Kitabı oku: «The Clever Woman of the Family», sayfa 11
If she had done it on purpose, she could not have better freshly riveted his chains. That pensive simplicity, with the smile of heartfelt satisfaction at giving pleasure to anybody, were more and more engaging as her spirits recovered their tone, and the most unsatisfactory consideration which Rachel carried away that evening was that Alexander Keith being really somewhat the senior, if the improvement in Fanny’s spirits were really owing to his presence, the objection on the score of age would not hold. But, thought Rachel, Colonel Keith being her own, what united power they should have over Fanny. Pooh! she had by no means resigned herself to have him, though for Fanny’s sake it might be well, and was there not a foolish prejudice in favour of married women, that impeded the usefulness of single ones? However, if the stiff, dry old man approved of her for her fortune’s sake, that would be quite reason enough for repugnance.
The stiff old man was the pink of courtesy, and paid his respects in due order to his brother’s friends the next day, Colin attending in his old aide-de-camp fashion. It was curious to see them together. The old peer was not at all ungracious to his brother; indeed, Colin had been agreeably surprised by an amount of warmth and brotherliness that he had never experienced from him before, as if old age had brought a disposition to cling to the remnant of the once inconveniently large family, and make much of the last survivor, formerly an undesirable youngest favourite, looked on with jealous eyes and thwarted and retaliated on for former petting, as soon as the reins of government fell from the hands of the aged father. Now, the elder brother was kind almost to patronizing, though evidently persuaded that Colin was a gay careless youth, with no harm in him, but needing to be looked after; and as to the Cape, India, and Australia being a larger portion of the world than Gowanbrae, Edinburgh, and London, his lordship would be incredulous to the day of his death.
He paid his formal and gracious visits at Myrtlewood and the Homestead, and then supposed that his brother would wish him to call upon “these unfortunate ladies.” Colin certainly would have been vexed if he had openly slighted them; but Alison, whom the brothers overtook on their way into Mackarel Lane, did not think the colonel looked in the most felicitous frame of mind, and thought the most charitable construction might be that he shared her wishes that she could be a few minutes in advance; to secure that neither Rose’s sports nor Colinette’s toilette were very prominent.
All was right, however; Ermine’s taste for the fitness of things had trained Rose into keeping the little parlour never in stiff array, but also never in a state to be ashamed of, and she herself was sitting in the shade in the garden, whither, after the first introduction, Colin and Rose brought seats; and the call, on the whole, went off extremely well. Ermine naver let any one be condescending to her, and conducted the conversation with her usual graceful good breeding, while the colonel, with Rose on his knee, half talked to the child, half listened and watched.
As soon as he had deposited his brother at the hotel, he came back again, and in answer to Ermine’s “Well,” he demanded, “What she thought of his brother, and if he were what she expected?”
“Very much, only older and feebler. And did he communicate his views of Mackarel Lane? I saw him regarding, me as a species of mermaid or syren, evidently thinking it a great shame that I have not a burnt face. If he had only known about Rose!”
“The worst of it is that he wants me to go home with him, and I am afraid I must do so, for now that he and I are the last in the entail, there is an opportunity of making an arrangement about the property, for which he is very anxious.”
“Well, you know, I have long thought it would be very good for you.”
“And when I am there I shall have to visit every one in the family;” and he looked into her eyes to see if she would let them show concern, but she kept up their brave sparkle as she still said, “You know you ought.”
“Then you deliver me up to Keith’s tender mercies till—”
“Till you have done your duty—and forgiven him.”
“Remember, Ermine, I can’t spend a winter in Scotland. A cold always makes the ball remind me of its presence in my chest, and I was told that if I spent a winter at home, it must be on the Devonshire coast.”
“That ball is sufficient justification for ourselves, I allow,” she said, that one little word our making up for all that had gone before.
“And meantime you will write to me—about Rose’s education.”
“To be sure, or what would be the use of growing old?”
