Mr Gilfil's Love Story

by George Eliot

noteworthy bit of furniture in the Manor. Over this embroidery she sat with cold

  lips and a palpitating heart, thankful that this miserable sensation throughout

  the daytime seemed to counteract the tendency to tears which returned with night

  and solitude. She was most frightened when Sir Christopher approached her. The

  Baronet's eye was brighter and his step more elastic than ever, and it seemed to

  him that only the most leaden or churlish souls could be otherwise than brisk

  and exulting in a world where everything went so well. Dear old gentleman! he

  had gone through life a little flushed with the power of his will, and now his

  latest plan was succeeding, and Cheverel Manor would be inherited by a

  grand-nephew, whom he might even yet live to see a fine young fellow with at

  least the down on his chin. Why not? one is still young at sixty.

  Sir Christopher had always something playful to say to Caterina.

  'Now, little monkey, you must be in your best voice: you're the minstrel of the

  Manor, you know, and be sure you have a pretty gown and a new ribbon. You must

  not be dressed in russet, though you are a singing-bird.' Or perhaps, 'It is

  your turn to be courted next, Tina. But don't you learn any naughty proud airs.

  I must have Maynard let off easily.'

  Caterina's affection for the old Baronet helped her to summon up a smile as he

  stroked her cheek and looked at her kindly, but that was the moment at which she

  felt it most dif0ficult not to burst out crying. Lady Cheverel's conversation

  and presence were less trying; for her ladyship felt no more than calm

  satisfaction in this family event; and besides, she was further sobered by a

  little jealousy at Sir Christopher's anticipation of pleasure in seeing Lady

  Assher, enshrined in his memory as a mild-eyed beauty of sixteen, with whom he

  had exchanged locks before he went on his first travels. Lady Cheverel would

  have died rather than confess it, but she couldn't help hoping that he would be

  disappointed in Lady Assher, and rather ashamed of having called her so

  charming.

  Mr Gilfil watched Caterina through these days with mixed feelings. Her suffering

  went to his heart; but, even for her sake, he was glad that a love which could

  never come to good should be no longer fed by false hopes; and how could he help

  saying to himself, 'Perhaps, after a while, Caterina will be tired of fretting

  about that cold-hearted puppy, and then...'

  At length the much-expected day arrived, and the brightest of September suns was

  lighting up the yellowing lime-trees, as about five o'clock Lady Assher's

  carriage drove under the portico. Caterina, seated at work in her own room,

  heard the rolling of the wheels, followed presently by the opening and shutting

  of doors, and the sound of voices in the corridors. Remembering that the

  dinner-hour was six, and that Lady Cheverel had desired her to be in the

  drawing-room early, she started up to dress, and was delighted to find herself

  feeling suddenly brave and strong. Curiosity to see Miss Assher�the thought that

  Anthony was in the house�the wish not to look unattractive, were feelings that

  brought some colour to her lips, and made it easy to attend to her toilette.

  They would ask her to sing this evening, and she would sing well. Miss Assher

  should not think her utterly insignificant. So she put on her grey silk gown and

  her cherry coloured ribbon with as much care as if she had been herself the

  betrothed; not forgetting the pair of round pearl earrings which Sir Christopher

  had told Lady Cheverel to give her, because Tina's little ears were so pretty.

  Quick as she had been, she found Sir Christopher and Lady Cheverel in the

  drawing-room chatting with Mr Gilfil, and telling him how handsome Miss Assher

  was, but how entirely unlike her mother� apparently resembling her father only.

  'Aha! ' said Sir Christopher, as he turned to look at Caterina, 'what do you

  think of this, Maynard? Did you ever see Tina look so pretty before? Why, that

  little grey gown has been made out of a bit of my lady's, hasn't it? It doesn't

  take anything much larger than a pocket-handkerchief to dress the little

  monkey.'

