Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER XLVIII.

  AN INNOCENT CULPRIT.

  With his head bent down--as if he were facing some keen-blowingwind--and yet there was not a breath of air stirring--Mr. Gibsonwent swiftly to his own home. He rang at the door-bell; an unusualproceeding on his part. Maria opened the door. "Go and tell MissMolly she's wanted in the dining-room. Don't say who it is that wantsher." There was something in Mr. Gibson's manner that made Maria obeyhim to the letter, in spite of Molly's surprised question,--

  "Wants me? Who is it, Maria?"

  Mr. Gibson went into the dining-room, and shut the door, for aninstant's solitude. He went up to the chimney-piece, took hold of it,and laid his head on his hands, and tried to still the beating of hisheart.

  The door opened. He knew that Molly stood there before he heard hertone of astonishment.

  "Papa!"

  "Hush!" said he, turning round sharply. "Shut the door. Come here."

  She came to him, wondering what was amiss. Her thoughts went to theHamleys immediately. "Is it Osborne?" she asked, breathless. If Mr.Gibson had not been too much agitated to judge calmly, he might havededuced comfort from these three words.

  But instead of allowing himself to seek for comfort from collateralevidence, he said,--"Molly, what is this I hear? That you have beenkeeping up a clandestine intercourse with Mr. Preston--meeting himin out-of-the-way places; exchanging letters with him in a stealthyway?"

  Though he had professed to disbelieve all this, and did disbelieve itat the bottom of his soul, his voice was hard and stern, his face waswhite and grim, and his eyes fixed Molly's with the terrible keennessof their research. Molly trembled all over, but she did not attemptto evade his penetration. If she was silent for a moment, it wasbecause she was rapidly reviewing her relation with regard to Cynthiain the matter. It was but a moment's pause of silence; but it seemedlong minutes to one who was craving for a burst of indignant denial.He had taken hold of her two arms just above her wrists, as she hadadvanced towards him; he was unconscious of this action but, as hisimpatience for her words grew upon him, he grasped her more and moretightly in his vice-like hands, till she made a little involuntarysound of pain. And then he let go; and she looked at her soft bruisedflesh, with tears gathering fast to her eyes to think that he, herfather, should have hurt her so. At the instant it appeared to herstranger that he should inflict bodily pain upon his child, than thathe should have heard the truth--even in an exaggerated form. With achildish gesture she held out her arm to him; but if she expectedpity, she received none.

  "Pooh!" said he, as he just glanced at the mark, "that isnothing--nothing. Answer my question. Have you--have you met that manin private?"

  "Yes, papa, I have; but I don't think it was wrong."

  He sate down now. "Wrong!" he echoed, bitterly. "Not wrong? Well! Imust bear it somehow. Your mother is dead. That's one comfort. It istrue, then, is it? Why, I didn't believe it--not I. I laughed in mysleeve at their credulity; and I was the dupe all the time!"

  "Papa, I cannot tell you all. It is not my secret, or you shouldknow it directly. Indeed, you will be sorry some time--I have neverdeceived you yet, have I?" trying to take one of his hands; but hekept them tightly in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the pattern ofthe carpet before him. "Papa!" said she, pleading again, "have I everdeceived you?"

  "How can I tell? I hear of this from the town's talk. I don't knowwhat next may come out!"

  "The town's talk!" said Molly in dismay. "What business is it oftheirs?"

  "Every one makes it their business to cast dirt on a girl's name whohas disregarded the commonest rules of modesty and propriety."

  "Papa, you are very hard. Modesty disregarded! I will tell youexactly what I have done. I met Mr. Preston once,--that eveningwhen you put me down to walk over Croston Heath,--and there wasanother person with him. I met him a second time--and that time byappointment--nobody but our two selves,--in the Towers' Park. That isall, papa. You must trust me. I cannot explain more. You must trustme indeed."

  He could not help relenting at her words; there was such truth in thetone in which they were spoken. But he neither spoke nor stirred fora minute or two. Then he raised his eyes to hers for the first timesince she had acknowledged the external truth of what he charged herwith. Her face was very white, but it bore the impress of the finalsincerity of death, when the true expression prevails without thepoor disguises of time.

  "The letters?" he said,--but almost as if he were ashamed to questionthat countenance any further.

  "I gave him one letter,--of which I did not write a word,--which, infact, I believe to have been merely an envelope, without any writingwhatever inside. The giving that letter,--the two interviews I havenamed,--make all the private intercourse I have had with Mr. Preston.Oh! papa, what have they been saying that has grieved--shocked you somuch?"

