Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER XIII.

  MOLLY GIBSON'S NEW FRIENDS.

  Time was speeding on it was now the middle of August,--if anythingwas to be done to the house, it must be done at once. Indeed, inseveral ways Mr. Gibson's arrangements with Miss Browning had notbeen made too soon. The squire had heard that Osborne might probablyreturn home for a few days before going abroad; and, though thegrowing intimacy between Roger and Molly did not alarm him in theleast, yet he was possessed by a very hearty panic lest the heirmight take a fancy to the surgeon's daughter; and he was in such afidget for her to leave the house before Osborne came home, that hiswife lived in constant terror lest he should make it too obvious totheir visitor.

  Every young girl of seventeen or so, who is at all thoughtful, isvery apt to make a Pope out of the first person who presents toher a new or larger system of duty than that by which she has beenunconsciously guided hitherto. Such a Pope was Roger to Molly; shelooked to his opinion, to his authority on almost every subject, yethe had only said one or two things in a terse manner which gave themthe force of precepts--stable guides to her conduct--and had shownthe natural superiority in wisdom and knowledge which is sure toexist between a highly educated young man of no common intelligence,and an ignorant girl of seventeen, who yet was well capable ofappreciation. Still, although they were drawn together in this verypleasant relationship, each was imagining some one very different forthe future owner of their whole heart--their highest and completestlove. Roger looked to find a grand woman, his equal, and his empress;beautiful in person, serene in wisdom, ready for counsel, as wasEgeria. Molly's little wavering maiden fancy dwelt on the unseenOsborne, who was now a troubadour, and now a knight, such as he wroteabout in one of his own poems; some one like Osborne, perhaps, ratherthan Osborne himself, for she shrank from giving a personal formand name to the hero that was to be. The squire was not unwise inwishing her well out of the house before Osborne came home, if he wasconsidering her peace of mind. Yet, when she went away from the hallhe missed her constantly; it had been so pleasant to have her therefulfilling all the pretty offices of a daughter; cheering the meals,so often tete-a-tete betwixt him and Roger, with her innocent wisequestions, her lively interest in their talk, her merry replies tohis banter.

  And Roger missed her too. Sometimes her remarks had probed into hismind, and excited him to the deep thought in which he delighted; atother times he had felt himself of real help to her in her hours ofneed, and in making her take an interest in books, which treated ofhigher things than the continual fiction and poetry which she hadhitherto read. He felt something like an affectionate tutor suddenlydeprived of his most promising pupil; he wondered how she would goon without him; whether she would be puzzled and disheartened by thebooks he had lent her to read; how she and her stepmother would getalong together? She occupied his thoughts a good deal those firstfew days after she left the hall. Mrs. Hamley regretted her more,and longer than did the other two. She had given her the place ofa daughter in her heart; and now she missed the sweet femininecompanionship, the playful caresses, the never-ceasing attentions;the very need of sympathy in her sorrows, that Molly had shown soopenly from time to time; all these things had extremely endeared herto the tender-hearted Mrs. Hamley.

  Molly, too, felt the change of atmosphere keenly; and she blamedherself for so feeling even more keenly still. But she could nothelp having a sense of refinement, which had made her appreciate thewhole manner of being at the Hall. By her dear old friends the MissBrownings she was petted and caressed so much that she became ashamedof noticing the coarser and louder tones in which they spoke, theprovincialism of their pronunciation, the absence of interest inthings, and their greediness of details about persons. They asked herquestions which she was puzzled enough to answer about her futurestepmother; her loyalty to her father forbidding her to reply fullyand truthfully. She was always glad when they began to make inquiriesas to every possible affair at the Hall. She had been so happy there;she had liked them all, down to the very dogs, so thoroughly, that itwas easy work replying: she did not mind telling them everything,even to the style of Mrs. Hamley's invalid dress; nor what wine thesquire drank at dinner. Indeed, talking about these things helpedher to recall the happiest time in her life. But one evening, asthey were all sitting together after tea in the little upstairsdrawing-room, looking into the High Street--Molly discoursing away onthe various pleasures of Hamley Hall, and just then telling of allRoger's wisdom in natural science, and some of the curiosities he hadshown her, she was suddenly pulled up by this little speech,--

  "You seem to have seen a great deal of Mr. Roger, Molly!" said MissBrowning, in a way intended to convey a great deal of meaning to hersister and none at all to Molly. But--

  The man recovered of the bite; The dog it was that died.

