Christmas at Thompson Hall

by Anthony Trollope

  She was a pretty, fair girl, with soft dark brown hair, and soft long dark eyelashes. Her grey eyes were tender and lustrous, her face was oval, and the lines of her cheek and chin perfect in their symmetry. She was generally quiet in her demeanour; but when stirred she could rouse herself to great energy, and speak with feeling and almost with fire. Her fault was too great a reverence for martyrdom in general, and a feeling, of which she was unconscious, that it became a young woman to be unhappy in secret — that it became a young woman, I might rather say, to have a source of unhappiness hidden from the world in general and endured without any flaw to her outward cheerfulness. We know the story of the Spartan boy who held the fox under his tunic. The fox was biting him into the very entrails, but the young hero spoke never a word. Now, Bessy Garrow was inclined to think that it was a good thing to have a fox always biting, so that the torment caused no ruffle to her outward smiles. Now, at this moment the fox within her bosom was biting her sore enough, but she bore it without flinching.

  “If you would rather that he should not come I will have it arranged,” her mother said to her.

  “Not for worlds!” she had answered; “I should never think well of myself again.”

  Her mother had changed her own mind more than once as to the conduct in this matter which it might be best for her to follow, thinking solely of her daughter’s welfare. “If he comes they will be reconciled, and she will be happy,” had been her first idea. But then there was a stern fixedness of purpose in Bessy’s words when she spoke of Mr. Holmes which had expelled this hope, and Mrs. Garrow had for a while thought it better that the young man should not come. But Bessy would not permit this. It would vex her father, put out of course the arrangements of other people, and display weakness on her own part. He should come, and she would endure without flinching while the fox gnawed at her heart.

  That battle of the mistletoe had been fought on the morning before Christmas Day, and the Holmeses came on Christmas Eve. Isabella was comparatively a stranger, and therefore received at first the greater share of attention. She and Elizabeth had once seen each other, and for the last year or two had corresponded, but personally they had never been intimate. Unfortunately for Elizabeth that story of Godfrey’s offer and acceptance had been communicated to Isabella, as had of course the immediately subsequent story of their separation. But now it would be impossible to avoid the subject in conversation. “Dearest Isabella, let it be as though it never had been,” she had said in one of her letters. But sometimes it is very difficult to let things be as though they never had been.

  The first evening passed over very well. The two Coverdale girls were there, and there was much talking and merry laughter, rather juvenile in its nature, but, on the whole, none the worse for that. Isabella Holmes was a fine, tall, handsome girl, good-humoured and well disposed to be pleased, rather Frenchified in her manners, and quite able to take care of herself. But she was not above round games, and did not turn up her nose at the boys. Godfrey behaved himself excellently, talking much to the Major, but by no means avoiding Miss Garrow. Mrs. Garrow, though she had known him since he was a boy, had taken an aversion to him since he had quarrelled with her daughter; but there was no room on this first night for showing such aversion, and everything went off well.

  “Godfrey is very much improved,” the Major said to his wife that night.

  “Do you think so?”

  “Indeed, I do. He has filled out and become a fine man.”

  “In personal appearance you mean. Yes, he is well- looking enough.”

  “And in his manner, too. He is doing uncommonly well at Liverpool, I can tell you; and if he should think of Bessy” —

  “There is nothing of that sort,” said Mrs. Garrow.

  “He did speak to me, you know — two years ago. Bessy was too young then, and so, indeed, was he. But if she likes him” —

  “I don’t think she does.”

  “Then there’s an end of it.” And so they went to bed.

  “Frank,” said the sister to her elder brother, knocking at his door when they had all gone upstairs, “may I come in, if you’re not in bed yet?”

  “In bed!” said he, looking up with some little pride from his Greek book. “I’ve one hundred and fifty lines to do before I can get to bed. It’ll be two, I suppose. I’ve got to read uncommon hard these holidays. I’ve only one more half, you know, and then” —

  “Don’t overdo it, Frank.”

  “No. I won’t overdo it. I mean to take one day a week as a holiday, and work eight hours a day on the other five. That will be forty hours a week, and will give me just two hundred hours for the holiday. I’ve got it all down here on a table. That will be a hundred and five for Greek play, forty for algebra” — And so he explained to her the exact destiny of all his long hours of proposed labour. He had as yet been home a day and a half, and had succeeded in drawing out with red lines and blue figures the table which he showed her. “If I can do that it will be pretty well; won’t it?”

  “But, Frank, you have come for your holidays, to enjoy yourself?”

  “But a fellow must work nowadays.”

  “Don’t overdo it, dear; that’s all. But, Frank, I could not sleep if I went to bed without speaking to you. You made me unhappy to-day.”

  “Did I, Bessy?”

  “You called me a Puritan, and then you quoted that ill-natured French proverb at me. Do you really believe that your sister thinks evil, Frank?” And as she spoke she put her arm caressingly round his neck.

  “Of course I don’t.”

  “Then why say so? Harry is so much younger and so thoughtless that I can bear what he says without so much suffering. But if you and I are not friends I shall be very wretched. If you knew how I have looked forward to your coming home!”

  “I did not mean to vex you, and I won’t say such things again.”

