‘Why — one story was that Molly had given him a letter.’
‘Who’s him? How am I to understand a story told in that silly way?’ Miss Browning sate down on the nearest chair, and made up her mind to be patient if she could.
‘Him is Mr. Preston. And that must be true; because I missed her from my side when I wanted to ask her if she thought blue would look green by candlelight, as the young man said it would, and she had run across the street, and Mrs. Goodenough was just going into the shop, just as she said she was.’
Miss Browning’s distress was overcoming her anger; so she only said,
‘Phoebe, I think you’ll drive me mad. Do tell me what you heard from
Mrs. Dawes in a sensible and coherent manner, for once in your life.’
‘I’m sure I’m trying with all my might to tell you everything just as it happened.’
‘What did you hear from Mrs. Dawes?’
‘Why, that Molly and Mr. Preston were keeping company just as if she was a maid-servant and he was a gardener; meeting at all sorts of improper times and places, and fainting away in his arms, and out at night together, and writing to each other, and slipping their letters into each other’s hands; and that was what I was talking about, sister, for I next door to saw that done once. I saw her with my own eyes run across the street to Grinstead’s, where he was, for we had just left him there; with a letter in her hand, too, which was not there when she came back all fluttered and blushing. But I never thought anything of it at the time; but now all the town is talking about it, and crying shame, and saying they ought to be married.’ Miss Phoebe sank, into sobbing again; but was suddenly roused by a good box on her car. Miss Browning was standing over her almost trembling with passion.
‘Phoebe, if ever I hear you say such things again, I’ll turn you out of the house that minute.’
‘I only said what Mrs. Dawes said, and you asked me what it was,’ replied Miss Phoebe, humbly and meekly. ‘Sally, you should not have done that.’
‘Never mind whether I should or I shouldn’t. That’s not the matter in hand. What I’ve got to decide is how to put a stop to all these lies.’
‘But, Sally, they are not all lies — if you will call them so; I’m afraid some things are true; though I stuck to their being false when Mrs. Dawes told me of them.’
‘If I go to Mrs. Dawes, and she repeats them to me, I shall slap her face or box her ears I’m afraid, for I couldn’t stand tales being told of poor Mary’s daughter, as if they were just a stirring piece of news like James Horrocks’ pig with two heads,’ said Miss Browning, meditating aloud. ‘That would do harm instead of good. Phoebe, I’m really sorry I boxed your ears, only I should do it again if you said the same things.’ Phoebe sate down by her sister, and took hold of one of her withered hands, and began caressing it, which was her way of accepting her sister’s expression of regret. ‘If I speak to Molly, the child will deny it, if she’s half as good-for-nothing as they say; and if she’s not, she’ll only worry herself to death. No, that won’t do. Mrs. Goodenough — but she’s a donkey; and if I convinced her, she could never convince any one else. No; Mrs. Dawes, who told you, shall tell me, and I’ll tie my hands together inside my muff, and bind myself over to keep the peace. And when I’ve heard what is to be heard, I’ll put the matter into Mr. Gibson’s hands. That’s what I’ll do. So it’s no use your saying anything against it, Phoebe, for I shan’t attend to you.’
Miss Browning went to Mrs. Dawes’, and began civilly enough to make inquiries about the reports current in Hollingford about Molly and Mr. Preston; and Mrs. Dawes fell into the snare, and told all the real and fictitious circumstances of the story in circulation, quite unaware of the storm that was gathering and ready to fall upon her as soon as she stopped speaking. But she had not the long habit of reverence for Miss Browning which would have kept so many Hollingford ladies from justifying themselves if she found fault. Mrs. Dawes stood up for herself and her own veracity, bringing out fresh scandal, which she said she did not believe, but that many did; and adducing so much evidence as to the truth of what she had said and did believe, that Miss Browning was almost quelled, and sate silent and miserable at the end of Mrs. Dawes’ justification of herself.