  Molly was perfectly aware of Miss Browning's emphatic tone, though atfirst she was perplexed as to its cause; while Miss Phoebe was justthen too much absorbed in knitting the heel of her stocking to befully alive to her sister's nods and winks.

  "Yes; he was very kind to me," said Molly, slowly, pondering overMiss Browning's manner, and unwilling to say more until she hadsatisfied herself to what the question tended.

  "I daresay you will soon be going to Hamley Hall again? He's notthe eldest son, you know, Phoebe! Don't make my head ache with youreternal 'eighteen, nineteen,' but attend to the conversation. Mollyis telling us how much she saw of Mr. Roger, and how kind he was toher. I've always heard he was a very nice young man, my dear. Tellus some more about him! Now, Phoebe, attend! How was he kind to you,Molly?"

  "Oh, he told me what books to read; and one day he made me notice howmany bees I saw--"

  "Bees, child! What do you mean? Either you or he must have beencrazy!"

  "No, not at all. There are more than two hundred kinds of bees inEngland, and he wanted me to notice the difference between them andflies. Miss Browning, I can't help seeing what you fancy," saidMolly, as red as fire, "but it is very wrong; it is all a mistake. Iwon't speak another word about Mr. Roger or Hamley at all, if it putssuch silly notions into your head."

  "Highty-tighty! Here's a young lady to be lecturing her elders! Sillynotions indeed! They are in your head, it seems. And let me tell you,Molly, you are too young to let your mind be running on lovers."

  Molly had been once or twice called saucy and impertinent, andcertainly a little sauciness came out now.

  "I never said what the 'silly notion' was, Miss Browning; did I now,Miss Phoebe? Don't you see, dear Miss Phoebe, it is all her owninterpretation, and according to her own fancy, this foolish talkabout lovers?"

  Molly was flaming with indignation but she had appealed to thewrong person for justice. Miss Phoebe tried to make peace after thefashion of weak-minded people, who would cover over the unpleasantsight of a sore, instead of trying to heal it.

  "I'm sure I don't know anything about it, my dear. It seems to methat what Dorothy was saying was very true--very true indeed; and Ithink, love, you misunderstood her; or, perhaps, she misunderstoodyou; or I may be misunderstanding it altogether; so we'd better nottalk any more about it. What price did you say you were going to givefor the drugget in Mr. Gibson's dining-room, sister?"

  So Miss Browning and Molly went on till evening, each chafed andangry with the other. They wished each other good-night, goingthrough the usual forms in the coolest manner possible. Molly wentup to her little bedroom, clean and neat as a bedroom could be, withdraperies of small delicate patchwork--bed-curtains, window-curtains,and counterpane; a japanned toilette-table, full of little boxes,with a small looking-glass affixed to it, that distorted every facethat was so unwise as to look in it. This room had been to the childone of the most dainty and luxurious places ever seen, in comparisonwith her own bare, white-dimity bedroom; and now she was sleeping init, as a guest, and all the quaint adornments she had once peeped atas a great favour, as they were carefully wrapped up in cap-paper,were set out for her use. And yet how little she had deserved thishospitabl
e care; how impertinent she had been; how cross she had feltever since! She was crying tears of penitence and youthful miserywhen there came a low tap to the door. Molly opened it, and therestood Miss Browning, in a wonderful erection of a nightcap, andscantily attired in a coloured calico jacket over her scrimpy andshort white petticoat.

  "I was afraid you were asleep, child," said she, coming in andshutting the door. "But I wanted to say to you we've got wrongto-day, somehow; and I think it was perhaps my doing. It's as wellPhoebe shouldn't know, for she thinks me perfect; and when there'sonly two of us, we get along better if one of us thinks the othercan do no wrong. But I rather think I was a little cross. We'll notsay any more about it, Molly; only we'll go to sleep friends,--andfriends we'll always be, child, won't we? Now give me a kiss,and don't cry and swell your eyes up;--and put out your candlecarefully."

  "I was wrong--it was my fault," said Molly, kissing her.

  "Fiddlestick-ends! Don't contradict me! I say it was my fault, andI won't hear another word about it."

