Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER XLVI.

  HOLLINGFORD GOSSIPS.

  [Illustration (untitled)]

  "My dear Molly, why didn't you come and dine with us? I said tosister I would come and scold you well. Oh, Mr. Osborne Hamley, isthat you?" and a look of mistaken intelligence at the tete-a-teteshe had disturbed came so perceptibly over Miss Phoebe's face thatMolly caught Osborne's sympathetic eye, and both smiled at thenotion.

  "I'm sure I--well! one must sometimes--I see our dinner would havebeen--" Then she recovered herself into a connected sentence. "Weonly just heard of Mrs. Gibson's having a fly from the 'George,'because sister sent our Nancy to pay for a couple of rabbits TomOstler had snared, (I hope we shan't be taken up for poachers, Mr.Osborne--snaring doesn't require a licence, I believe?) and she heardhe was gone off with the fly to the Towers with your dear mamma; forCoxe who drives the fly in general has sprained his ankle. We hadjust finished dinner, but when Nancy said Tom Ostler would not beback till night, I said, 'Why, there's that poor dear girl left allalone by herself, and her mother such a friend of ours,'--when shewas alive, I mean. But I'm sure I'm glad I'm mistaken."

  Osborne said,--"I came to speak to Mr. Gibson, not knowing he hadgone to London, and Miss Gibson kindly gave me some of her lunch.I must go now."

  "Oh dear! I am so sorry," fluttered out Miss Phoebe, "I disturbedyou; but it was with the best intentions. I always was mal-aproposfrom a child." But Osborne was gone before she had finished herapologies. As he left, his eyes met Molly's with a strange lookof yearning farewell that struck her at the time, and that sheremembered strongly afterwards. "Such a nice suitable thing, and Icame in the midst, and spoilt it all. I am sure you're very kind, mydear, considering--"

  "Considering what, my dear Miss Phoebe? If you are conjecturing alove affair between Mr. Osborne Hamley and me, you never were moremistaken in your life. I think I told you so once before. Please dobelieve me."

  "Oh, yes! I remember. And somehow sister got it into her head it wasMr. Preston. I recollect."

  "One guess is just as wrong as the other," said Molly, smiling, andtrying to look perfectly indifferent, but going extremely red at themention of Mr. Preston's name. It was very difficult for her to keepup any conversation, for her heart was full of Osborne--his changedappearance, his melancholy words of foreboding, and his confidencesabout his wife--French, Catholic, servant. Molly could not helptrying to piece these strange facts together by imaginations of herown, and found it very hard work to attend to kind Miss Phoebe'sunceasing patter. She came up to the point, however, when the voiceceased; and could recall, in a mechanical manner, the echo of thelast words, which both from Miss Phoebe's look, and the dyingaccent that lingered in Molly's ear, she perceived to be a question.Miss Phoebe was asking her if she would go out with her. She wasgoing to Grinstead's, the bookseller of Hollingford; who, in additionto his regular business, was the agent for the Hollingford BookSociety, received their subscriptions, kept their accounts, orderedtheir books from London, and, on payment of a small salary, allowedthe Society to keep their volumes on shelves in his shop. It wasthe centre of news, and the club, as it were, of the little town.Everybody who pretended to gentility in the place belonged to it. Itwas a test of gentility, indeed, rather than of education or a loveof literature. No shopkeeper would have thought of offering himselfas a member, however great his general intelligence and love ofreading; while it boasted on its list of subscribers most of thecounty families in the neighbourhood, some of whom subscribed to itas a sort of duty belonging to their station, without often usingtheir privilege of reading the books: while there were residentsin the little town, such as Mrs. Goodenough, who privately thoughtreading a great waste of time, that might be much better employedin sewing, and knitting, and pastry-making, but who neverthelessbelonged to it as a mark of station, just as these good, motherlywomen would have thought it a terrible come-down in the world if theyhad not had a pretty young servant-maid to fetch them home from thetea-parties at night. At any rate, Grinstead's was a very convenientplace for a lounge. In that view of the Book Society every oneagreed.

