignity inthis quiet conservatism that gained him an immense amount of respectboth from high and low; and he might have visited at every housein the county had he so chosen. But he was very indifferent to thecharms of society; and perhaps this was owing to the fact that thesquire, Roger Hamley, who at present lived and reigned at Hamley,had not received so good an education as he ought to have done.His father, Squire Stephen, had been plucked at Oxford, and, withstubborn pride, he had refused to go up again. Nay, more! he hadsworn a great oath, as men did in those days, that none of hischildren to come should ever know either university by becoming amember of it. He had only one child, the present Squire, and he wasbrought up according to his father's word; he was sent to a pettyprovincial school, where he saw much that he hated, and then turnedloose upon the estate as its heir. Such a bringing up did not do himall the harm that might have been anticipated. He was imperfectlyeducated, and ignorant on many points; but he was aware of hisdeficiency, and regretted it in theory. He was awkward and ungainlyin society, and so kept out of it as much as possible; and he wasobstinate, violent-tempered, and dictatorial in his own immediatecircle. On the other side, he was generous, and true as steel; thevery soul of honour, in fact. He had so much natural shrewdness, thathis conversation was always worth listening to, although he was aptto start by assuming entirely false premises, which he consideredas incontrovertible as if they had been mathematically proved; but,given the correctness of his premises, nobody could bring morenatural wit and sense to bear upon the arguments based upon them.

  He had married a delicate fine London lady; it was one of thoseperplexing marriages of which one cannot understand the reasons. Yetthey were very happy, though possibly Mrs. Hamley would not have sunkinto the condition of a chronic invalid, if her husband had cared alittle more for her various tastes, or allowed her the companionshipof those who did. After his marriage he was wont to say he had gotall that was worth having out of the crowd of houses they calledLondon. It was a compliment to his wife which he repeated until theyear of her death; it charmed her at first, it pleased her up to thelast time of her hearing it; but, for all that, she used sometimesto wish that he would recognize the fact that there might still besomething worth hearing and seeing in the great city. But he neverwent there again, and though he did not prohibit her going, yet heshowed so little sympathy with her when she came back full of whatshe had done on her visit that she ceased caring to go. Not but whathe was kind and willing in giving his consent, and in furnishing heramply with money. "There, there, my little woman, take that! Dressyourself up as fine as any on 'em, and buy what you like, for thecredit of Hamley of Hamley; and go to the park and the play, and showoff with the best on 'em. I shall be glad to see thee back again, Iknow; but have thy fling while thou'rt about it." Then when she cameback it was, "Well, well, it has pleased thee, I suppose, so that'sall right. But the very talking about it tires me, I know, and Ican't think how you have stood it all. Come out and see how prettythe flowers are looking in the south garden. I've made them sow allthe seeds you like; and I went over to Hollingford nursery to buy thecuttings of the plants you admired last year. A breath of fresh airwill clear my brain after listening to all this talk about the whirlof London, which is like to have turned me giddy."