Alison felt savage all through this interview. That perfect understanding and the playful fiction about waiting for Rose left him a great deal too free. Ermine might almost be supposed to want to get rid of him, and even when he took leave she only remained for a few minutes leaning her cheek on her hand, and scarcely indulged in a sigh before asking to be wheeled into the house again, nor would she make any remark, save “It has been too bright a summer to last for ever. It would be very wrong to wish him to stay dangling here. Let what will happen, he is himself.”
It sounded far too like a deliberate resignation of him, and persuasion that if he went he would not return to be all he had been. However, the departure was not immediate, Lord Keith had taken a fancy to the place and scenery, and wished to see all the lions of the neighbourhood, so that there were various expeditions in the carriages or on horseback, in which he displayed his grand courtesy to Lady Temple, and Rachel enjoyed the colonel’s conversation, and would have enjoyed it still more if she had not been tracing a meaning in every attention that he paid her, and considering whether she was committing herself by receiving it. She was glad he was going away that she might have time to face the subject, and make up her mind, for she was convinced that the object of his journey was to make himself certain of his prospects. When he said that he should return for the winter, and that he had too much to leave at Avonmouth to stay long away from it, there must be a meaning in his words.
Ermine had one more visit from Lord Keith, and this time he came alone. He was in his most gracious and courteous mood, and sat talking of indifferent things for some time, of his aunt Lady Alison, and of Beauchamp in the old time, so that Ermine enjoyed the renewal of old associations and names belonging to a world unlike her present one. Then he came to Colin, his looks and his health, and his own desire to see him quit the army.
Ermine assented to his health being hardly fit for the army, and restrained the rising indignation as she recollected what a difference the best surgical advice might have made ten years ago.
And then, Lord Keith said, a man could hardly be expected to settle down without marrying. He wished earnestly to see his brother married, but, unfortunately, charges on his estate would prevent him from doing anything for him; and, in fact, he did not see any possibility of his—of his marrying, except a person with some means.
“I understand,” said Ermine, looking straight before her, and her colour mounting.
“I was sure that a person of your great good sense would do so,” said Lord Keith. “I assure you no one can be more sensible than myself of the extreme forbearance, discretion, and regard for my brother’s true welfare that has been shown here.”
Ermine bowed. He did not know that the vivid carmine that made her look so handsome was not caused by gratification at his praise, but by the struggle to brook it patiently.
“And now, knowing the influence over him that, most deservedly, you must always possess, I am induced to hope that, as his sincere friend, you will exert it in favour of the more prudent counsels.”
“I have no influence over his judgment,” said Ermine, a little proudly.
“I mean,” said Lord Keith, forced to much closer quarters, “you will excuse me for speaking thus openly—that in the state of the case, with so much depending on his making a satisfactory choice, I feel convinced, with every regret, that you will feel it to be for his true welfare—as indeed I infer that you have already endeavoured to show him—to make a new beginning, and to look on the past as past.”
There was something in the insinuating tone of this speech, increased as it was by the modulation of his Scottish voice, that irritated his hearer unspeakably, all the more because it was the very thing she had been doing.
“Colonel Keith must judge for himself,” she said, with a cold manner, but a burning heart.
“I—I understand,” said Lord Keith, “that you had most honourably, most consistently, made him aware that—that what once might have been desirable has unhappily become impossible.”
“Well,” said Ermine.
“And thus,” he proceeded, “that the sincere friendship with which you still regard him would prevent any encouragement to continue an attachment, unhappily now hopeless and obstructive to his prospects.”
Ermine’s eyes flashed at the dictation. “Lord Keith,” she said, “I have never sought your brother’s visits nor striven to prolong them; but if he finds pleasure in them after a life of disappointment and trouble, I cannot refuse nor discourage them.”
“I am aware,” said Lord Keith, rising as if to go, “that I have trespassed long on your time, and made a suggestion only warranted by the generosity with which you have hitherto acted.”
“One may be generous of one’s own, not of other people’s,” said Ermine.
He looked at her puzzled, then said, “Perhaps it will be best to speak categorically, Miss Williams. Let it be distinctly understood that my brother Colin, in paying his addresses to you, is necessarily without my sanction or future assistance.”