  The next day Molly went with Miss Browning to see the changes goingon in her father's house. To her they were but dismal improvements.The faint grey of the dining-room walls, which had harmonized wellenough with the deep crimson of the moreen curtains, and whichwhen well cleaned looked thinly coated rather than dirty, was nowexchanged for a pink salmon-colour of a very glowing hue; and thenew curtains were of that pale sea-green just coming into fashion."Very bright and pretty," Miss Browning called it; and in the firstrenewing of their love Molly could not bear to contradict her. Shecould only hope that the green and brown drugget would tone down thebrightness and prettiness. There was scaffolding here, scaffoldingthere, and Betty scolding everywhere.

  "Come up now, and see your papa's bedroom. He's sleeping upstairs inyours, that everything may be done up afresh in his."

  Molly could just remember, in faint clear lines of distinctness, thebeing taken into this very room to bid farewell to her dying mother.She could see the white linen, the white muslin, surrounding thepale, wan wistful face, with the large, longing eyes, yearning forone more touch of the little soft warm child, whom she was too feebleto clasp in her arms, already growing numb in death. Many a time whenMolly had been in this room since that sad day, had she seen in vividfancy that same wan wistful face lying on the pillow, the outlineof the form beneath the clothes; and the girl had not shrunk fromsuch visions, but rather cherished them, as preserving to her theremembrance of her mother's outward semblance. Her eyes were full oftears, as she followed Miss Browning into this room to see it underits new aspect. Nearly everything was changed--the position of thebed and the colour of the furniture; there was a grand toilette-tablenow, with a glass upon it, instead of the primitive substitute of thetop of a chest of drawers, with a mirror above upon the wall, slopingdownwards; these latter things had served her mother during her shortmarried life.

  "You see, we must have all in order for a lady who has passed somuch of her time in the countess's mansion," said Miss Browning, whowas now quite reconciled to the marriage, thanks to the pleasantemployment of furnishing that had devolved upon her in consequence."Cromer, the upholsterer, wanted to persuade me to have a sofa and awriting-table. These men will say anything is the fashion, if theywant to sell an article. I said, 'No, no, Cromer: bedrooms are forsleeping in, and sitting-rooms are for sitting in. Keep everything toits right purpose, and don't try and delude me into nonsense.' Why,my mother would have given us a fine scolding if she had ever caughtus in our bedrooms in the daytime. We kept our out-door things ina closet downstairs; and there was a very tidy place for washingour hands, which is as much as one wants in the daytime. Stuffingup a bedroom with sofas and tables! I never heard of such a thing.Besides, a hundred pounds won't last for ever. I sha'n't be able todo anything for your room, Molly!"

  "I'm right down glad of it," said Molly. "Nearly everything in it waswhat mamma had when she lived with my great-uncle. I wouldn't havehad it changed for the world; I am so fond of it."

  "Well, there's no danger of it, now the money is run out. By the way,Molly, who's to buy you a bridesmaid's dress?"

  "I don't know," said Molly; "I suppose I am to be a bridesmaid; butno one has spoken to me about my dress."

  "Then I shall ask your papa."

  "Please, don't. He must have to spend a great deal of money just now.Besides, I would rather not be at the wedding, if they'll let me stayaway."

  "Nonsense, child. Why, all the town would be talking of it. You mustgo, and you must be well dressed, for your father's sake."

  But Mr. Gibson had thought of Molly's dress, although he had saidnothing about it to her. He had commissioned his future wife to gether what was requisite; and presently a very smart dressmaker cameover from the county-town to try on a dress, which was both so simpleand so elegant as at once to charm Molly. When it came home all readyto put on, Molly had a private dressing-up for the Miss Brownings'benefit; and she was almost startled when she looked into the glass,and saw the improvement in her appearance. "I wonder if I'm pretty,"thought she. "I almost think I am--in this kind of dress I mean, ofcourse. Betty would say, 'Fine feathers make fine birds.'"

  When she went downstairs in her bridal attire, and with shy blushespresented herself for inspection, she was greeted with a burst ofadmiration.

  "Well, upon my word! I shouldn't have known you." ("Fine feathers,"thought Molly, and checked her rising vanity.)

  "You are really beautiful--isn't she, sister?" said Miss Phoebe."Why, my dear, if you were always dressed, you would be prettier thanyour dear mamma, whom we always reckoned so very personable."

  "You're not a bit like her. You favour your father, and white alwayssets off a brown complexion."

  "But isn't she beautiful?" persevered Miss Phoebe.

  "Well! and if she is, Providence made her, and not she herself.Besides, the dressmaker must go shares. What a fine India muslin itis! it'll have cost a pretty penny!"