  Lady Cheverel, too, serenely radiant in the assurance a single glance had given

  her of Lady Assher's inferiority, smiled approval, and Caterina was in one of

  those moods of self-possession and indifference which come as the ebb-tide

  between the struggles of passion. She retired to the piano, and busied herself

  with arranging her music, not at all insensible to the pleasure of being looked

  at with admiration the while, and thinking that, the next time the door opened,

  Captain Wybrow would enter, and she would speak to him quite cheerfully. But

  when she heard him come in, and the scent of roses floated towards her, her

  heart gave one great leap. She knew nothing till he was pressing her hand, and

  saying, in the old easy way, 'Well, Caterina, how do you do? You look quite

  blooming.'

  She felt her cheeks reddening with anger that he could speak and look with such

  perfect nonchalance. Ah! he was too deeply in love with some one else to

  remember anything he had felt for her. But the next moment she was conscious of

  her folly;�'as if he could show any feeling then!' This conflict of emotions

  stretched into a long interval the few moments that elapsed before the door

  opened again, and her own attention, as well as that of all the rest, was

  absorbed by the entrance of the two ladies.

  The daughter was the more striking, from the contrast she presented to her

  mother, a round-shouldered, middle-sized woman, who had once had the transient

  pink-and-white beauty of a blonde, with ill-defined features and early

  embonpoint. Miss Assher was tall, and gracefully though substantially formed,

  carrying herself with an air of mingled graciousness and self-confidence; her

  dark-brown hair, untouched by powder, hanging in bushy curls round her face, and

  falling in long thick ringlets nearly to her waist. The brilliant carmine tint

  of her well-rounded cheeks, and the finely-cut outline of her straight nose,

  produced an impression of splendid beauty, in spite of commonplace brown eyes, a

  narrow forehead, and thin lips. She was in mourning, and the dead black of her

  crape dress, relieved here and there by jet ornaments, gave the fullest effect

  to her complexion, and to the rounded whiteness of her arms, bare from the

  elbow. The first coup d'oeil was dazzling, and as she stood looking down with a

  gracious smile on Caterina, whom Lady Cheverel was presenting to her, the poor

  little thing seemed to herself to feel, for the first time, all the folly of her

  former dream.

  'We are enchanted with your place, Sir Christopher,' said Lady Assher, with a

  feeble kind of pompousness, which she seemed to be copying from some one else:

  'I'm sure your nephew must have thought Farleigh wretchedly out of order. Poor

  Sir John was so very careless about keeping up the house and grounds. I often

  talked to him about it, but he said, "Pooh pooh! as long as my friends find a

  good dinner and a good bottle of wine, they won't care about my ceilings being

&n
bsp; rather smoky." He was so very hospitable, was Sir John.'

  'I think the view of the house from the park, just after we passed the bridge,

  particularly fine,' said Miss Assher, interposing rather eagerly, as if she

  feared her mother might be making infelicitous speeches, 'and the pleasure of

  the first glimpse was all the greater because Anthony would describe nothing to

  us beforehand. He would not spoil our first impressions by raising false ideas.

  I long to go over the house, Sir Christopher, and learn the history of all your

  architectural designs, which Anthony says have cost you so much time and study.'

  'Take care how you set an old man talking about the past, my dear,' said the

  Baronet; 'I hope we shall find something pleasanter for you to do than turning

  over my old plans and pictures. Our friend Mr Gilfil here has found a beautiful

  mare for you and you can scour the country to your heart's content. Anthony has

  sent us word what a horsewoman you are.'

  Miss Assher turned to Mr Gilfil with her most beaming smile, and expressed her

  thanks with the elaborate graciousness of a person who means to be thought

  charming, and is sure of success.

  'Pray do not thank me,' said Mr Gilfil, 'till you have tried the mare. She has

  been ridden by Lady Sara Linter for the last two years; but one lady's taste may

  not be like another's in horses, any more than in other matters.'

  While this conversation was passing, Captain Wybrow was leaning against the

  mantelpiece, contenting himself with responding from under his indolent eyelids

  to the glances Miss Assher was constantly directing towards him as she spoke.

  'She is very much in love with him,' thought Caterina. But she was relieved that

  Anthony remained passive in his attentions. She thought, too, that he was

  looking paler and more languid than usual. 'If he didn't love her very much�if

  he sometimes thought of the past with regret, I think I could bear it all, and

  be glad to see Sir Christopher made happy.'

