'Rotherwood is not the public,' said Lily, 'and he is the last person to say anything impertinent of papa. And I myself heard papa call her Alethea, which he never used to do. Claude, what do you think?'
After a long pause Claude slowly replied, 'Think? Why, I think Miss Weston must be a person of great courage. She begins the world as a grandmother, to say nothing of her eldest daughter and son being considerably her seniors.'
'I do not believe it,' said Lily. 'Do you, Claude?'
'I cannot make up my mind-it is too amazing. My hair is still standing on end. When it comes down I may be able to tell you something.'
Such were the only answers that Lily could extract from him. He did not sufficiently disbelieve the report to treat it with scorn, yet he did not sufficiently credit it to resign himself to such a state of things.
On coming home Lily found Emily and Jane in her room, eagerly discussing the circumstances which, to their prejudiced eyes, seemed strong confirmation. While their tongues were in full career the door opened and Eleanor appeared. She told them it was twelve o'clock, turned Jane out of the room, and made Emily and Lily promise not to utter another syllable that night.
CHAPTER XXVI: THE CRISIS
'"Is this your care of the nest?" cried he,
"It comes of your gadding abroad," said she.'
To the consternation of the disconsolate damsels, the first news they heard the next morning was that Mr. Mohun was gone to breakfast at Broomhill, and the intelligence was received by Frank Hawkesworth with a smile which they thought perfectly malicious. Frank, William, and Reginald talked a little at breakfast about the fête, but no one joined them, and Claude looked so grave that Eleanor was convinced that he had a headache, and vainly tried to persuade him to stay at home, instead of setting off to Devereux Castle immediately after breakfast.
The past day had not been spent in vain by Ada. Mrs. Weston had led her by degrees to open her heart to her, had made her perceive the real cause of her father's displeasure, see her faults, and promise to confess them, a promise which she performed with many tears, as soon as she saw Eleanor in the morning.
On telling this to Emily Eleanor was surprised to find that she was not listened to with much satisfaction. Emily seemed to think it a piece of interference on the part of Mrs. Weston, and would not allow that it was likely to be the beginning of improvement in Ada.
'The words were put into her mouth,' said she; 'and they were an easy way of escaping from her present state of disgrace.'
'On the contrary,' said Eleanor, 'she seemed to think that she justly deserved to be in disgrace.'
'Did you think so?' said Emily, in a careless tone.
'You are in a strange mood to-day, Emily,' said Eleanor.
'Am I? I did not know it. I wonder where Lily is.'
Lily was in her own room, teaching Phyllis. Phyllis was rather wild and flighty that morning, scarcely able to command her attention, and every now and then bursting into an irrepressible fit of laughter. Reginald and Phyllis found it most difficult to avoid betraying Marianne, and as soon as luncheon was over, they agreed to set out on a long expedition into the woods, where they might enjoy their wonderful secret together. Just at this time Mr. Mohun returned. He came into the drawing-room, and Lilias, perceiving that the threatened conversation with Emily was about to take place, made her escape to her own room, whither she was presently followed by Jane, who could not help running after her to report the great news that Emily was to be deposed.
'I am sure of it,' said she. 'They sent me out of the room, but not before I had seen certain symptoms.'
'It is very hard that poor Emily should bear all the blame,' said Lily.
'You have managed to escape it very well,' said Jane, laughing. 'You have all the thanks and praise. I suppose it is because the intimacy with Miss Weston was your work.'
'I will not believe that nonsense,' said Lily.
'Seeing is believing, they say,' said Jane. 'Remember, it is not only me. Think of Rotherwood. And Maurice guesses it too, and Redgie told him great things were going on.'
While Jane was speaking they heard the drawing-room door open, and in another moment Emily came in.
It was true that, as Jane said, she had been deposed. Mr. Mohun had begun by saying, 'Emily, can you bring me such an account of your expenditure as I desired?'
'I scarcely think I can, papa,' said Emily. 'I am sorry to say that my accounts are rather in confusion.'
'That is to say, that you have been as irregular in the management of your own affairs as you have in mine. Well, I have paid your debt to Lilias, and from this time forward I require of you to reduce your expenses to the sum which I consider suitable, and which both Eleanor and Lilias have found perfectly sufficient. And now, Emily, what have you to say for the management of my affairs? Can you offer any excuse for your utter failure?'