  Mr. Gibson and Molly drove over to Ashcombe, the night before thewedding, in the one yellow post-chaise that Hollingford possessed.They were to be Mr. Preston's, or, rather, my lord's guests at theManor-house. The Manor-house came up to its name, and delighted Mollyat first sight. It was built of stone, had many gables and mullionedwindows, and was covered over with Virginian creeper and late-blowingroses. Molly did not know Mr. Preston, who stood in the doorwayto greet her father. She took standing with him as a young ladyat once, and it was the first time she had met with the kind ofbehaviour--half complimentary, half flirting--which some men thinkit necessary to assume with every woman under five-and-twenty. Mr.Preston was very handsome, and knew it. He was a fair man, withlight-brown hair and whiskers; grey, roving, well-shaped eyes, withlashes darker than his hair; and a figure rendered easy and supple bythe athletic exercises in which his excellence was famous, and whichhad procured him admission into much higher society than he wasotherwise entitled to enter. He was a capital cricketer; was so gooda shot, that any house desirous of reputation for its bags on the12th or the 1st, was glad to have him for a guest. He taught youngladies to play billiards on a wet day, or went in for the game inserious earnest when required. He knew half the private theatricalplays off by heart, and was invaluable in arranging impromptucharades and tableaux. He had his own private reasons for wishingto get up a flirtation with Molly just at this time; he had amusedhimself so much with the widow when she first came to Ashcombe, thathe fancied that the sight of him, standing by her less polished, lesshandsome, middle-aged husband, might be too much of a contrast to beagreeable. Besides, he had really a strong passion for some one else;some one who would be absent; and that passion it was necessary forhim to conceal. So that, altogether, he had resolved, even had "thelittle Gibson-girl" (as he called her) been less attractive than shewas, to devote himself to her for the next sixteen hours.

  They were taken by their host into a wainscoted parlour, where awood fire crackled and burnt, and the crimson curtains shut out thewaning day and the outer chill. H
ere the table was laid for dinner;snowy table-linen, bright silver, clear sparkling glass, wine and anautumnal dessert on the sideboard. Yet Mr. Preston kept apologizingto Molly for the rudeness of his bachelor home, for the smallness ofthe room, the great dining-room being already appropriated by hishousekeeper, in preparation for the morrow's breakfast. And then herang for a servant to show Molly to her room. She was taken into amost comfortable chamber; a wood fire on the hearth, candles lightedon the toilette-table, dark woollen curtains surrounding a snow-whitebed, great vases of china standing here and there.

  "This is my Lady Harriet's room when her ladyship comes to theManor-house with my lord the earl," said the housemaid, strikingout thousands of brilliant sparks by a well-directed blow at asmouldering log. "Shall I help you to dress, miss? I always helps herladyship."

  Molly, quite aware of the fact that she had but her white muslin gownfor the wedding besides that she had on, dismissed the good woman,and was thankful to be left to herself.

  "Dinner" was it called? Why, it was nearly eight o'clock; andpreparations for bed seemed a more natural employment than dressingat this hour of night. All the dressing she could manage was theplacing of a red damask rose or two in the band of her grey stuffgown, there being a great nosegay of choice autumnal flowers on thetoilette-table. She did try the effect of another crimson rose inher black hair, just above her ear; it was very pretty, but toocoquettish, and so she put it back again. The dark-oak panels andwainscoting of the whole house seemed to glow in warm light; therewere so many fires in different rooms, in the hall, and even one onthe landing of the staircase. Mr. Preston must have heard her step,for he met her in the hall, and led her into a small drawing-room,with closed folding-doors on one side, opening into the largerdrawing-room, as he told her. This room into which she enteredreminded her a little of Hamley--yellow-satin upholstery of seventyor a hundred years ago, all delicately kept and scrupulously clean;great Indian cabinets, and china jars, emitting spicy odours; a largeblazing fire, before which her father stood in his morning dress,grave and thoughtful, as he had been all day.

  "This room is that which Lady Harriet uses when she comes here withher father for a day or two," said Mr. Preston. And Molly tried tosave her father by being ready to talk herself.

  "Does she often come here?"

  "Not often. But I fancy she likes being here when she does. Perhapsshe finds it an agreeable change after the more formal life she leadsat the Towers."

  "I should think it was a very pleasant house to stay at," said Molly,remembering the look of warm comfort that pervaded it. But a littleto her dismay Mr. Preston seemed to take it as a compliment tohimself.