“It might not be necessary, my lord. Good morning;” and her courteous bow was an absolute dismissal.
But when Alison came home she found her more depressed than she had allowed herself to be for years, and on asking what was the matter was answered—
“Pride and perverseness, Ailie!” then, in reply to the eager exclamation, “I believe he was justified in all he said. But, Ailie, I have preached to Colin more than I had a right to do about forgiving his brother. I did not know how provoking he can be. I did not think it was still in me to fly out as I did!”
“He had no business to come here interfering and tormenting you,” said Alison, hotly.
“I dare say he thought he had! But one could not think of that when it came to threatening me with his giving no help to Colin if—There was no resisting telling him how little we cared!”
“You have not offended him so that he will keep Colin away!”
“The more he tried, the more Colin would come! No, I am not sorry for having offended him. I don’t mind him; but Ailie, how little one knows! All the angry and bitter feelings that I thought burnt out for ever when I lay waiting for death, are stirred up as hotly as they were long ago. The old self is here as strong as ever! Ailie, don’t tell Colin about this; but to-morrow is a saint’s day, and would you see Mr. Touchett, and try to arrange for me to go to the early service? I think then I might better be helped to conquer this.”
“But, Ermine, how can you? Eight o’clock, you know.”
“Yes, dearest, it will give you a great deal of trouble, but you never mind that, you know; and I am so much stronger than I used to be, that you need not fear. Besides, I want help so much! And it is the day Colin goes away!”
Alison obeyed, as she always obeyed her sister; and Lord Keith, taking his constitutional turn before breakfast on the esplanade, was met by what he so little expected to encounter that he had not time to get out of the way—a Bath chair with Alison walking on one side, his brother on the other. He bowed coldly, but Ermine held out her hand, and he was obliged to come near.
“I am glad to have met you,” she said.
“I am glad to see you out so early,” he answered, confused.
“This is an exception,” she said, smiling and really looking beautiful. “Good-bye, I have thought over what passed yesterday, and I believe we are more agreed than perhaps I gave you reason to think.”
There was a queenly air of dignified exchange of pardon in her manner of giving her hand and bending her head as she again said “Good-bye,” and signed to her driver to move on.
Lord Keith could only say “Good-bye;” then, looking after her, muttered, “After all, that is a remarkable woman.”
CHAPTER VIII. WOMAN’S MISSION DISCOVERED
“But O unseen for three long years,
Dear was the garb of mountaineers
To the fair maid of Lorn.”
—LORD OF THE ISLES.
“Only nerves,” said Alison Williams, whenever she was pushed hard as to why her sister continued unwell, and her own looks betrayed an anxiety that her words would not confess. Rachel, after a visit on the first day, was of the same opinion, and prescribed globules and enlivenment; but after a personal administration of the latter in the shape of a discussion of Lord Keith, she never called in the morning without hearing that Miss Williams was not up, nor in the afternoon without Alison’s meeting her, and being very sorry, but really she thought it better for her sister to be quite quiet.
In fact, Alison was not seriously uneasy about Ermine’s health, for these nervous attacks were not without precedent, as the revenge for all excitement of the sensitive mind upon the much-tried constitution. The reaction must pass off in time, and calm and patience would assist in restoring her; but the interview with Lord Keith had been a revelation to her that her affection was not the calm, chastened, mortified, almost dead thing of the past that she had tried to believe it; but a young, living, active feeling, as vivid, and as little able to brook interference as when the first harsh letter from Gowanbrae had fallen like a thunderbolt on the bright hopes of youth. She looked back at some verses that she had written, when first perceiving that life was to be her portion, where her own intended feelings were ascribed to a maiden who had taken the veil, believing her crusader slain, but who saw him return and lead a recluse life, with the light in her cell for his guiding star. She smiled sadly to find how far the imaginings of four and twenty transcended the powers of four and thirty; and how the heart that had deemed itself able to resign was chafed at the appearance of compulsion. She felt that the right was the same as ever; but it was an increased struggle to maintain the resolute abstinence from all that could bind Colin to her, at the moment when he was most likely to be detached, and it was a struggle rendered the more trying by the monotony of a life, scarcely varied except by the brainwork, which she was often obliged to relinquish.