'Indeed, papa, I am very sorry I vexed you,' said Emily. 'Our illness last autumn-different things-I know all has not been quite as it should be; but I hope that in future I shall profit by past experience.'
'I hope so,' said Mr. Mohun, 'but I am afraid to trust the management of the family to you any longer. Your trial is over, and you have failed, merely because you would not exert yourself from wilful indolence and negligence. You have not attended to any one thing committed to your charge-you have placed temptation in Esther's way-and allowed Ada to take up habits which will not be easily corrected. I should not think myself justified in leaving you in charge any longer, lest worse mischief should ensue. I wish you to give up the keys to Eleanor for the present.'
Mr. Mohun would perhaps have added something if Emily had shown signs of repentance, or even of sorrow. The moment was at least as painful to him as to her, and he had prepared himself to expect either hysterical tears, with vows of amendment, or else an argument on her side that she was right and everybody else wrong. But there was nothing of the kind; Emily neither spoke nor looked; she only carried the tokens of her authority to Eleanor, and left the room. She thought she knew well enough the cause of her deposition, considered it quite as a matter of course, and departed on purpose to avoid hearing the announcement which she expected to follow.
She was annoyed by finding her sisters in her room, and especially irritated by Jane's tone, as she eagerly asked, 'Well, what did he say?'
'Never mind,' replied Emily, pettishly.
'Was it about Miss Weston?' persisted Jane.
'Not actually, but I saw it was coming,' said Emily.
'Ah!' said Jane, 'I was just telling Lily that she owes all her present favour to her having been Alethea's bosom friend.'
'I confess I thought Miss Weston was assuming authority long ago,' said Emily.
'Emily, how can you say so?' cried Lily. 'How can you be so unjust and ungrateful? I do not believe this report; but if it should be true, are not these foolish expressions of dislike so many attempts to make yourself undutiful?'
'I have rather more sincerity, more dignity, more attachment to my own mother, than to try to gain favour by affecting what I do not feel,' said Emily.
'Rather cutting, Emily,' said Jane.
'Do not give that speech an application which Emily did not intend,' said Lily, sadly.
'What makes you think I did not intend it?' said Emily, coldly.
'Emily!' exclaimed Lily, starting up, and colouring violently, 'are you thinking what you are saying?'
'I do not know what you mean,' replied Emily quietly, in her soft, unchanging voice; 'I only mean that if you can feel satisfied with the new arrangement you are more easily pleased than I am.'
'Only tell me, Emily, do you accuse me of attempting to gain favour in an unworthy manner?'
'I only congratulate you on standing so well with every one.'
Lily hid her face in her hands. At this moment Eleanor opened the door, saying, 'Can you come down? Mrs. Burnet is here.' Eleanor went without observing Lily, and Emily was obliged to follow. Jane lingered in order to comfort
Lily.
'You know she did not quite mean it,' said she; 'she is only very much provoked.'
'I know, I know,' said Lily; 'she is very sorry herself by this time. Of course she did not mean it, but it is the first unkind thing she ever said to me. It is very silly, and very unjust to take it seriously, but I cannot help it.'
'It is a very abominable shame,' said Jane, 'and so I shall tell Emily.'
'No, do not, Jenny, I beg. I know she thinks so herself, and grieves too much over it. No wonder she is vexed. All my faults have come upon her. You had better go down, Jane; Mrs. Burnet is always vexed if she does not see a good many of us, and I am sure I cannot go. Besides, Emily dislikes having that girl to entertain.'
'Lily, you are so very gentle and forgiving, that I wonder how any one can say what grieves you,' said Jane, for once struck with admiration.
She went, and Lily remained, weeping over the injustice which she had forgiven, and feeling as if, all the time, it was fair that the rule of 'love' should, as it were, recoil upon her. Her tears flowed fast, as she went over the long line of faults and follies which lay heavy on her conscience. And Emily against her! That sister who, from her infancy, had soothed her in every trouble, of whose sympathy she had always felt sure, whose gentleness had been her admiration in her days of sharp answers and violent temper, who had seemed her own beyond all the others; this wound from her gave Lily a bitter feeling of desertion and loneliness. It was like a completion of her punishment- the broken reed on which she leant had pierced her deeply.
She was still sitting on the side of her bed, weeping, when a slight tap at the door made her start-a gentle tap, the sound of which she had learned to love in her illness. The next moment Alethea stood before her, with outstretched arms. This was a time to feel the value of such a friend, and every suspicion passing from her mind, she flew to Alethea, kissed her again and again, and laid her head on her shoulder. Her caress was returned with equal warmth.