  During dinner there was a little incident which confirmed these thoughts. When

  the sweets were on the table, there was a mould of jelly just opposite Captain

  Wybrow, and being inclined to take some himself, he first invited Miss Assher,

  who coloured, and said, in rather a sharper key than usual, 'Have you not

  learned by this time that I never take jelly?'

  'Don't you?' said Captain Wybrow, whose perceptions were not acute enough for

  him to notice the difference of a semitone. 'I should have thought you were fond

  of it. There was always some on the table at Farleigh, I think.'

  'You don't seem to take much interest in my likes and dislikes.'

  'I'm too much possessed by the happy thought that you like me,' was the ex

  officio reply, in silvery tones.

  This little episode was unnoticed by every one but Caterina. Sir Christopher was

  listening with polite attention to Lady Assher's history of her last man-cook,

  who was first-rate at gravies, and for that reason pleased Sir John�he was so

  particular about his gravies, was Sir John: and so they kept the man six years

  in spite of his bad pastry. Lady Cheverel and Mr Gilfil were smiling at Rupert

  the bloodhound, who had pushed his great head under his master's arm, and was

  taking a survey of the dishes, after snuffing at the contents of the Baronet's

  plate.

  When the ladies were in the drawing-room again, Lady Assher was soon deep in a

  statement to Lady Cheverel of her views about burying people in woollen.

  'To be sure, you must have a woollen dress, because it's the law, you know; but

  that need hinder no one from putting linen underneath. I always used to say, "If

  Sir John died tomorrow, I would bury him in his shirt"; and I did. And let me

  advise you to do so by Sir Christopher. You never saw Sir John, Lady Cheverel.

  He was a large tall man, with a nose just like Beatrice, and so very particular

  about his shirts.'

  Miss Assher, meanwhile, had seated herself by Caterina, and, with that smiling

  affability which seems to say, 'I am really not at all proud, though you might

  expect it of me,' said,�

  'Anthony tells me you sing so very beautifully. I hope we shall hear you this

  evening.'

  'O yes,' said Caterina, quietly, without smiling; 'I always sing when I am

  wanted to sing.'

  'I envy you such a charming talent. Do you know, I have no ear; I cannot hum the

  smallest tune, and I delight in music so. Is it not unfortunate? But I shall

  have quite a treat while I am here; Captain Wybrow says you will give us some

  music every day.'

  'I should have thought you wouldn't care about music if you had no ear,' said

  Caterina, becoming epigrammatic by force of grave simplicity.

  'O, I assure you, I doat on it; and Anthony is so fond of it; it would be so

  delightful if I could play and sing to him; though he says he likes me best not

  to sing, because it doesn't belong to his idea of me. What style of music do you

  like best? '

  'I don't know. I like all beautiful music.'

  'And are you as fond of riding as of music?'

  'No; I never ride. I think I should be very frightened.'

  'O no! indeed you would not, after a little practice. I have never been in the

  least timid. I think Anthony is more afraid for me than I am for myself; and

  since I have been riding with him, I have been obliged to be more careful,

  because he is so nervous about me.'

  Caterina made no reply; but she said to herself, 'I wish she would go away and

  not talk to me. She only wants me to admire her good-nature, and to talk about

  Anthony.'

  Miss Assher was thinking at the same time, 'This Miss Sarti seems a stupid

  little thing. Those musical people often are. But she is prettier than I

  expected; Anthony said she was not pretty.'

  Happily at this moment Lady Assher called her daughter's attention to the

  embroidered cushions, and Miss Assher, walking to the opposite sofa, was soon in

  conversation with Lady Cheverel about tapestry and embroidery in general, while

  her mother, feeling herself superseded there, came and placed herself beside

  Caterina.

  'I hear you are the most beautiful singer,' was of course the opening remark.

  'All Italians sing so beautifully. I travelled in Italy with Sir John when we

  were first married, and we went to Venice, where they go about in gondolas, you

  know. You don't wear powder, I see. No more will Beatrice; though many people

  think her curls would look all the better for powder. She has so much hair,

  hasn't she? Our last maid dressed it much better than this; but, do you know,

  she wore Beatrice's stockings before they went to the wash, and we couldn't keep

  her after that, could we?'

