CHAPTER XLI.
GATHERING CLOUDS.
[Illustration (untitled)]
Mrs. Gibson came back full of rose-coloured accounts of London. LadyCumnor had been gracious and affectionate, "so touched by my goingup to see her so soon after her return to England," Lady Harrietcharming and devoted to her old governess, Lord Cumnor "just likehis dear usual hearty self;" and as for the Kirkpatricks, no LordChancellor's house was ever grander than theirs, and the silk gown ofthe Q.C. had floated over housemaids and footmen. Cynthia, too, wasso much admired; and as for her dress, Mrs. Kirkpatrick had showereddown ball-dresses and wreaths, and pretty bonnets and mantles, like afairy godmother. Mr. Gibson's poor present of ten pounds shrank intovery small dimensions compared with all this munificence.
"And they're so fond of her, I don't know when we shall have herback," was Mrs. Gibson's winding-up sentence. "And now, Molly, whathave you and papa been doing? Very gay, you sounded in your letter.I had not time to read it in London so I put it in my pocket, andread it in the coach coming home. But, my dear child, you do lookso old-fashioned with your gown made all tight, and your hair alltumbling about in curls. Curls are quite gone out. We must do yourhair differently," she continued, trying to smooth Molly's blackwaves into straightness.
"I sent Cynthia an African letter," said Molly, timidly. "Did youhear anything of what was in it?"
"Oh, yes, poor child! It made her very uneasy, I think; she said shedid not feel inclined to go to Mr. Rawson's ball, which was on thatnight, and for which Mrs. Kirkpatrick had given her the ball-dress.But there was really nothing for her to fidget herself about. Rogeronly said he had had another touch of fever, but was better when hewrote. He says every European has to be acclimatized by fever in thatpart of Abyssinia where he is."
"And did she go?" asked Molly.
"Yes, to be sure. It is not an engagement; and if it were, it is notacknowledged. Fancy her going and saying, 'A young man that I knowhas been ill for a few days in Africa, two months ago, therefore Idon't want to go to the ball to-night.' It would have seemed likeaffectation of sentiment; and if there's one thing I hate it isthat."
"She would hardly enjoy herself," said Molly.
"Oh, yes, but she did. Her dress was white gauze, trimmed withlilacs, and she really did look--a mother may be allowed a littlenatural partiality--most lovely. And she danced every dance, althoughshe was quite a stranger. I am sure she enjoyed herself, from hermanner of talking about it next morning."
"I wonder if the Squire knows."
"Knows what? Oh, yes, to be sure--you mean about Roger. I daresay hedoesn't, and there's no need to tell him, for I've no doubt it is allright now." And she went out of the room to finish her unpacking.
Molly let her work fall, and sighed. "It will be a year the day afterto-morrow since he came here to propose our going to Hurst Wood, andmamma was so vexed at his calling before lunch. I wonder if Cynthiaremembers it as well as I do. And now, perhaps-- Oh! Roger, Roger! Iwish--I pray that you were safe home again! How could we all bear it,if--"
She covered her face with her hands, and tried to stop thinking.Suddenly she got up, as if stung by a venomous fancy.
"I don't believe she loves him as she ought, or she could not--couldnot have gone and danced. What shall I do if she does not? What shallI do? I can bear anything but that."
But she found the long suspense as to his health hard enough toendure. They were not likely to hear from him for a month at least,and before that time had elapsed Cynthia would be at home again.Molly learnt to long for her return before a fortnight of her absencewas over. She had had no idea that perpetual tete-a-tetes with Mrs.Gibson could, by any possibility, be so tiresome as she found them.Perhaps Molly's state of delicate health, consequent upon her rapidgrowth during the last few months, made her irritable; but reallyoften she had to get up and leave the room to calm herself down afterlistening to a long series of words, more frequently plaintive ordiscontented in tone than cheerful, and which at the end conveyedno distinct impression of either the speaker's thought or feeling.Whenever anything had gone wrong, whenever Mr. Gibson had coollypersevered in anything to which she had objected; whenever the cookhad made a mistake about the dinner, or the housemaid broken anylittle frangible article; whenever Molly's hair was not done to herliking, or her dress did not become her, or the smell of dinnerpervaded the house, or the wrong callers came, or the right callersdid not come--in fact, whenever anything went wrong, poor Mr.Kirkpatrick was regretted and mourned over, nay, almost blamed, asif, had he only given himself the trouble of living, he could havehelped it.