  "Never mind. As the world goes, what you say you have done, Molly, isground enough. You must tell me all. I must be able to refute theserumours point by point."

  "How are they to be refuted, when you say that the truth which I haveacknowledged is ground enough for what people are saying?"

  "You say you were not acting for yourself, but for another. If youtell me who the other was,--if you tell me everything out fully,I will do my utmost to screen her--for of course I guess it wasCynthia--while I am exonerating you."

  "No, papa!" said Molly, after some little consideration "I have toldyou all I can tell; all that concerns myself; and I have promised notto say one word more."

  "Then your character will be impugned. It must be, unless the fullestexplanation of these secret meetings is given. I've a great mind toforce the whole truth out of Preston himself!"

  "Papa! once again I beg you to trust me. If you ask Mr. Preston youwill very likely hear the whole truth; but that is just what I havebeen trying so hard to conceal, for it will only make several peoplevery unhappy if it is known, and the whole affair is over and donewith now."

  "Not your share in it. Miss Browning sent for me this evening totell me how people were talking about you. She implied that it was acomplete loss of your good name. You don't know, Molly, how slighta thing may blacken a girl's reputation for life. I'd hard work tostand all she said, even though I didn't believe a word of it at thetime. And now you've told me that much of it is true."

  "But I think you are a brave man, papa. And you believe me, don'tyou? We shall outlive these rumours, never fear."

  "You don't know the power of ill-natured tongues, child," said he.

  "Oh, now you've called me 'child' again I don't care for anything.Dear, dear papa, I'm sure it is best and wisest to take no notice ofthese speeches. After all, they may not mean them ill-naturedly. I amsure Miss Browning would not. By-and-by they'll quite forget how muchthey made out of so little,--and even if they don't, you would nothave me break my solemn word, would you?"

  "Perhaps not. But I cannot easily forgive the person who, bypractising on your generosity, led you into this scrape. You are veryyoung, and look upon these things as merely temporary evils. I havemore experience."

  "Still, I don't see what I can do now, papa. Perhaps I've beenfoolish; but what I did, I did of my own self. It was not suggestedto me. And I'm sure it was not wrong in morals, whatever it mightbe in judgment. As I said, it's all over now; what I did ended theaffair, I am thankful to say; and it was with that object I did it.If people choose to talk about me, I must submit; and so must you,dear papa."

  "Does your mother--does Mrs. Gibson--know anything about it?" askedhe with sudden anxiety.

  "No; not a bit; not a word. Pray don't name it to her. That mightlead to more mischief than anything else. I have really told youeverything I am at liberty to tell."

  It was a great relief to Mr. Gibson to find that his sudden fear thathis wife might have been privy to it all was ill-founded. He had beenseized by a sudden dread that she, whom he had chosen to marry inorder to have a protectress and guide for his daughter, had beencognizant of this ill-advised adventure
with Mr. Preston nay, more,that she might even have instigated it to save her own child; forthat Cynthia was, somehow or other, at the bottom of it all he hadno doubt whatever. But now, at any rate, Mrs. Gibson had not beenplaying a treacherous part; that was all the comfort he could extractout of Molly's mysterious admission, that much mischief might resultfrom Mrs. Gibson's knowing anything about these meetings with Mr.Preston.

  "Then, what is to be done?" said he. "These reports are abroad,--amI to do nothing to contradict them? Am I to go about smiling andcontent with all this talk about you, passing from one idle gossip toanother?"

  "I'm afraid so. I'm very sorry, for I never meant you to have knownanything about it, and I can see now how it must distress you. Butsurely when nothing more happens, and nothing comes of what hashappened, the wonder and the gossip must die away. I know you believeevery word I have said, and that you trust me, papa. Please, for mysake, be patient with all this gossip and cackle."

  "It will try me hard, Molly," said he.

  "For my sake, papa!"

  "I don't see what else I can do," replied he moodily, "unless I gethold of Preston."

  "That would be the worst of all. That would make a talk. And, afterall, perhaps he was not so very much to blame. Yes! he was. Buthe behaved well to me as far as that goes," said she, suddenlyrecollecting his speech when Mr. Sheepshanks came up in the Towers'Park--"Don't stir, you have done nothing to be ashamed of."

  "That's true. A quarrel between men which drags a woman's name intonotice is to be avoided at any cost. But sooner or later I must haveit out with Preston. He shall find it not so pleasant to have placedmy daughter in equivocal circumstances."