  “There’s my own Frank! What I said to mamma I said because I thought it right; but you must not say that I am a Puritan. I would do anything in my power to make your holidays bright and pleasant. I know that boys require so much more to amuse them than girls do. Good night, dearest. Pray don’t overdo yourself with work, and do take care of your eyes.” So saying, she kissed him, and went her way. In twenty minutes after that he had gone to sleep over his book, and, when he woke up to find the candle guttering down, he resolved that he would not begin his measured hours till Christmas Day was fairly over.

  The morning of Christmas Day passed very quietly. They all went to church, and then sat round the fire chatting till the four o’clock dinner was ready. The Coverdale girls thought it was rather more dull than former Thwaite Hall festivities, and Frank was seen to yawn. But then everybody knows that the real fun of Christmas never begins till the day itself be passed. The beef and pudding are ponderous, and unless there be absolute children in the party there is a difficulty in grafting any special afternoon amusements on the Sunday pursuits of the morning. In the evening they were to have a dance; — that had been distinctly promised to Patty Coverdale; but the dance would not commence till eight. The beef and pudding were ponderous, but with due efforts they were overcome and disappeared. The glass of port was sipped, the almonds and raisins were nibbled, and then the ladies left the room. Ten minutes after that Elizabeth found herself seated with Isabella Holmes over the fire in her father’s little bookroom. It was not by her that this meeting was arranged, for she dreaded such a constrained confidence; but it could not be avoided, and, perhaps, it might be as well now as hereafter.

  “Bessy,” said the elder girl, “I am dying to be alone with you for a moment.”

  “Well; you shall not die — that is, if being alone with me will save you.”

  “I have so much to say to you, and, if you have any true friendship in you, you also will have so much to say to me.”

  Miss Garrow, perhaps, had no true friendship in her at the moment, for she would gladly have avoided saying anything had that been possible. But in order
to prove that she was not deficient in friendship, she gave her friend her hand.

  “And now tell me everything about Godfrey,” said Isabella.

  “Dear Bella, I have nothing to tell, literally nothing.”

  “That is nonsense. Stop a moment, dear, and understand that I do not mean to offend you. It cannot be that you have nothing to tell if you choose to tell it. You are not the girl to have accepted Godfrey without loving him, nor is he the man to have asked you without loving you. When you wrote me word that you had changed your mind, as you might about a dress, of course I knew you had not told me all. Now I insist upon knowing it — that is, if we are to be friends. I would not speak a word to Godfrey till I had seen you, in order that I might hear your story first.”

  “Indeed, Bella, there is no story to tell.”

  “Then I must ask him.”

  “If you wish to play the part of a true friend to me you will let the matter pass by and say nothing. You must understand that, circumstanced as we are, your brother’s visit here —. What I mean is, that it is very difficult for me to act and speak exactly as I should do, and a few unfortunate words spoken may make my position unendurable.”

  “Will you answer me one question?”

  “I cannot tell. I think I will.”

  “Do you love him?” For a moment or two Bessy remained silent, striving to arrange her words so that they should contain no falsehood, and yet betray no truth. “Ah! I see you do,” continued Miss Holmes. “But of course you do. Why else did you accept him?”

  “I fancied that I did, as young ladies do sometimes fancy.”

  “And will you say that you do not, now?” Again Bessy was silent, and then her friend rose from her seat. “I see it all,” she said. “What a pity it was that you both had not some friend like me by you at the time! But perhaps it may not be too late.”

  I need not repeat at length all the protestations which were poured forth with hot energy by poor Bessy. She endeavoured to explain how great had been the difficulty of her position. This Christmas visit had been arranged before that unhappy affair at Liverpool had occurred. Isabella’s visit had been partly one of business, it being necessary that certain money affairs should be arranged between her, her brother, and the Major. “I determined,” said Bessy, “not to let my own feelings stand in the way, and hoped that things might settle down to their former friendly footing. I already fear that I have been wrong, but it will be ungenerous in you to punish me.” Then she went on to say that if anybody attempted to interfere with her she should at once go away to her mother’s sister, who lived at Hexham, in Northumberland.

  Then came the dance, and the hearts of Kate and Patty Coverdale were at last made happy. But here again poor Bessy was made to understand how terribly difficult was this experiment of entertaining on a footing of friendship a lover with whom she had quarrelled only a month or two before. That she must as a necessity become the partner of Godfrey Holmes she had already calculated, and so much she was prepared to endure. Her brothers would, of course, dance with the Coverdale girls; and her father would, of course, stand up with Isabella. There was no other possible arrangement, — at any rate as a beginning. She had schooled herself, too, as to the way in which she would speak to him on the occasion, and how she would remain mistress of herself and of her thoughts. But when the time came the difficulty was almost too much for her.

  “You do not care much for dancing, if I remember?” said he.

  “Oh yes, I do. Not as Patty Coverdale does; it’s a passion with her. But then I’m older than Patty Coverdale.” After that he was silent for a minute or two.

  “It seems so odd for me to be here again,” he said. It was odd. She felt that it was odd. But he ought not to have said so.

  “Two years make a great difference; the boys have grown so much.”