"When I look back to those happy days, it seems to me as if I hadnever valued them as I ought. To be sure--youth, love,--what did wecare for poverty! I remember dear Mr. Kirkpatrick walking five milesinto Stratford to buy me a muffin because I had such a fancy for oneafter Cynthia was born. I don't mean to complain of dear papa--butI don't think--but, perhaps I ought not to say it to you. If Mr.Kirkpatrick had but taken care of that cough of his; but he was soobstinate! Men always are, I think. And it really was selfish ofhim. Only I daresay he did not consider the forlorn state in which Ishould be left. It came harder upon me than upon most people, becauseI always was of such an affectionate sensitive nature. I remember alittle poem of Mr. Kirkpatrick's, in which he compared my heart to aharpstring, vibrating to the slightest breeze."
"I thought harpstrings required a pretty strong finger to make themsound," said Molly.
"My dear child, you've no more poetry in you than your father. And asfor your hair! it's worse than ever. Can't you drench it in water totake those untidy twists and twirls out of it?"
"It only makes it curl more and more when it gets dry," said Molly,sudden tears coming into her eyes as a recollection came before herlike a picture seen long ago and forgotten for years--a young motherwashing and dressing her little girl; placing the half-naked darlingon her knee, and twining the wet rings of dark hair fondly round herfingers, and then, in an ecstasy of fondness, kissing the littlecurly head.
The receipt of Cynthia's letters made very agreeable events. Shedid not write often, but her letters were tolerably long when theydid come, and very sprightly in tone. There was constant mentionmade of many new names, which conveyed no idea to Molly, though Mrs.Gibson would try and enlighten her by running commentaries like thefollowing:--
"Mrs. Green! ah, that's Mr. Jones's pretty cousin, who lives inRussell Square with the fat husband. They keep their carriage; butI'm not sure if it is not Mr. Green who is Mrs. Jones's cousin. Wecan ask Cynthia when she comes home. Mr. Henderson! to be sure--ayoung man with black whiskers, a pupil of Mr. Kirkpatrick'sformerly,--or was he a pupil of Mr. Murray's? I know they said he hadread law with somebody. Ah, yes! they are the people who called theday after Mr. Rawson's ball, and who admired Cynthia so much, withoutknowing I was her mother. She was very handsomely dressed indeed, inblack satin; and the son had a glass eye, but he was a young man ofgood property. Coleman! yes, that was the name."