'But how is this?' said Alethea, now perceiving that her face was pale, and marked by tears. 'How is this, my dear Lily?'
'Oh, Alethea! I cannot tell you, but it is all misery. The full effect of my baneful principle has appeared!'
'Has anything happened?' exclaimed Alethea.
'No,' said Lily. 'There is nothing new, except the-Oh! I cannot tell you.'
'I wish I could do anything for you, my poor Lily,' said Alethea.
'You can look kind,' said Lily, 'and that is a great comfort. Oh! Alethea, it was very kind of you to come and speak to me. I shall do now-I can bear it all better. You have a comforting face and voice like nobody else. When did you come? Have you been in the drawing-room?'
'No,' said Alethea. 'I walked here with Marianne, and finding there were visitors in the drawing-room we went to Ada, and she told me where to find you. I had something to tell you-but perhaps you know already.'
The colour on her cheek recalled all Lily's fears, and to hear the news from herself was an unexpected trial. She felt as if what she had said justified Emily's reproach, and turning away her head, replied, 'Yes, I know.'
Alethea was a little hurt by her coldness, but she ascribed it to dejection and embarrassment, and blamed herself for hurrying on what she had to tell without sufficient regard for Lily's distress. There was an awkward pause, which Alethea broke, by saying, 'Your brother thought you would like to hear it from me.'
'My brother!' cried Lily, with a most sudden change of tone. 'William? Oh, Alethea! dearest Alethea; I beg your pardon. They almost made me believe it was papa. Oh! I am so very glad!'
Alethea could not help laughing, and Lily joined her heartily. It was one of the brightest hours of her life, as she sat with her hand in her friend's, pouring out her eager expressions of delight and affection. All her troubles were forgotten-how should they not, when Alethea was to be her sister! It seemed as if but a few minutes had passed, when the sound of the great clock warned Alethea that it was time to return to Broomhill, and she asked Lilias to walk back with her. After summoning Marianne, they set out through the garden, where, on being joined by William, Lily thought it expedient to betake herself to Marianne, who was but too glad to be able freely to communicate many interesting particulars. At Broomhill she had a very enjoyable talk with Mrs. Weston, but her chief delight was in her walk home with her brother. She was high in his favour, as Alethea's chief friend. Though usually reserved, he was now open, and Lily wondered to find herself honoured with confidence. His attachment had begun in very early days, when first he knew the Westons in Brighton. Harry's death had suddenly called him away, and a few guarded expressions of his wishes in the course of the next winter had been cut short by his father. He then went to Canada, and had had no opportunity of renewing his acquaintance till the last winter, when, on coming home, to his great joy and surprise he found the Westons on the most intimate terms with his family.
He then spoke to his father, who wished him to take a little more time for consideration, and he had accordingly waited till the summer. Lily longed to know his plans for the future, and presently he went on to say that his father wished him to leave the army, live at home, and let Alethea be the head of the household.
'Oh, William! it is perfect. There is an end of all our troubles. It is as if a great black curtain was drawn up.'
'They say such plans never succeed,' said William; 'but we mean to prove the contrary.'
'How good it will be for the children!' said Lily.
'Oh! why had we not such a guide at first?'
'She has all that Eleanor wants,' said William.
'My follies were not Eleanor's fault,' said Lily; 'but I do think I should not have been quite so silly if I had known Alethea from the first.'
It was not in the power of William himself to say more in her praise than Lily. In the eagerness of their conversation they walked slowly, and as they were crossing the last field the dinner-bell rang. As they quickened their steps they saw Mr. Mohun looking at his wheat. Lily told him how late it was.
'There,' said he, 'I am always looking after other people's affairs. Between Rotherwood and William I have not a moment for my own crops. However, my turn is coming. William will have it all on his hands, and the old deaf useless Baron will sit in his great chair and take his ease.'
'Not a bit, papa,' said Lily, 'the Baron will grow young, and take to dancing. He is talking nonsense already.'
'Eh! Miss Lily turned saucy? Mrs. William Mohun must take her in hand. Well, Lily, has he your consent and approbation?'
'I only wish this was eighteen months ago, papa.'
'We shall soon come into order, Lily. With Miss Aylmer for the little ones, and Mrs. Mohun for the great ones, I have little fear.'
'Miss Aylmer, papa!'