  "I was afraid a young lady like you might perceive all theincongruities of a bachelor's home. I'm very much obliged to you,Miss Gibson. In general I live pretty much in the room in which weshall dine; and I've a sort of agent's office in which I keep booksand papers, and receive callers on business."

  Then they went in to dinner. Molly thought everything that was servedwas delicious, and cooked to the point of perfection but theydid not seem to satisfy Mr. Preston, who apologized to his guestsseveral times for the bad cooking of this dish, or the omissionof a particular sauce to that; always referring to bachelor'shousekeeping, bachelor's this and bachelor's that, till Molly grewquite impatient at the word. Her father's depression, which was stillcontinuing and rendering him very silent, made her uneasy; yet shewished to conceal it from Mr. Preston and so she talked away, tryingto obviate the sort of personal bearing which their host would giveto everything. She did not know when to leave the gentlemen, but herfather made a sign to her; and she was conducted back to the yellowdrawing-room by Mr. Preston, who made many apologies for leavingher there alone. She enjoyed herself extremely, however, feeling atliberty to prowl about, and examine all the curiosities the roomcontained. Among other things was a Louis Quinze cabinet with lovelyminiatures in enamel let into the fine woodwork. She carried a candleto it, and was looking intently at these faces when her father andMr. Preston came in. Her father still looked care-worn and anxious;he came up and patted her on the back, looked at what she was lookingat, and then went off to silence and the fire. Mr. Preston took thecandle out of her hand, and threw himself into her interests with anair of ready gallantry.

  "That is said to be Mademoiselle de St. Quentin, a great beauty atthe French Court. This is Madame du Barri. Do you see any likeness inMademoiselle de St. Quentin to any one you know?" He had lowered hisvoice a little as he asked this question.

  "No!" said Molly, looking at it again. "I never saw any one half sobeautiful."

  "But don't you see a likeness--in the eyes particularly?" he askedagain, with some impatience.

  Molly tried hard to find out a resemblance, and was againunsuccessful.

  "It constantly reminds me of--of Miss Kirkpatrick."

  "Does it?" said Molly, eagerly. "Oh! I am so glad--I've never seenher, so of course I couldn't find out the likeness. You know her,then, do you? Please tell me all about her."

  He hesitated a moment before speaking. He smiled a little beforereplying.

  "She's very beautiful; that of course is understood when I say thatthis miniature does not come up to her for beauty."

  "And besides?--Go on, please."

  "What do you mean by 'besides'?"

  "Oh! I suppose she's very clever and accomplished?"

  That was not in the least what Molly wanted to ask; but it wasdifficult to word the vague vastness of her unspoken inquiry.

  "She is clever naturally; she has picked up accomplishments. But shehas such a charm about her, one forgets what she herself is in thehalo that surrounds her. You ask me all this, Miss Gibson, and Ianswer truthfully; or else I should not entertain one young lady withmy enthusiastic praises of another."

  "I don't see why not," said Molly. "Besides, if you wouldn't do itin general, I think you ought to do it in my case; for you, perhaps,don't know, but she is coming to live with us when she leaves school,and we are very nearly the same age; so it will be almost like havinga sister."

  "She is to live with you, is she?" said Mr. Preston, to whom thisintelligence was news. "And when is she to leave school? I thoughtshe would surely have been at this wedding; but I was told she wasnot to come. When is she to leave school?"

  "I think it is to be at Easter. You know she's at Boulogne, and it'sa long journey for her to come alone; or else papa wished for her tobe at the marriage very much indeed."

  "And her mother prevented it?--I understand."

  "No, it wasn't her mother; it was the French schoolmistress, whodidn't think it desirable."

  "It comes to pretty much the same thing. And she's to return and livewith you after Easter?"

  "I believe so. Is she a grave or a merry person?"

  "Never very grave, as far as I have seen of her. Sparkling wouldbe the word for her, I think. Do you ever write to her? If you do,pray remember me to her, and tell her how we have been talking abouther--you and I."

  "I never write to her," said Molly, rather shortly.

  Tea came in; and after that they all went to bed. Molly heard herfather exclaim at the fire in his bedroom, and Mr. Preston's reply--

  "I pique myself on my keen relish for all creature comforts, and alsoon my power of doing without them, if need be. My lord's woods areample, and I indulge myself with a fire in my bedroom for nine monthsin the year; yet I could travel in Iceland without wincing from thecold."