No more news of Roger until some time after Cynthia had returned fromher London visit. She came back looking fresher and prettier thanever, beautifully dressed, thanks to her own good taste, and hercousin's generosity, full of amusing details of the gay life she hadbeen enjoying, yet not at all out of spirits at having left it behindher. She brought home all sorts of pretty and dainty devices forMolly; a neck-ribbon made up in the newest fashion, a pattern for atippet, a delicate pair of light gloves, embroidered as Molly hadnever seen gloves embroidered before, and many another little sign ofremembrance during her absence. Yet somehow or other, Molly felt thatCynthia was changed in her relation to her. Molly was aware that shehad never had Cynthia's full confidence, for with all her apparentfrankness and _naivete_ of manner, Cynthia was extremely reserved andreticent. She knew this much of herself, and had often laughed aboutit to Molly, and the latter had by this time found out the truth ofher friend's assertion. But Molly did not trouble herself much aboutit. She too knew that there were many
thoughts and feelings thatflitted through her mind which she should never think of tellingto any one, except perhaps--if they were ever very much throwntogether--to her father. She knew that Cynthia withheld from her morethan thoughts and feelings--that she withheld facts. But then, asMolly reflected, these facts might involve details of struggle andsuffering--might relate to her mother's neglect--and altogether be ofso painful a character, that it would be well if Cynthia could forgether childhood altogether, instead of fixing it in her mind by therelation of her grievances and troubles. So it was not now by anywant of confidence that Molly felt distanced as it were. It wasbecause Cynthia rather avoided than sought her companionship; becauseher eyes shunned the straight, serious, loving look of Molly's;because there were certain subjects on which she evidently dislikedspeaking, not particularly interesting things as far as Molly couldperceive, but it almost seemed as if they lay on the road to pointsto be avoided. Molly felt a sort of sighing pleasure in noticingCynthia's changed manner of talking about Roger. She spoke of himtenderly now; "poor Roger," as she called him; and Molly thoughtthat she must be referring to the illness which he had mentionedin his last letter. One morning in the first week after Cynthia'sreturn home, just as he was going out, Mr. Gibson ran up into thedrawing-room, hat on, booted and spurred, and hastily laid an openpamphlet down before her; pointing out a particular passage withhis finger, but not speaking a word before he rapidly quitted theroom. His eyes were sparkling, and had an amused as well as pleasedexpression. All this Molly noticed, as well as Cynthia's flush ofcolour as she read what was thus pointed out to her. Then she pushedit a little on one side, not closing the book, however, and went onwith her work.
"What is it? may I see it?" asked Molly, stretching out her hand forthe pamphlet, which lay within her reach. But she did not take ituntil Cynthia had said--
"Certainly; I don't suppose there are any great secrets in ascientific journal, full of reports of meetings." And she gave thebook a little push towards Molly.
"Oh, Cynthia!" said Molly, catching her breath as she read, "areyou not proud?" For it was an account of an annual gathering of theGeographical Society, and Lord Hollingford had read a letter he hadreceived from Roger Hamley, dated from Arracuoba, a district inAfrica, hitherto unvisited by any intelligent European traveller; andabout which Mr. Hamley sent many curious particulars. The reading ofthis letter had been received with the greatest interest, and severalsubsequent speakers had paid the writer very high compliments.
But Molly might have known Cynthia better than to expect an answerresponsive to the feelings that prompted her question. Let Cynthiabe ever so proud, ever so glad, or so grateful, or even indignant,remorseful, grieved or sorry, the very fact that she was expected byanother to entertain any of these emotions, would have been enough toprevent her expressing them.
"I'm afraid I'm not as much struck by the wonder of the thing as youare, Molly. Besides, it is not news to me; at least, not entirely.I heard about the meeting before I left London it was a good dealtalked about in my uncle's set; to be sure, I didn't hear all thefine things they say of him there--but then, you know, that's a merefashion of speaking, which means nothing; somebody is bound to paycompliments when a lord takes the trouble to read one of his lettersaloud."
"Nonsense," said Molly. "You know you don't believe what you aresaying, Cynthia."
Cynthia gave that pretty little jerk of her shoulders, which was herequivalent for a French shrug, but did not lift up her head from hersewing. Molly began to read the report over again.
"Why, Cynthia!" she said, "you might have been there; ladies werethere. It says 'many ladies were present.' Oh, couldn't you havemanaged to go? If your uncle's set cared about these things, wouldn'tsome of them have taken you?"
"Perhaps, if I had asked them. But I think they would have beenrather astonished at my sudden turn for science."
"You might have told your uncle how matters really stood, he wouldn'thave talked about it if you had wished him not, I am sure, and hecould have helped you."
"Once for all, Molly," said Cynthia, now laying down her work, andspeaking with quick authority, "do learn to understand that it is,and always has been my wish, not to have the relation which Roger andI bear to each other, mentioned or talked about. When the right timecomes, I will make it known to my uncle, and to everybody whom it mayconcern; but I am not going to make mischief, and get myself intotrouble--even for the sake of hearing compliments paid to him--byletting it out before the time. If I'm pushed to it, I'd soonerbreak it off altogether at once, and have done with it. I can't beworse off than I am now." Her angry tone had changed into a kind ofdesponding complaint before she had ended her sentence. Molly lookedat her with dismay.