  Molly went upstairs to get ready to accompany Miss Phoebe; and onopening one of her drawers she saw Cynthia's envelope, containingthe money she owed to Mr. Preston, carefully sealed up like a letter.This was what Molly had so unwillingly promised to deliver--the lastfinal stroke to the affair. Molly took it up, hating it. For a timeshe had forgotten it; and now it was here, facing her, and she musttry and get rid of it. She put it into her pocket for the chancesof the walk and the day, and fortune for once seemed to befriendher; for, on their entering Grinstead's shop, in which two or threepeople were now, as always, congregated, making play of examining thebooks, or business of writing down the titles of new works in theorder-book, there was Mr. Preston. He bowed as they came in. He couldnot help that; but, at the sight of Molly, he looked as ill-temperedand out of humour as a man well could do. She was connected in hismind with defeat and mortification and besides, the sight of hercalled up what he desired now, above all things, to forget; namely,the deep conviction, received through Molly's simple earnestness,of Cynthia's dislike to him. If Miss Phoebe had seen the scowl uponhis handsome face, she might have undeceived her sister in hersuppositions about him and Molly. But Miss Phoebe, who did notconsider it quite maidenly to go and stand close to Mr. Preston, andsurvey the shelves of books in such close proximity to a gentleman,found herself an errand at the other end of the shop, and occupiedherself in buying writing-paper. Molly fingered her valuable letter,as it lay in her pocket; did she dare to cross over to Mr. Preston,and give it to him, or not? While she was still undecided, shrinkingalways just at the moment when she thought she had got her courageup for action, Miss Phoebe, having finished her purchase, turnedround, and after looking a little pathetically at Mr. Preston's back,said to Molly in a whisper--"I think we'll go to Johnson's now, andcome back for the books in a little while." So across the street toJohnson's they went; but no sooner had they entered the draper'sshop, than Molly's conscience smote her for her cowardice, and lossof a good opportunity. "I'll be back directly," said she, as soon asMiss Phoebe was engaged with her purchases; and Molly ran across toGrinstead's, without looking either to the right or the left; she hadbeen watching the door, and she knew that no Mr. Preston had issuedforth. She ran in; he was at the counter now, talking to Grinsteadhimself; Molly put the letter into his hand, to his surprise,and almost against his will, and turned round to go back to MissPhoebe. At the door of the shop stood Mrs. Goodenough, arrested inthe act of entering, staring, with her round eyes, made still rounderand more owl-like by spectacles, to see Molly Gibson giving Mr.Preston a letter, which he, conscious of being watched, and favouringunderhand practices habitually, put quickly into his pocket,unopened. Perhaps, if he had had time for reflection he would nothave scrupled to put Molly to open shame, by rejecting what she soeagerly forced upon him.

  There was another long evening to be got through with Mrs. Gibsonbut on this occasion there was the pleasant occupation of dinner,which took up at least an hour; for it was one of Mrs. Gibson'sfancies--one which Molly chafed against--to have every ceremonialgone through in the same stately manner for two as for twenty. So,although Molly knew full well, and her stepmother knew full well,and Maria knew full well, that neither Mrs. Gibson nor Molly toucheddessert, it was set on the table with as much form as if Cynthia hadbeen at home, who delighted in almonds and raisins; or Mr. Gibsonbeen there, who never could resist dates, though he always protestedagainst "persons in their station of life having a formal dessert setout before them every day."

  And Mrs. Gibson herself apologized, as it were, to Molly to-day,in the same words she had often used to Mr. Gibson,--"It's noextravagance, for we need not eat it--I never do. But it looks well,and makes Maria understand what is required in the daily life ofevery family of position."

  All through the evening Molly's thoughts wandered far and wide,though she managed to keep up a show of attention to what Mrs.Gibson was saying. She was
thinking of Osborne, and his abrupt,half-finished confidence, and his ill-looks; she was wondering whenRoger would come home, and longing for his return, as much (she saidto herself) for Osborne's sake as for her own. And then she checkedherself. What had she to do with Roger? Why should she long for hisreturn? It was Cynthia who was doing this; only somehow he was sucha true friend to Molly, that she could not help thinking of him as astaff and a stay in the troublous times which appeared to lie not farahead--this evening. Then Mr. Preston and her little adventure withhim came uppermost. How angry he looked! How could Cynthia haveliked him even enough to get into this abominable scrape, whichwas, however, all over now! And so she ran on in her fancies andimaginations, little dreaming that that very night much talk wasgoing on not half-a-mile from where she sate sewing, that would provethat the "scrape" (as she called it, in her girlish phraseology) wasnot all over.

  Scandal sleeps in the summer, comparatively speaking. Its nature isthe reverse of that of the dormouse. Warm ambient air, loiteringsabroad, gardenings, flowers to talk about, and preserves to make,soothed the wicked imp to slumber in the parish of Hollingford insummer-time. But when evenings grew short, and people gathered roundthe fires, and put their feet in a circle--not on the fenders, thatwas not allowed--then was the time for confidential conversation!Or in the pauses allowed for the tea-trays to circulate among thecard-tables--when those who were peaceably inclined tried to stopthe warm discussions about "the odd trick," and the rather wearisomefeminine way of "shouldering the crutch, and showing how fields werewon"--small crumbs and scraps of daily news came up to the surface,such as "Martindale has raised the price of his best joints ahalfpenny in the pound;" or, "It's a shame of Sir Harry to order inanother book on farriery into the Book Society; Phoebe and I triedto read it, but really there is no general interest in it;" or, "Iwonder what Mr. Ashton will do, now Nancy is going to be married!Why, she's been with him these seventeen years! It's a very foolishthing for a woman of her age to be thinking of matrimony; and so Itold her, when I met her in the market-place this morning!"

