by George Eliot
emeralds set in the bushy hedgerows; the tawny-tipped corn begins to bow with
the weight of the full ear; the reapers are bending amongst it, and it soon
stands in sheaves; then, presently, the patches of yellow stubble lie side by
side with streaks of dark red earth, which the plough is turning up in
preparation for the new-thrashed seed. And this passage from beauty to beauty,
which to the happy is like the flow of a melody, measures for many a human heart
the approach of foreseen anguish�seems hurrying on the moment when the shadow of
dread will be followed up by the reality of despair.
How cruelly hasty that summer of 1788 seemed to Caterina! Surely the roses
vanished earlier, and the berries on the mountain-ash were more impatient to
redden, and bring on the autumn, when she would be face to face with her misery,
and witness Anthony giving all his gentle tones, tender words, and soft looks to
another.
Before the end of July, Captain Wybrow had written word that Lady Assher and her
daughter were about to fly from the heat and gaiety of Bath to the shady quiet
of their place at Farleigh, and that he was invited to join the party there. His
letters implied that he was on an excellent footing with both the ladies, and
gave no hint of a rival; so that Sir Christopher was more than usually bright
and cheerful after reading them. At length, towards the close of August, came
the announcement that Captain Wybrow was an accepted lover, and after much
complimentary and congratulatory correspondence between the two families, it was
understood that in September Lady Assher and her daughter would pay a visit to
Cheverel Manor, when Beatrice would make the acquaintance of her future
relatives, and all needful arrangements could be discussed. Captain Wybrow would
remain at Farleigh till then, and accompany the ladies on their journey.
In the interval, every one at Cheverel Manor had something to do by way of
preparing for the visitors. Sir Christopher was occupied in consultations with
his steward and lawyer, and in giving orders to every one else, especially in
spurring on Francesco to finish the saloon. Mr Gilfil had the responsibility of
procuring a lady's horse, Miss Assher being a great rider. Lady Cheverel had
unwonted calls to make and invitations to deliver. Mr Bates's turf, and gravel,
and flower-beds were always at such a point of neatness and finish that nothing
extraordinary could be done in the garden, except a little extraordinary
scolding of the under-gardener, and this addition Mr Bates did not neglect.
Happily for Caterina, she too had her task, to fill up the long dreary day-time:
it was to finish a chair cushion which would complete the set of embroidered
covers for the drawing-room, Lady Cheverel's year-long work, and the only
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 day-time 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 difficult 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's 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 whi
ch 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 behind 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
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 to-morrow, 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 comomile 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 gentlemen created a diversion, and