  Caterina, accepting the question as a mere bit of rhetorical effect, thought it

  superfluous to reply, till Lady Assher repeated, 'Could we, now?' as if Tina's

  sanction were essential to her repose of mind. After a faint 'No', she went on.

  'Maids are so very troublesome, and Beatrice is so particular, you can't

  imagine. I often say to her, "My dear, you can't have perfection." That very

  gown she has on�to be sure, it
fits her beautifully now�but it has been unmade

  and made up again twice. But she is like poor Sir John�he was so very particular

  about his own things, was Sir John. Is Lady Cheverel particular?'

  'Rather. But Mrs Sharp has been her maid twenty years.'

  'I wish there was any chance of our keeping Griffin twenty years. But I am

  afraid we shall have to part with her because her health is so delicate; and she

  is so obstinate, she will not take bitters as I want her. You look delicate,

  now. Let me recommend you to take camomile tea in a morning, fasting. Beatrice

  is so strong and healthy, she never takes any medicine; but if I had had twenty

  girls, and they had been delicate, I should have given them all camomile tea. It

  strengthens the constitution beyond anything. Now, will you promise me to take

  camomile tea?'

  'Thank you: I'm not at all ill,' said Caterina. 'I've always been pale and

  thin.'

  Lady Assher was sure camomile tea would make all the difference in the

  world�Caterina must see if it wouldn't�and then went dribbling on like a leaky

  shower-bath, until the early entrance of the gentleman created a diversion, and

  she fastened on Sir Christopher, who probably began to think that, for poetical

  purposes, it would be better not to meet one's first love again, after a lapse

  of forty years.

  Captain Wybrow, of course, joined his aunt and Miss Assher, and Mr Gilfil tried

  to relieve Caterina from the awkwardness of sitting aloof and dumb, by telling

  her how a friend of his had broken his arm and staked his horse that morning,

  not at all appearing to heed that she hardly listened, and was looking towards

  the other side of the room. One of the tortures of jealousy is, that it can

  never turn its eyes away from the thing that pains it.

  'By-and-by every one felt the need of a relief from chit-chat � Sir Christopher

  perhaps the most of all�and it was he who made the acceptable proposition�

  'Come, Tina, are we to have no music to-night before we sit down to cards? Your

  ladyship plays at cards, I think?' he added, recollecting himself, and turning

  to Lady Assher.

  'O yes! Poor dear Sir John would have a whist-table every night.'

  Caterina sat down to the harpsichord at once, and had no sooner begun to sing

  than she perceived with delight that Captain Wybrow was gliding towards the

  harpsichord, and soon standing in the old place. This consciousness gave fresh

  strength to her voice; and when she noticed that Miss Assher presently followed

  him with that air of ostentatious admiration which belongs to the absence of

  real enjoyment, her closing bravura was none the worse for being animated by a

  little triumphant contempt.

  'Why, you are in better voice than ever, Caterina,' said Captain Wybrow, when

  she had ended. 'This is rather different from Miss Hibbert's small piping that

  we used to be glad of at Farleigh, is it not, Beatrice?'

  'Indeed it is. You are a most enviable creature, Miss Sarti � Caterina�may I not

  call you Caterina? for I have heard Anthony speak of you so often, I seem to

  know you quite well. You will let me call you Caterina?'

  'O yes, every one calls me Caterina, only when they call me Tina.'

  'Come, come, more singing, more singing, little monkey,' Sir Christopher called

  out from the other side of the room. 'We have not had half enough yet.'

  Caterina was ready enough to obey, for while she was singing she was queen of

  the room, and Miss Assher was reduced to grimacing admiration. Alas! you see

  what jealousy was doing in this poor young soul. Caterina, who had passed her

  life as a little unobtrusive singing-bird, nestling so fondly under the wings

  that were outstretched for her, her heart beating only to the peaceful rhythm of

  love, or fluttering with some easily stifled fear, had begun to know the fierce

  palpitations of triumph and hatred.

  When the singing was over, Sir Christopher and Lady Cheverel sat down to whist

  with Lady Assher and Mr Gilfil, and Caterina placed herself at the Baronet's