  So said Miss Browning on the night in question her hand of cardslying by her on the puce baize-covered table, while she munched therich pound-cake of a certain Mrs. Dawes, lately come to inhabitHollingford.

  "Matrimony's not so bad as you think for, Miss Browning," said Mrs.Goodenough, standing up for the holy estate into which she had twiceentered. "If I'd ha' seen Nancy, I should ha' given her my mind verydifferent. It's a great thing to be able to settle what you'll havefor dinner, without never a one interfering with you."

  "If that's all!" said Miss Browning, drawing herself up, "I can dothat; and, perhaps, better than a woman who has a husband to please."

  "No one can say as I didn't please my husbands--both on 'em, thoughJeremy was tickler in his tastes than poor Harry Beaver. But as Iused to say to 'em, 'Leave the victual to me; it's better for youthan knowing what's to come beforehand. The stomach likes to betaken by surprise.' And neither of 'em ever repented 'em of theirconfidence. You may take my word for it, beans and bacon will tastebetter (and Mr. Ashton's Nancy in her own house) than all thesweetbreads and spring chickens she's been a-doing for him thisseventeen years. But if I chose, I could tell you of something aswould interest you all a deal more than old Nancy's marriage to awidower with nine children--only as the young folks themselves ismeeting in private, clandestine-like, it's perhaps not for me to telltheir secrets."

  "I'm sure I don't want to hear of clandestine meetings between youngmen and young women," said Miss Browning, throwing up her head. "It'sdisgrace enough to the people themselves, I consider, if they enteron a love affair without the proper sanction of parents. I knowpublic opinion has changed on the subject; but when poor Gratia wasmarried to Mr. Byerley, he wrote to my father without ever having somuch as paid her a compliment, or said more than the most trivial andcommonplace things to her; and my father and mother sent for her intomy father's study, and she said she was never so much frightened inher life,--and they said it was a very good offer, and Mr. Byerleywas a very worthy man, and they hoped she would behave properly tohim when he came to supper that night. And after that he was allowedto come twice a week till they were married. My mother and I sate atour work in the bow-window of the Rectory drawing-room, and Gratiaand Mr. Byerley at the other end; and my mother always called myattention to some flower or plant in the garden when it struck nine,for that was his time for going. Without offence to the presentcompany, I am rather inclined to look upon matrimony as a weakness towhich some very worthy people are prone; but if they must be married,let them make the best of it, and go through the affair with dignityand propriety: or if there are misdoings and clandestine meetings,and such things, at any rate, never let me hear about them! I thinkit's you to play, Mrs. Dawes. You'll excuse my frankness on thesubject of matrimony! Mrs. Goodenough there can tell you I'm a veryout-spoken person."

  "It's not the out-speaking, it's what you say that goes against me,Miss Browning," said Mrs. Goodenough, affronted, yet ready to playher card as soon as needed. And as for Mrs. Dawes, she was tooanxious to get into the genteelest of all (Hollingford) society toobject to whatever Miss Browning (who, in right of being a deceasedrector's daughter, rather represented the selectest circle of thelittle town) advocated, whether celibacy, marriage, bigamy, orpolygamy.

  So the remainder of the evening passed over without any furtherreference to the secret Mrs. Goodenough was burning to disclose,unless a remark made _apropos de rien_ by Miss Browning, during thesilence of a deal, could be supposed to have connection with theprevious conversation. She said suddenly and abruptly,--

  "I don't know what I have done that any man should make me hisslave." If she was referring to any prospect of matrimonial dangershe saw opening before her fancy, she might have been comforted. Butit was a remark of which no one took any notice, all being far toomuch engaged in the rubber. Only when Miss Browning took her earlyleave (for Miss Phoebe had a cold, and was an invalid at home),Mrs. Goodenough burst out with--

  "Well! now I may speak out my mind, and say as how if there was aslave between us two, when Goodenough was alive, it wasn't me; andI don't think as it was pretty in Miss Browning to give herself suchairs on her virginity when there was four widows in the room,--who'vehad six honest men among 'em for husbands. No offence, Miss Airy!"addressing an unfortunate little spinster, who found herself the solerepresentative of celibacy now that Miss Browning was gone. "I couldtell her of a girl as she's very fond on, who's on the high road tomatrimony; and in as cunning a way as ever I heerd on going out atdusk to meet her sweetheart, just as if she was my Sally, or yourJenny. And her name is Molly too,--which, as I have often thought,shows a low taste in them as first called her so;--she might aswell be a scullery-maid at oncest. Not that she's picked up anybodycommon she's looked about her for a handsome fellow, and a smartyoung man enough!"