  Mrs. Hamley was a great reader, and had considerable literary taste.She was gentle and sentimental; tender and good. She gave up hervisits to London she gave up her sociable pleasure in the companyof her fellows in education and position. Her husband, owing to thedeficiencies of his early years, disliked associating with thoseto whom he ought to have been an equal; he was too proud to minglewith his inferiors. He loved his wife all the more dearly for hersacrifices for him; but, deprived of all her strong interests, shesank into ill-health; nothing definite; only she never was well.Perhaps if she had had a daughter it would have been better for her:but her two children were boys, and their father, anxious to givethem the advantages of which he himself had suffered the deprivation,sent the lads very early to a preparatory school. They were to goon to Rugby and Cambridge; the idea of Oxford was hereditarilydistasteful in the Hamley family. Osborne, the eldest--so calledafter his mother's maiden name--was full of taste, and had sometalent. His appearance had all the grace and refinement of hismother's. He was sweet-tempered and affectionate, almost asdemonstrative as a girl. He did well at school, carrying away manyprizes; and was, in a word, the pride and delight of both father andmother; the confidential friend of the latter, in default of anyother. Roger was two years younger than Osborne; clumsy and heavilybuilt, like his father; his face was square, and the expressiongrave, and rather immobile. He was good, but dull, his sch
oolmasterssaid. He won no prizes, but brought home a favourable report of hisconduct. When he caressed his mother, she used laughingly to alludeto the fable of the lap-dog and the donkey; so thereafter he leftoff all personal demonstration of affection. It was a great questionas to whether he was to follow his brother to college after heleft Rugby. Mrs. Hamley thought it would be rather a throwingaway of money, as he was so little likely to distinguish himselfin intellectual pursuits; anything practical--such as a civilengineer--would be more the kind of life for him. She thought thatit would be too mortifying for him to go to the same college anduniversity as his brother, who was sure to distinguish himself--and,to be repeatedly plucked, to come away wooden-spoon at last. But hisfather persevered doggedly, as was his wont, in his intention ofgiving both his sons the same education they should both have theadvantages of which he had been deprived. If Roger did not do well atCambridge it would be his own fault. If his father did not send himthither, some day or other he might be regretting the omission, asthe Squire had done himself for many a year. So Roger followed hisbrother Osborne to Trinity, and Mrs. Hamley was again left alone,after the year of indecision as to Roger's destination, which hadbeen brought on by her urgency. She had not been able for many yearsto walk beyond her garden; the greater part of her life was spent ona sofa, wheeled to the window in summer, to the fireside in winter.The room which she inhabited was large and pleasant; four tallwindows looked out upon a lawn dotted over with flower-beds, andmelting away into a small wood, in the centre of which there was apond, filled with water-lilies. About this unseen pond in the deepshade Mrs. Hamley had written many a pretty four-versed poem sinceshe lay on her sofa, alternately reading and composing verse. She hada small table by her side on which there were the newest works ofpoetry and fiction a pencil and blotting-book, with loose sheetsof blank paper; a vase of flowers always of her husband's gathering;winter and summer, she had a sweet fresh nosegay every day. Her maidbrought her a draught of medicine every three hours, with a glass ofclear water and a biscuit; her husband came to her as often as hislove for the open air and his labours out-of-doors permitted; butthe event of her day, when her boys were absent, was Mr. Gibson'sfrequent professional visits.

  He knew there was real secret harm going on all this time that peoplespoke of her as a merely fanciful invalid; and that one or twoaccused him of humouring her fancies. But he only smiled at suchaccusations. He felt that his visits were a real pleasure andlightening of her growing and indescribable discomfort; he knew thatSquire Hamley would have been only too glad if he had come every day;and he was conscious that by careful watching of her symptoms hemight mitigate her bodily pain. Besides all these reasons, he tookgreat pleasure in the Squire's society. Mr. Gibson enjoyed theother's unreasonableness; his quaintness; his strong conservatismin religion, politics, and morals. Mrs. Hamley tried sometimes toapologize for, or to soften away, opinions which she fancied wereoffensive to the doctor, or contradictions which she thought tooabrupt; but at such times her husband would lay his great hand almostcaressingly on Mr. Gibson's shoulder, and soothe his wife's anxiety,by saying, "Let us alone, little woman. We understand each other,don't we, doctor? Why, bless your life, he gives me better than hegets many a time; only, you see, he sugars it over, and says a sharpthing, and pretends it's all civility and humility; but I can tellwhen he's giving me a pill."

  One of Mrs. Hamley's often-expressed wishes had been, that Mollymight come and pay her a visit. Mr. Gibson always refused thisrequest of hers, though he could hardly have given his reasons forthese refusals. He did not want to lose the companionship of hischild, in fact; but he put it to himself in quite a different way.He thought her lessons and her regular course of employment would beinterrupted. The life in Mrs. Hamley's heated and scented room wouldnot be good for the girl; Osborne and Roger Hamley would be at home,and he did not wish Molly to be thrown too exclusively upon them foryoung society; or they would not be at home, and it would be ratherdull and depressing for his girl to be all the day long with anervous invalid.

  But at length the day came when Mr. Gibson rode over, and volunteereda visit from Molly; an offer which Mrs. Hamley received with the"open arms of her heart," as she expressed it; and of which theduration was unspecified.