'Yes, if all turns out well. We propose to find a house for her mother in the village, and let her come every day to teach the little ones.'
'Oh! I am very glad. We liked her so much.'
'I hope,' said Mr. Mohun, 'that this plan will please Claude better than my proposal of a governess last month. He looked as if he expected Minerva with helmet, and Ægis and all. Now make haste and dress. Do not let us shock Eleanor by keeping dinner waiting longer than we can help.'
Lilias found that her sisters had long been dressed and gone down. She dressed alone, every now and then smiling at her own happy looks reflected in the glass. Just as she had finished, Claude knocked at the door, and putting in his head, said, 'Well, Lily, has the wonderful news come forth? I see it has, by your face.'
'And do you know what it is, Claude?' said Lily.
'I know what Rotherwood meant, and I cannot think where all our senses were.'
'And, Claude, only say that you like her.'
'I think it is a very good thing indeed.'
'Only say that you cordially like her.'
'I do. I admire her sense and her gentleness very much, and I think you owe a great deal to her.'
'Then you allow that you were unjust last summer?
'
'I do; but it was owing to you. You were somewhat foolish, and I thought it was her fault. Besides, I was quite tired of hearing that extraordinary name of hers for ever repeated.'
Here they were summoned to dinner, and hurried down. The dinner passed very strangely; some were in very high spirits, others in a very melancholy mood; Eleanor and Maurice alone preserved the golden mean; and the behaviour of the merry ones was perfectly unintelligible to the rest. Reginald, still bound by his promise to Marianne, was wild to make his discovery known, and behaved in such a strange and comical manner as to call forth various reproofs from Eleanor, which provoked double mirth from the others. The cause of their amusement was ostensibly the talking over of yesterday's fête, but the laughing was more than adequate, even to the wonderful collection of odd speeches and adventures which were detailed. Emily and Jane could not guess what had come to Lily, and thought her merriment very ill-placed. Yet, in justice to Lily, it must be said that her joy no longer made her wild and thoughtless. There was something guarded and subdued about her, which made Claude reflect how different she was from the untamed girl of last summer, who could not be happy without a sort of intoxication.
The ladies returned to the drawing-room, where Ada now appeared for the first time, and while they were congratulating her Mr. Mohun summoned Eleanor away. Jane followed at a safe distance to see where they went. They shut themselves into the study, and Jane, now meeting Maurice, went into the garden with him. 'It must be coming now,' said she; 'oh! there are William and Claude talking under the plane-tree.'
'Claude has his cunning smile on,' said Maurice.
'No wonder,' said Jane, 'it is very absurd. I daresay William will hardly ever come home now. One comfort is, they will see I was right from the first.'
Jane and Maurice remained in the garden till teatime, and thus missed hearing the whole affair discussed in the drawing-room between Emily, Lilias, and Frank. This was the first news that Emily heard of it, and a very great relief it was, for she could imagine liking, and even loving, Alethea as a sister-in-law. Her chief annoyance was at present from the perception of the difference between her own position and that of Lilias. Last year how was Lily regarded in the family, and what was her opinion worth? Almost nothing; she was only a clever, romantic, silly girl, while Emily had credit at least for discretion. Now Lily was consulted and sought out by father, brothers, Eleanor-no longer treated as a child. And what was Emily? Blamed or pitied on every side, and left to hear this important news from the chance mention of her brother-in-law, himself not fully informed. She had become nobody, and had even lost the satisfaction, such as it was, of fancying that her father only made her bad management an excuse for his marriage. She heard many particulars from Lily in the course of the evening, as they were going to bed; and the sisters talked with all their wonted affection, although Emily had not thought it worth while to revive an old grievance, by asking Lily's pardon for her unkind speech, and rested satisfied with the knowledge that her sister knew her heart too well to care for what she said in a moment of irritation. On the other hand, Lily did not think that she had a right to mention the plan of Alethea's government, and the next day she was glad of her reserve, for her father called her to share his early walk for the purpose of talking over the scheme, telling her that he thought she understood the state of things better than Eleanor could, and that he considered that she had sufficient influence with Emily to prevent her from making Alethea uncomfortable. The conclusion of the conversation was, that they thought they might depend upon Emily's amiability, her courtesy, and her dislike of trouble, to balance her love of importance and dignity. And that Alethea would do nothing to hurt her feelings, and would assume no authority that she could help, they felt convinced.
Scenes and Characters Page 25