  Every one around the table looked curious and intent on thedisclosures being made, except the hostess, Mrs. Dawes, who smiledintelligence with her eyes, and knowingly pursed up her mouth untilMrs. Goodenough had finished her tale. Then she said demurely,--

  "I suppose you mean Mr. Preston and Miss Gibson?"

  "Why, who told you?" said Mrs. Goodenough, turning round upon herin surprise. "You can't say as I did. There's many a Molly inHollingford, besides her,--though none, perhaps, in such a genteelstation in life. I never named her, I'm sure."

  "No. But I know. I could tell my tale too," continued Mrs. Dawes.

  "No! could you, really?" said Mrs. Goodenough, very curious and alittle jealous.

  "Yes. My uncle Sheepshanks came upon them in the Park Avenue,--hestartled 'em a good deal, he said; and when he taxed Mr. Preston withbeing with his sweetheart, he didn't deny it."

  "Well! Now so much has come out, I'll tell you what I know. Only,ladies, I wouldn't wish to do the girl an unkind turn,--so you mustkeep what I've got to tell you a secret." Of course they promised;that was easy.

  "My Hannah, as married Tom Oakes, an
d lives in Pearson's Lane,was a-gathering of damsons only a week ago, and Molly Gibson wasa-walking fast down the lane,--quite in a hurry like to meet someone,--and Hannah's little Anna-Maria fell down, and Molly (who's akind-hearted lass enough) picked her up; so if Hannah had had herdoubts before, she had none then."

  "But there was no one with her, was there?" asked one of the ladies,anxiously, as Mrs. Goodenough stopped to finish her piece of cake,just at this crisis.

  "No: I said she looked as if she was going to meet some one,--andby-and-by comes Mr. Preston running out of the wood just beyondHannah's, and says he, 'A cup of water, please, good woman, for alady has fainted, or is 'sterical or something.' Now though he didn'tknow Hannah, Hannah knew him. 'More folks know Tom Fool, than TomFool knows,' asking Mr. Preston's pardon for he's no fool whateverhe be. And I could tell you more,--and what I've seed with myown eyes. I seed her give him a letter in Grinstead's shop, onlyyesterday, and he looked as black as thunder at her, for he seed meif she didn't."

  "It's a very suitable kind of thing," said Miss Airy; "why do theymake such a mystery of it?"

  "Some folks like it," said Mrs. Dawes; "it adds zest to it all, to dotheir courting underhand."

  "Ay, it's like salt to their victual," put in Mrs. Goodenough. "But Ididn't think Molly Gibson was one of that sort, I didn't."

  "The Gibsons hold themselves very high?" cried Mrs. Dawes, more as aninquiry than an assertion. "Mrs. Gibson has called upon me."

  "Ay, you're like to be a patient of the doctor's," put in Mrs.Goodenough.

  "She seemed to me very affable, though she is so intimate with theCountess and the family at the Towers; and is quite the lady herself;dines late, I've heard, and everything in style."

  "Style! very different style to what Bob Gibson, her husband, wasused to when first he came here,--glad of a mutton-chop in hissurgery, for I doubt if he'd a fire anywhere else; we called him BobGibson then, but none on us dare Bob him now; I'd as soon think o'calling him sweep!"

  "I think it looks very bad for Miss Gibson!" said one lady, ratheranxious to bring back the conversation to the more interestingpresent time. But as soon as Mrs. Goodenough heard this naturalcomment on the disclosures she had made, she fired round on thespeaker:--

  "Not at all bad, and I'll trouble you not to use such a word as thatabout Molly Gibson, as I've known all her life. It's odd if you will.I was odd myself as a girl; I never could abide a plate of gatheredgooseberries, but I must needs go and skulk behind a bush and gather'em for myself. It's some folk's taste, though it mayn't be MissBrowning's, who'd have all the courting done under the nose of thefamily. All as ever I said was that I was surprised at it in MollyGibson and that I'd ha' thought it was liker that pretty piece of aCynthia as they call her; indeed, at one time I was ready to swearas it was her Mr. Preston was after. And now, ladies, I'll wish youa very good night. I cannot abide waste; and I'll venture for itSally's letting the candle in the lantern run all to grease, insteadof putting it out, as I've told her to do, if ever she's got to waitfor me."

  So with formal dipping curtseys the ladies separated, but not withoutthanking Mrs. Dawes for the pleasant evening they had had; a piece ofold-fashioned courtesy always gone through in those days.