‘Well!’ she said at length, rising up from her chair as she spoke, ‘I’m very sorry I’ve lived till this day; it’s a blow to me just as if I had heard of such goings-on in my own flesh and blood. I suppose I ought to apologize to you, Mrs. Dawes, for what I said; but I’ve no heart to do it to-day. I ought not to have spoken as I did; but that’s nothing to this affair, you see.’
‘I hope you do me the justice to perceive that I only repeated what I had heard on good authority, Miss Browning,’ said Mrs. Dawes in reply.
‘My dear, don’t repeat evil on any authority unless you can do some good by speaking about it,’ said Miss Browning, laying her hand on Mrs. Dawes’ shoulder. ‘I’m not a good woman, but I know what is good, and that advice is. And now I think I can tell you that I beg your pardon for flying out upon you so; but God knows what pain you were putting me to. You’ll forgive me, won’t you, my dear?’ Mrs. Dawes felt the hand trembling on her shoulder, and saw the real distress of Miss Browning’s mind, so it was not difficult to her to grant the requested forgiveness. Then Miss Browning went home, and said but few words to Phoebe, who indeed saw well enough that her sister had heard the reports confirmed, and needed no further explanation of the cause of scarcely-tasted dinner, and short replies, and saddened looks. Presently Miss Browning sate down and wrote a short note. Then she rang the bell, and told the little maiden who answered it to take it to Mr. Gibson, and if he was out to see that it was given to him as soon as ever he came home. And then she went and put on her Sunday cap; and Miss Phoebe knew that her sister had written to ask Mr. Gibson to come and be told of the rumours affecting his daughter. Miss Browning was sadly disturbed at the information she had received, and the task that lay before her; she was miserably uncomfortable to herself and irritable to Miss Phoebe, and the netting-cotton she was using kept continually snapping and breaking from the jerks of her nervous hands. When the knock at the door was heard, — the well-known doctor’s knock, — Miss Browning took off her spectacles, and dropped them on the carpet, breaking them as she did so; and then she bade Miss Phoebe leave the room, as if her presence had cast the evil-eye, and caused the misfortune. She wanted to look natural, and was distressed at forgetting whether she usually received him sitting or standing.
‘Well!’ said he, coming in cheerfully, and rubbing his cold hands as he went straight to the fire, ‘and what is the matter with us? It’s Phoebe, I suppose. I hope none of those old spasms? But, after all, a dose or two will set that to rights.’
‘Oh! Mr. Gibson, I wish it was Phoebe, or me either!’ said Miss
Browning, trembling more and more.
He sate down by her patiently, when he saw her agitation, and took her hand in a kind, friendly manner.
‘Don’t hurry yourself, — take your time. I daresay it’s not so bad as you fancy; but we’ll see about it. There’s a great deal of help in the world, much as we abuse it.’
‘Mr. Gibson,’ said she, ‘it’s your Molly I’m so grieved about. It’s out now, and God help us both, and the poor child too, for I’m sure she’s been led astray, and not gone wrong by her own free will!’
‘Molly!’ said he, fighting against her words. ‘What’s my little Molly been doing or saying?’
‘Oh! Mr. Gibson, I don’t know how to tell you. I never would have named it, if I had not been convinced, sorely, sorely against my will.’
‘At any rate, you can let me hear what you have heard,’ said he, putting his elbow on the table, and screening his eyes with his hand. ‘Not that I am a bit afraid of anything you can hear about my girl,’ continued he. ‘Only in this little nest of gossip it’s as well to know what people are talking about.’
‘They say — oh! how shall I tell you?’
‘Go
on, can’t you?’ said he, removing his hand from his blazing eyes.
‘I’m not going to believe it, so don’t be afraid!’
‘But I fear you must believe it. I would not if I could help it. She’s been carrying on a clandestine correspondence with Mr Preston! — ’
‘Mr. Preston!’ exclaimed he.
‘And meeting him at all sorts of unseemly places and hours out of doors, — in the dark, — fainting away in his — his arms, if I must speak out. All the town is talking of it.’ Mr. Gibson’s hand was over his eyes again, and he made no sign; so Miss Browning went on, adding touch to touch. ‘Mr. Sheepshanks saw them together. They have exchanged notes in Grinstead’s shop; she ran after him there.’