"I can't understand you, Cynthia," she said at length.
"No; I daresay you can't," said Cynthia, looking at her with tearsin her eyes, and very tenderly, as if in atonement for her latevehemence. "I am afraid--I hope you never will."
In a moment, Molly's arms were round her. "Oh, Cynthia," shemurmured, "have I been plaguing you? Have I vexed you? Don't sayyou're afraid of my knowing you. Of course you've your faults,everybody has, but I think I love you the better for them."
"I don't know that I am so very bad," said Cynthia, smiling a littlethrough the tears that Molly's words and caresses had forced tooverflow from her eyes. "But I have got into scrapes. I'm in a scrapenow. I do sometimes believe I shall always be in scrapes, and if theyever come to light, I shall seem to be worse than I really am; and Iknow your father will throw me off, and I--no, I won't be afraid thatyou will, Molly."
"I'm sure I won't. Are they--do you think--how would Roger take it?"asked Molly, very timidly.
"I don't know. I hope he will never hear of it. I don't see why heshould, for in a little while I shall be quite clear again. It allcame about without my ever thinking I was doing wrong. I've a greatmind to tell you all about it, Molly."
Molly did not like to urge it, though she longed to know, and to seeif she could not offer help; but while Cynthia was hesitating, andperhaps, to say the truth, rather regretting that she had even madethis slight advance towards bestowing her confidence, Mrs. Gibsoncame in, full of some manner of altering a gown of hers, so as tomake it into the fashion of the day, as she had seen it during hervisit to London. Cynthia seemed to forget her tears and her troubles,and to throw her whole soul into millinery.
Cynthia's correspondence went on pretty briskly with her Londoncousins, according to the usual rate of correspondence in thosedays. Indeed, Mrs. Gibson was occasionally inclined to complain ofthe frequency of Helen Kirkpatrick's letters; for before the pennypost came in, the recipient had to pay the postage of letters; andeleven-pence-halfpenny three times a week came, according to Mrs.Gibson's mode of reckoning when annoyed, to a sum "between threeand four shillings." But these complaints were only for the family;they saw the wrong side of the tapestry. Hollingford in general,Miss Brownings in particular, heard of "dear Helen's enthusiasticfriendship for Cynthia," and of "the real pleasure it was to receivesuch constant news--relays of news indeed--from London. It was almostas good as living there!"
"A great deal better I should think," said Miss Browning with someseverity. For she had got many of her notions of the metropolisfrom the British Essayists, where town is so often represented asthe centre of dissipation, corrupting country wives and squires'daughters, and unfitting them for all their duties by the constantwhirl of its not always innocent pleasures. London was a sort ofmoral pitch, which few could touch and not be defiled. Miss Browninghad been on the watch for the signs of deterioration in Cynthia'scharacter ever since her return home. But, except in a greater numberof pretty and becoming articles of dress, there was no great changefor the worse to be perceived. Cynthia had been "in the world," had"beheld the glare and glitter and dazzling display of London," yethad come back to Hollingford as ready as ever to place a chair forMiss Browning, or to gather flowers for a nosegay for Miss Phoebe,or to mend her own clothes. But all this was set down
to the meritsof Cynthia, not to the credit of London-town.