  "He didn't place me. He didn't know I was coming, didn't expect tomeet me either time; and would far rather not have taken the letter Igave him if he could have helped himself."

  "It's all a mystery. I hate to have you mixed up in mysteries."

  "I hate to be mixed up. But what can I do? I know of another mysterywhich I'm pledged not to speak about. I cannot help myself."

  "Well, all I can say is, never be the heroine of a mystery that youcan avoid, if you can't help being an accessory. Then, I suppose, Imust yield to your wishes and let this scandal wear itself outwithout any notice from me?"

  "What else can you do under the circumstances?"

  "Ay; what else, indeed? How shall you bear it?"

  For an instant the quick hot tears sprang into her eyes; to haveeverybody--all her world, thinking evil of her, did seem hard to thegirl who had never thought or said an unkind thing of them. But shesmiled as she made answer,--

  "It's like tooth-drawing, it will be over some time. It would be muchworse if I really had been doing wrong."

  "Cynthia shall beware--" he began; but Molly put her hand before hismouth.

  "Papa, Cynthia must not be accused, or suspected; you will drive herout of your house if you do, she is so proud, and so unprotected,except by you. And Roger,--for Roger's sake, you will never do or sayanything to send Cynthia away, when he has trusted us all to takecare of her, and love her in his absence. Oh! I think if she werereally wicked, and I did not love her at all, I should feel bound towatch over her, he loves her so dearly. And she is really good atheart, and I do love her dearly. You must not vex or hurt Cynthia,papa,--remember she is dependent upon you!"

  "I think the world would get on tolerably well, if there were nowomen in it. They plague the life out of one. You've made me forget,amongst you--poor old Job Houghton that I ought to have gone to seean hour ago."

  Molly put up her mouth to be kissed. "You're not angry with me now,papa, are you?"

  "Get out of my way" (kissing her all the same). "If I'm not angrywith you, I ought to be; for you've caused a great deal of worry,which won't be over yet awhile, I can tell you."

  For all Molly's bravery at the time of this conversation, it was shethat suffered more than her father. He kept out of the way of hearinggossip; but she was perpetually thrown into the small society of theplace. Mrs. Gibson herself had caught cold, and moreover was nottempted by the quiet old-fashioned visiting which was going on justabout this time, provoked by the visit of two of Mrs. Dawes' prettyunrefined nieces, who laughed, and chattered, and ate, and would fainhave flirted with Mr. Ashton, the vicar, could he have been broughtby any possibility to understand his share in the business. Mr.Preston did not accept the invitations to Hollingford tea-drinkingswith the same eager gratitude as he had done a year before: or elsethe shadow which hung over Molly would have extended to him, herco-partner in the clandestine meetings which gave such umbrage tothe feminine virtue of the town. Molly herself was invited, becauseit would not do to pass any apparent slight on either Mr. or Mrs.Gibson but there was a tacit and underhand protest against her beingreceived on the old terms. Every one was civil to her, but no one wascordial; there was a very perceptible film of difference in theirbehaviour to her from what it was formerly; nothing that had outlinesand could be defined. But Molly, for all her clear conscience and herbrave heart, felt acutely that she was only tolerated, not welcomed.She caught the buzzing whispers of the two Miss Oakes's, who, whenthey first met the heroine of the prevailing scandal, looked at heraskance, and criticised her pretensions to good looks, with hardlyan attempt at under-tones. Molly tried to be thankful that herfather was not in the mood for visiting. She was even glad that herstepmother was too much of an invalid to come out, when she felt thusslighted, and as it were, degraded from her place. Miss Browningherself, that true old friend, spoke to her with chilling dignity,and much reserve; for she had never heard a word from Mr. Gibsonsince the evening when she had put herself to so much pain to tellhim of the disagreeable rumours affecting his daughter.

  Only Miss Phoebe would seek out Molly with even more than herformer tenderness; and this tried Molly's calmness more than allthe slights put together. The soft hand, pressing hers under thetable,--the continual appeals to her, so as to bring her back intothe conversation, touched Molly almost to shedding tears. Sometimesthe poor girl wondered to herself whether this change in thebehaviour of her acquaintances was not a mere fancy of hers; whether,if she had never had that conversation with her father, in which shehad borne herself so bravely at the time, she should have discoveredthe difference in their treatment of her. She never told her fatherhow she felt these perpetual small slights: she had chosen to bearthe burden of her own free will; nay, more, she had insisted onbeing allowed to do so; and it was not for her to grieve him now byshowing that she shrank from the consequences of her own act. So shenever even made an excuse for not going into the small gaieties, ormingling with the society of Hollingford. Only she suddenly let gothe stretch of restraint she was living in, when one evening herfather told her that he was really anxious about Mrs. Gibson's cough,and should like Molly to give up a party at Mrs. Goodenough's, towhich they were all three invited, but to which Molly alone wasgoing. Molly's heart leaped up at the thought of stopping at home,even though the next moment she had to blame herself for rejoicing ata reprieve that was purchased by another's suffering. However, theremedies prescribed by her husband did Mrs. Gibson good; and she wasparticularly grateful and caressing to Molly.