‘Be quiet, can’t you?’ said Mr. Gibson, taking his hand away, and showing his grim set face. ‘I have heard enough. Don’t go on. I said I shouldn’t believe it, and I don’t. I suppose I must thank you for telling me; but I can’t yet.’
‘I don’t want your thanks,’ said Miss Browning, almost crying. ‘I thought you ought to know; for though you’re married again, I can’t forget you were dear Mary’s husband once upon a time; and Molly’s her child.’
‘I’d rather not speak any more about it just at present,’ said he, not at all replying to Miss Browning’s last speech. ‘I may not control myself as I ought. I only wish I could meet Preston, and horsewhip him within an inch of his life. I wish I’d the doctoring of these slanderous gossips. I’d make their tongues lie still for a while. My little girl! What harm has she done them all, that they should go and foul her fair name.’
‘Indeed, Mr. Gibson, I’m afraid it’s all true. I would not have sent for you if I hadn’t examined into it. Do ascertain the truth before you do anything violent, such as horsewhipping or poisoning.’
With all the inconsequence of a man in a passion, Mr. Gibson laughed out, ‘What have I said about horsewhipping or poisoning? Do you think I’d have Molly’s name dragged about the streets in connection with any act of violence on my part. Let the report die away as it arose. Time will prove its falsehood.’
‘But I don’t think it will, and that’s the pity of it,’ said Miss
Browning. ‘You must do something, but I don’t know what.’
‘I shall go home and ask Molly herself what’s the meaning of it all; that’s all I shall do. It’s too ridiculous — knowing Molly as I do, it’s perfectly ridiculous.’ He got up and walked about the room with hasty steps, laughing short unnatural laughs from time to time. ‘Really what will they say next? “Satan finds some mischief still for idle tongues to do.”‘
‘Don’t talk of Satan, please, in this house. No one knows what may happen, if he’s lightly spoken about,’ pleaded Miss Browning.
He went on, without noticing her, talking to himself, — ’I’ve a great mind to leave the place; — and what food for scandal that piece of folly would give rise to!’ Then he was silent for a time; his hands in his pockets, his eyes on the ground, as he continued his quarter-deck march. Suddenly he stopped close to Miss Browning’s chair. ‘I’m thoroughly ungrateful to you, for as true a mark of friendship as you’ve ever shown to me. True or false, it was right I should know the wretched scandal that was being circulated; and it could not have been pleasant for you to tell it me. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.’
‘Indeed, Mr. Gibson, if it was false I would never have named it, but let it die away.’
‘It’s not true though!’ said he, doggedly, letting drop the hand he had taken in his effusion of gratitude.
She shook her head. ‘I shall always love Molly for her mother’s sake,’ she said. And it was a great concession from the correct Miss Browning. But her father did not understand it as such.
‘You ought to love her for her own. She has done nothing to disgrace herself. I shall go straight home, and probe into the truth.’
‘As if the poor girl who has been led away into deceit already would scruple much at going on in falsehood,’ was Miss Browning’s remark on this last speech of Mr. Gibson’s; but she had discretion enough not to make it until he was well out of hearing.
CHAPTER XLVIII
AN INNOCENT CULPRIT
With his head bent down — as if he were facing some keen-blowing wind — and yet there was not a breath of air stirring — Mr. Gibson went swiftly to his own home. He rang at the door-bell; an unusual proceeding on his part. Maria opened the door. ‘Go and tell Miss Molly she is wanted in the dining-room. Don’t say who it is that wants her.’ There was something in Mr. Gibson’s manner that made Maria obey him 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 an instant’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 his heart.
The door opened. He knew that Molly stood there before he heard her tone 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 the
Hamleys immediately. ‘Is it Osborne?’ she asked, breathless. If Mr
Gibson had not been too much agitated to judge calmly, he might have
deduced comfort from these three words.