"As far as I can judge of London," said Miss Browning, sententiouslycontinuing her tirade against the place, "it's no better than apickpocket and a robber dressed up in the spoils of honest folk. Ishould like to know where my Lord Hollingford was bred, and Mr. RogerHamley. Your good husband lent me that report of the meeting, Mrs.Gibson, where so much was said about them both, and he was as proudof their praises as if he had been akin to them, and Phoebe readit aloud to me, for the print was too small for my eyes; she was agood deal perplexed with all the new names of places, but I saidshe had better skip them all, for we had never heard of them beforeand probably should never hear of them again, but she read out thefine things they said of my lord, and Mr. Roger, and I put it toyou, where were they born and bred? Why, within eight miles ofHollingford; it might have been Molly there or me; it's all a chance;and then they go and talk about the pleasures of intellectual societyin London, and the distinguished people up there that it is such anadvantage to know, and all the time I know it's only shops and theplay that's the real attraction. But that's neither here nor there.We all put our best foot foremost, and if we have a reason to givethat looks sensible we speak it out like men, and never say anythingabout the silliness we are hugging to our hearts. But I ask youagain, where does this fine society come from, and these wise men,and these distinguished travellers? Why, out of country parishes likethis! London picks 'em all up, and decks herself with them, and thencalls out loud to the folks she's robbed, and says, 'Come and seehow fine I am.' Fine, indeed! I've no patience with London: Cynthiais much better out of it; and I'm not sure, if I were you, Mrs.Gibson, if I wouldn't stop up those London letters: they'll only beunsettling her."
"But perhaps she may live in London some of these days, MissBrowning," simpered Mrs. Gibson.
"Time enough then to be thinking of London. I wish her an honestcountry husband with enough to live upon, and a little to lay by,and a good character to boot. Mind that, Molly," said she, firinground upon the startled Molly; "I wish Cynthia a husband with a goodcharacter; but she's got a mother to look after her; you've none, andwhen your mother was alive she was a dear friend of mine: so I'm notgoing to let you throw yourself away upon any one whose life isn'tclear and above-board, you may depend upon it!"
This last speech fell like a bomb into the quiet little drawing-room,it was delivered with such vehemence. Miss Browning, in her secretheart, meant it as a warning against the intimacy she believed thatMolly had formed with Mr. Preston but as it happened that Molly hadnever dreamed of any such intimacy, the girl could not imagine whysuch severity of speech should be addressed to her. Mrs. Gibson, whoalways took up the points of every word or action where they touchedher own self (and called it sensitiveness), broke the silence thatfollowed Miss Browning's speech by saying, plaintively,--
"I'm sure, Miss Browning, you are very much mistaken if you thinkthat any mother could take more care of Molly than I do. I don't--Ican't think there is any need for any one to interfere to protecther, and I have not an idea why you have been talking in this way,just as if we were all wrong, and you were all right. It hurts myfeelings, indeed it does; for Molly can tell you there is not a thingor a favour that Cynthia has, that she has not. And as for not takingcare of her, why, if she were to go up to London to-morrow, I shouldmake a point of going with her to see after her; and I never didit for Cynthia when she was at school in France; and her bedroomis furnished just like Cynthia's, and I let her wear my red shawlwhenever she likes--she might have it oftener if she would. I can'tthink what you mean, Miss Browning."
"I did not mean to offend you, but I meant just to give Molly a hint.She understands what I mean."
"I'm sure I don't," said Molly, boldly. "I haven't a notion what youmeant, if you were alluding to anything more than you said straightout,--that you do not wish me to marry any one who hasn't a goodcharacter, and that, as you were a friend of mamma's, you wouldprevent my marrying a man with a bad character, by every means inyour power. I'm not thinking of marrying; I don't want to marryanybody at all; but if I did, and he were not a good man, I shouldthank you for coming and warning me of it."
"I shall not stand on warning you, Molly. I shall forbid the banns inchurch, if need be," said Miss Browning, half convinced of the cleartransparent truth of what Molly had said--blushing all over, it istrue, but with her steady eyes fixed on Miss Browning's face whileshe spoke.
"Do!" said Molly.
"Well, well, I won't say any more. Perhaps I was mistaken. We won'tsay any more about it. But remember what I have said, Molly; there'sno harm in that, at any rate. I'm sorry I hurt your feelings, Mrs.Gibson. As stepmothers go, I think you try and do your duty. Goodmorning. Good-by to you both, and God bless you."