  "Really, dear!" said she, stroking Molly's head, "I think your hairis getting softer, and losing that disagreeable crisp curly feeling."

  Then Molly knew that her stepmother was in high good-humour; thesmoothness or curliness of her hair was a sure test of the favour inwhich Mrs. Gibson held her at the moment.

  "I am so sorry to be the cause of detaining you from this littleparty, but dear papa is so over-anxious about me. I have always beena kind of pet with gentlemen, and poor Mr. Kirkpatrick never knew howto make enough of me. But I think Mr. Gibson is even more foolishlyfond: his last words were, 'Take care of yourself, Hyacinth;' andthen he came back again to say, 'If you don't attend to my directionsI won't answer for the consequences.' I shook my forefinger at him,and said, 'Don't be so anxious, you silly man.'"

  "I hope we have done everything he told u
s to do," said Molly.

  "Oh yes! I feel so much better. Do you know, late as it is, I thinkyou might go to Mrs. Goodenough's yet? Maria could take you, and Ishould like to see you dressed; when one has been wearing dull warmgowns for a week or two one gets quite a craving for bright colours,and evening dress. So go and get ready, dear, and then perhaps you'llbring me back some news, for really, shut up as I have been with onlypapa and you for the last fortnight, I've got quite moped and dismal,and I can't bear to keep young people from the gaieties suitable totheir age."

  "Oh, pray, mamma! I had so much rather not go!"

  "Very well! very well! Only I think it is rather selfish of you, whenyou see I am so willing to make the sacrifice for your sake."

  "But you say it is a sacrifice to you, and I don't want to go."

  "Very well; did I not say you might stop at home? only pray don'tchop logic; nothing is so fatiguing to a sick person."

  Then they were silent for some time. Mrs. Gibson broke the silence bysaying, in a languid voice--

  "Can't you think of anything amusing to say, Molly?"

  Molly pumped up from the depths of her mind a few little trivialitieswhich she had nearly forgotten, but she felt that they were anythingbut amusing, and so Mrs. Gibson seemed to feel them; for presentlyshe said--

  "I wish Cynthia was at home." And Molly felt it as a reproach to herown dulness.

  "Shall I write to her and ask her to come back?"

  "Well, I'm not sure; I wish I knew a great many things. You've notheard anything of poor dear Osborne Hamley lately, have you?"

  Remembering her father's charge not to speak of Osborne's health,Molly made no reply, nor was any needed, for Mrs. Gibson went onthinking aloud--

  "You see, if Mr. Henderson has been as attentive as he was in thespring--and the chances about Roger--I shall be really grieved ifanything happens to that young man, uncouth as he is, but it must beowned that Africa is not merely an unhealthy--it is a savage--andeven in some parts a cannibal country. I often think of all I'veread of it in geography books, as I lie awake at night, and if Mr.Henderson is really becoming attached! The future is hidden from usby infinite wisdom, Molly, or else I should like to know it; onewould calculate one's behaviour at the present time so much better ifone only knew what events were to come. But I think, on the whole, wehad better not alarm Cynthia. If we had only known in time we mighthave planned for her to have come down with Lord Cumnor and my lady."

  "Are they coming? Is Lady Cumnor well enough to travel?"

  "Yes, to be sure; or else I should not have considered whether or noCynthia could have come down with them. It would have sounded verywell--more than respectable, and would have given her a positionamong that lawyer set in London."

  "Then Lady Cumnor is better?"

  "To be sure. I should have thought papa would have mentioned it toyou; but, to be sure, he is always so scrupulously careful not tospeak about his patients. Quite right too--quite right and delicate.Why, he hardly ever tells me how they are going on. Yes! the Earl andthe Countess, and Lady Harriet and Lord and Lady Cuxhaven, and LadyAgnes; and I've ordered a new winter bonnet and a black satin cloak."