But instead of allowing himself to seek for comfort from collateral evidence, he said, — ’Molly, what is this I hear? That you have been keeping up a clandestine intercourse with Mr. Preston — meeting him in out-of-the-way places; exchanging letters with him in a stealthy way.’
Though he had professed to disbelieve all this, and did disbelieve it at the bottom of his soul, his voice was hard and stern, his face was white and grim, and his eyes fixed Molly’s with the terrible keenness of their research. Molly trembled all over; but she did not attempt to evade his penetration. If she was silent for a moment, it was because she was rapidly reviewing her relation with regard to Cynthia in this matter. It was but a moment’s pause of silence; but it seemed long 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 had first advanced towards him; he was unconscious of this action; but, as his impatience for her words grew upon him, he grasped her more and more tightly in his vice-like hands, till she made a little involuntary sound of pain. And then he let go; and she looked at her soft bruised flesh, with tears gathering fast to her eyes to think that he, her father, should have hurt her so. At the instant it appeared to her stranger that he should inflict bodily pain upon his child, than that he should have heard the truth — even in an exaggerated form. With a childish gesture she held out her arm to him; but if she expected pity, she received none.
‘Pooh!’ said he, as he just glanced at the mark, ‘that is nothing — nothing. Answer my question. Have you — have you met that man in private?’
‘Yes, papa, I have; but I don’t think it was wrong.’
He sate down now. ‘Wrong!’ he echoed, bitterly. ‘Not ‘wrong? Well! I must bear it somehow. Your mother is dead. That’s one comfort. It is true, then, is it? Why, I did not believe it — not I. I laughed in my sleeve at their credulity; and I was the dupe all the time!’
‘Papa, I cannot tell you all. It is not my secret, or you should know it directly. Indeed, you will be sorry some time — I have never deceived you yet, have I?’ trying to take one of his hands; but he kept them tightly in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the pattern of the carpet before him. ‘Papa!’ said she, pleading again, ‘have I ever deceived you?’
‘How can I tell? I hear of this from the town’s talk. I don’t know what next may come out!’
‘The town’s talk,’ said Molly in dismay. ‘What business is it of theirs?’
‘Every one makes it their business to cast dirt on a girl’s name who has disregarded the commonest rules of modesty and propriety.’
‘Papa, you
are very hard. “Disregarded modesty.” I will tell you exactly what I have done. I met Mr. Preston once, — that evening when you put me down to walk over Croston Heath, — and there was another person with him. I met him a second time — and that time by appointment — nobody but our two selves, — in the Towers’ Park. That is all. Papa, you must trust me. I cannot explain more. You must trust me indeed.’
He could not help relenting at her words; there was such truth in the tone in which they were spoken. But he neither spoke nor stirred for a minute or two. Then he raised his eyes to hers for the first time since she had acknowledged the external truth of what he charged her with. Her face was very white, but it bore the impress of the final sincerity of death, when the true expression prevails without the poor disguises of time.
‘The letters?’ he said, — but almost as if he were ashamed to question that countenance any further.
‘I gave him one letter, — of which I did not write a word, — which, in fact, I believe to have been merely an envelope, without any writing whatever inside. The giving that letter, — the two interviews I have named, — make all the private intercourse I have had with Mr. Preston. Oh! papa, what have they been saying that has grieved — shocked you so much?’
‘Never mind. As the world goes, what you say you have done, Molly, is ground enough. You must tell me all. I must be able to refute these rumours point by point.’
‘How are they to be refuted; when you say that the truth which I have acknowledged is ground enough for what people are saying?’
‘You say you were not acting for yourself, but for another. If you tell 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 was Cynthia — while I am exonerating you.’
‘No, papa!’ said Molly, after some little consideration; ‘I have told you all I can tell; all that concerns myself; and I have promised not to say one word more.’
‘Then your character will be impugned. It must be, unless the fullest explanation of these secret meetings is given. I have a great mind to force the whole truth out of Preston himself!’
Delphi Complete Works of Elizabeth Gaskell Page 287