If Miss Browning thought that her final blessing would secure peacein the room she was leaving, she was very much mistaken; Mrs. Gibsonburst out with,--
"Try and do my duty, indeed! I should be much obliged to you, Molly,if you would take care not to behave in such a manner as to bringdown upon me such impertinence as I have just been receiving fromMiss Browning."
"But I don't know what made her talk as she did, mamma," said Molly.
"I'm sure I don't know, and I don't care either. But I knowthat I never was spoken to as if I was trying to do my dutybefore,--'trying' indeed! everybody always knew that I did it,without talking about it before my face in that rude manner. I'vethat deep feeling about duty that I think it ought only to be talkedabout in church, and in such sacred places as that; not to have acommon caller startling one with it, even though she was an earlyfriend of your mother's. And as if I didn't look after you quite asmuch as I look after Cynthia! Why, it was only yesterday I went upinto Cynthia's room and found her reading a letter that she put awayin a hurry as soon as I came in, and I didn't even ask her who it wasfrom, and I'm sure I should have made you tell me."
Very likely. Mrs. Gibson shrank from any conflicts with Cynthia,pretty sure that she would be worsted in the end; while Mollygenerally submitted sooner than have any struggle for her own will.
Just then Cynthia came in.
"What's the matter?" said she quickly, seeing that something waswrong.
"Why, Molly has been doing something which has set that impertinentMiss Browning off into lecturing me on trying to do my duty! If yourpoor father had but lived, Cynthia, I should never have been spokento as I have been. 'A stepmother trying to do her duty,' indeed! Thatwas Miss Browning's expression."
Any allusion to her father took from Cynthia all desire of irony. Shecame forward, and again asked Molly what was the matter.
Molly, herself ruffled, made answer,--
"Miss Browning seemed to think I was likely to marry some one whosecharacter was objectionable--"
"You, Molly?" said Cynthia.
"Yes--she once before spoke to me,--I suspect she has got some notionabout Mr. Preston in her head--"
Cynthia sate down quite suddenly. Molly went on: "And she spokeas if mamma did not look enough after me,--I think she was ratherprovoking--"
"Not rather, but very--very impertinent," said Mrs. Gibson, a littlesoothed by Molly's recognition of her grievance.
"What could have put it into her head?" said Cynthia, very quietly,taking up her sewing as she spoke.
"I don't know," said her mother, replying to the question after herown fashion. "I'm sure I don't always approve of Mr. Preston buteven if it was him she was thinking about, he's far more agreeablethan she is; and I had much rather have him coming to call than anold maid like her any day."
"I don't know that it was Mr. Preston she was thinking about," saidMolly. "It was only a guess. When you were both in London she spokeabout him,--I thought she had heard something about you and him,Cynthia." Unseen by her mother Cynthia looked up at Molly, her eyesfull of prohibition, her cheeks full of angry colour. Molly stoppedshort suddenly. After that look she was surprised at the quietnesswith which Cynthia said, almost immediately,--
/> "Well, after all, it is only your fancy that she was alluding to Mr.Preston, so perhaps we had better not say any more about him; and asfor her advice to mamma to look after you better, Miss Molly, I'llstand bail for your good behaviour; for both mamma and I know you'rethe last person to do any foolish things in that way. And now don'tlet us talk any more about it. I was coming to tell you that HannahBrand's little boy has been badly burnt, and his sister is downstairsasking for old linen."
Mrs. Gibson was always kind to poor people, and she immediately gotup and went to her stores to search for the article wanted.
Cynthia turned quietly round to Molly.
"Molly, pray don't ever allude to anything between me and Mr.Preston,--not to mamma, nor to any one. Never do! I've a reason forit,--don't say anything more about it, ever."
Mrs. Gibson came back at this moment, and Molly had to stop shortagain on the brink of Cynthia's confidence; uncertain indeed thistime, whether she would have been told anything more, and only surethat she had annoyed Cynthia a good deal.
But the time was approaching when she would know all.
Wives and Daughters Page 43