  “Yes; and there are other things.”

  “Bella was never here before, — at least not with you.”

  “No; but I did not exactly mean that. All that would not make the place so strange. But your mother seems altered to me —. She used to be almost like my own mother.”

  “I suppose she finds that you are a more formidable person as you grow older. It was all very well scolding you when you were a clerk in the bank, but it does not do to scold the manager. Those are the penalties men pay for becoming great.”

  “It is not my greatness that stands in my way, but” —

  “Then I’m sure I cannot say what it is. But Patty will scold you if you do not mind the figure, though you were the whole board of directors packed into one.”

  When Bessy went to bed that night she began to feel that she had attempted too much. “Mamma,” she said, “could I not make some excuse, and go away to aunt Mary?”

  “What, now!”

  “Yes, mamma. Now — to-morrow. I need not say that it will make me unhappy to be away at such a time; but I begin to think that it will be better.”

  “What will papa say?”

  “You must tell him all.”

  “And aunt Mary must be told, also. You would not like that. Has he said anything?”

  “No, nothing; — very little, that is. But Bella has spoken to me. Oh! mamma, I think we have been wrong in this: that is, I have been wrong. I feel as though I should disgrace myself, and turn the whole party here into a misfortune.”

  It would be dreadful, that telling of the story, even though her mother should undertake the task. “I will remain if it be possible,” she said; “but, mamma, if I wish to go, you will not stop me?” Her mother promised that she would not stop her, but strongly advised her to stand her ground.

  On the following morning, when she came downstairs before breakfast, she found Frank standing in the hall with his gun, of which he was trying the lock. “It is not loaded, is it, Frank?” said she.

  “Oh dear no! No one thinks of loading nowadays till one has got out of the house. Directly after breakfast I am going across with Godfrey to the back of Greystock to see after some moor fowl. He asked me to go, and I couldn’t well refuse.”

  “Of course not. Why should you?”

  “It will be deuced hard work to make up the time. I was to have been up at four this morning, but that alarum went off and never woke me. However, I shall be able to do something to-night.”

  “Don’t make a slavery of your holidays, Frank. What’s the good of having a new gun if you’re not to enjoy it?”

  “It’s not the new gun. I’m not such a child as that comes to. But you see Godfrey is here, and one ought to be civil to him. I’ll tell you what I want you girls to do, Bessy. You must come and meet us on our way home. Come over in the boat, and along the path to the Patterdale road. We’ll be there under the hill at about five.”

  “And, if you are not there, are we to wait in the snow?”

  “Don’t make difficulties, Bessy. I tell you we will be there. We are to go in the cart, and so shall have plenty of time.”

  “And how do you know the other girls will go?”

  “Why, to tell you the truth, Patty Coverdale has promised. As for Miss Holmes, if she won’t, why, you must leave her at home with mamma. But Kate and Patty can’t come without you.”

  “Your discretion has found that out, has it?”

  “Well, Patty says so. But you will come, won’t you, Bessy? As for waiting, it’s all nonsense. Of course you can walk on. But we’ll be at the stile by five. I’ve got my watch, you know.” And then Bessy promised him. What would she not have done for him that was in her power to do?

  “Go! of course I’ll go!” said Miss Holmes; “I’m up to anything. I’d have gone with them in the morning, and have taken a gun, if they had asked me. But, by-the-by, I’d better not.”

  “Why not?” said Patty, who was hardly yet without fear lest something should mar the expedition.

  “What will three gentlemen do with four ladies?”

  “Oh, I forgot,” said Patty, innocently.

  “I’m sure I don’t
care,” said Kate. “You may have Harry if you like.”

  “Thank you for nothing,” said Miss Holmes. “I want one for myself. It’s all very well for you to make the offer; but what should I do if Harry wouldn’t have me? There are two sides, you know, to every bargain.”

  “I’m sure he isn’t anything to me,” said Kate. “Why, he is not quite seventeen yet.”

  “Poor boy! What a shame to dispose of him so soon! We’ll let him off for a year or two; won’t we, Miss Coverdale? But as there seems, by acknowledgment, to be one beau with unappropriated services” —

  “I’m sure I have appropriated nobody,” said Patty, “and don’t intend.”

  “Godfrey, then, is the only knight whose services are claimed,” said Miss Holmes, looking at Bessy. Bessy made no immediate answer with either her eyes or tongue, but when the Coverdales were gone she took her new friend to task.

  “How can you fill those young girls’ heads with such nonsense?”

  “Nature has done that, my dear.”

  “But Nature should be trained, should it not? You will make them think that those foolish boys are in love with them.”

  “They’ll be sure to think that without any teaching from me. The foolish boys, as you call them, will look after that themselves. It seems to me that the foolish boys know what they are about better than some of their elders.” And then, after a moment’s pause, she added, “As for my brother, I have no patience with him.”

  “Pray do not discuss your brother,” said Bessy. “And, Bella, unless you wish to drive me away, pray do not speak of him and me together as you did just now.”

  “Are you so bad as that, that the slightest commonplace joke upsets you? Would not his services be due to you as a matter of course? If you are so sore about it you will betray your secret.”