  The cause for the change in Mr. Gibson's wishes just referred towas as follows:--It has been mentioned that he took pupils, ratheragainst his inclination, it is true; but there they were, a Mr. Wynneand Mr. Coxe, "the young gentlemen," as they were called in thehousehold; "Mr. Gibson's young gentlemen," as they were termed in thetown. Mr. Wynne was the elder, the more experienced one, who couldoccasionally take his master's place, and who gained experience byvisiting the poor, and the "chronic cases." Mr. Gibson used to talkover his practice with Mr. Wynne, and try and elicit his opinions inthe vain hope that, some day or another, Mr. Wynne might start anoriginal thought. The young man was cautious and slow; he would neverdo any harm by his rashness, but at the same time he would always bea little behind his day. Still Mr. Gibson remembered that he had hadfar worse "young gentlemen" to deal with; and was content with, ifnot thankful for, such an elder pupil as Mr. Wynne. Mr. Coxe was aboy of nineteen or so, with brilliant red hair, and a tolerably redface, of both of which he was very conscious and much ashamed. He wasthe son of an Indian officer, an old acquaintance of Mr. Gibson's.Major Coxe was at some unpronounceable station in the Punjaub, at thepresent time; but the year before he had been in England, and hadrepeatedly expressed his great satisfaction at having placed his onlychild as a pupil to his old friend, and had in fact almost chargedMr. Gibson with the guardianship as well as the instruction of hisboy, giving him many injunctions which he thought were special inthis case; but which Mr. Gibson with a touch of annoyance assured themajor were always attended to in every case, with every pupil. Butwhen the poor major ventured to beg that his boy might be consideredas one of the family, and that he might spend his evenings in thedrawing-room instead of the surgery, Mr. Gibson turned upon him witha direct refusal.

  "He must live like the others. I can't have the pestle and mortarcarried into the drawing-room, and the place smelling of aloes."

  "Must my boy make pills himself, then?" asked the major, ruefully.

  "To be sure. The youngest apprentice always does. It's not hardwork. He'll have the comfort of thinking he won't have to swallowthem himself. And he'll have the run of the pomfret cakes, and theconserve of hips, and on Sundays he shall have a taste of tamarindsto reward him for his weekly labour at pill-making."

  Major Coxe was not quite sure whether Mr. Gibson was not laughingat him in his sleeve; but things were so far arranged, and the realadvantages were so great, that he thought it was best to take nonotice, but even to submit to the indignity of pill-making. He wasconsoled for all these rubs by Mr. Gibson's manner at last when thesupreme moment of final parting arrived. The doctor did not say much;but there was something of real sympathy in his manner that spokestraight to the father's heart, and an implied "you have trusted mewith your boy, and I have accepted the trust in full," in each of thefew last words.

  Mr. Gibson knew his business and human nature too well to distinguishyoung Coxe by any overt marks of favouritism; but he could not helpshowing the lad occasionally that he regarded him with especialinterest as the son of a friend. Besides this claim upon his regard,there was something about the young man himself that pleased Mr.Gibson. He was rash and impulsive, apt to speak, hitting the nail onthe head sometimes with unconscious cleverness, at other times makinggross and startling blunders. Mr. Gibson used to tell him that hismotto would always be "kill or cure," and to this Mr. Coxe once madeanswer that he thought it was the best motto a doctor could have; forif he could not cure the patient, it was surely best to get him outof his misery quietly, and at once. Mr. Wynne looked up in surprise,and observed that he should be afraid that such putting out of miserymight be looked upon as homicide by some people. Mr. Gibson saidin a dry tone, that for his part he should not mind the imputationof homicide, but that it would n
ot do to make away with profitablepatients in so speedy a manner; and that he thought that as long asthey were willing and able to pay two-and-sixpence for the doctor'svisit, it was his duty to keep them alive; of course, when theybecame paupers the case was different. Mr. Wynne pondered over thisspeech; Mr. Coxe only laughed. At last Mr. Wynne said,--

  "But you go every morning, sir, before breakfast to see old NancyGrant, and you've ordered her this medicine, sir, which is about themost costly in Corbyn's bill?"

  "Have you not found out how difficult it is for men to live up totheir precepts? You've a great deal to learn yet, Mr. Wynne!" saidMr. Gibson, leaving the surgery as he spoke.

  "I never can make the governor out," said Mr. Wynne, in a tone ofutter despair. "What are you laughing at, Coxey?"

  "Oh! I'm thinking how blest you are in having parents who haveinstilled moral principles into your youthful bosom. You'd go and bepoisoning all the paupers off, if you hadn't been told that murderwas a crime by your mother; you'd be thinking you were doing as youwere bid, and quote old Gibson's words when you came to be tried.'Please, my lord judge, they were not able to pay for my visits, andso I followed the rules of the profession as taught me by Mr. Gibson,the great surgeon at Hollingford, and poisoned the paupers.'"

  "I can't bear that scoffing way of his."

  "And I like it. If it wasn't for the governor's fun, and thetamarinds, and something else that I know of, I would run off toIndia. I hate stifling rooms, and sick people, and the smell ofdrugs, and the stink of pills on my hands;--faugh!"