Nothing, however, here assisted her so much as Lady Temple’s new pony carriage which, by Fanny’s desire, had been built low enough to permit of her being easily lifted into it. Inert, and almost afraid of change, Ermine was hard to persuade, but Alison, guessing at the benefit, was against her, and Fanny’s wistful eyes and caressing voice were not to be gainsaid; so she suffered herself to be placed on the broad easy seat, and driven about the lanes, enjoying most intensely the new scenes, the peeps of sea, the distant moors, the cottages with their glowing orchards, the sloping harvest fields, the variety that was an absolute healing to the worn spirits, and moreover, that quiet conversation with Lady Temple, often about the boys, but more often about Colonel Keith.
Not only Ermine, but other inhabitants of Avonmouth found the world more flat in his absence. Rachel’s interest was lessened in her readings after she had lost the pleasure of discussion, and she asked herself many times whether the tedium were indeed from love, or if it were simply from the absence of an agreeable companion. “I will try myself,” she said to herself, “if I am heartily interested in my occupations by the end of the next week, then I shall believe myself my own woman!”
But in going back to her occupations, she was more than ordinarily sensible of their unsatisfactoriness. One change had come over her in the last few months. She did not so much long for a wider field, as for power to do the few things within her reach more thoroughly. Her late discussions had, as it were, opened a second eye, that saw two sides of questions that she had hitherto thought had only one, and she was restless and undecided between them, longing for some impulse from within or without, and hoping, for her own dignity and consistency’s sake, that it was not only Colonel Keith’s presence which had rendered this summer the richest in her life.
A test was coming for her, she thought, in the person of Miss Keith. Judging by the brother, Rachel expected a tall fair dreamy blonde, requiring to be taught a true appreciation of life and its duties, and whether the training of this young girl would again afford her food for eagerness and energy, would, as she said to herself, show whether her affections were still her own. Moreover, there was the great duty of deciding whether the brother were worthy of Fanny!
It chanced to be convenient that Rachel should go to Avoncester on the day of the arrival, and call at the station for the traveller. She recollected how, five months previously, she had there greeted Fanny, and had seen the bearded apparition since regarded, with so much jealousy, and now with such a strangely mixed feeling. This being a far more indifferent errand, she did not go on the platform, but sat in the carriage reading the report of the Social Science Congress, until the travellers began to emerge, and Captain Keith (for he had had his promotion) came up to her with a young lady who looked by no means like his sister. She was somewhat tall, and in that matter alone realized Rachel’s anticipations, for she was black-eyed, and her dark hair was crepe and turned back from a face of the plump contour, and slightly rosy complexion that suggested the patches of the last century; as indeed Nature herself seemed to have thought when planting near the corner of the mouth a little brown mole, that added somehow to the piquancy of the face, not exactly pretty, but decidedly attractive under the little round hat, and in the point device, though simple and plainly coloured travelling dress.
“Will you allow me a seat?” asked Captain Keith, when he had disposed of his sister’s goods; and on Rachel’s assent, he placed himself on the back seat in his lazy manner.
“If you were good for anything, you would sit outside and smoke,” said his sister.
“If privacy is required for swearing an eternal friendship, I can go to sleep instead,” he returned, closing his eyes.
“Quite the reverse,” quoth Bessie Keith; “he has prepared me to hate you all, Miss Curtis.”
“On the mutual aversion principle,” murmured the brother.
“Don’t you flatter yourself! Have you found out, Miss Curtis, that it is the property of this species always to go by contraries?”
“To Miss Curtis I always appear in the meekest state of assent,” said Alick.
“Then I would not be Miss Curtis. How horribly you must differ!”
Rachel was absolutely silenced by this cross fire; something so unlike the small talk of her experience, that her mind could hardly propel itself into velocity enough to follow the rapid encounter of wits. However, having stirred up her lightest troops into marching order, she said, in a puzzled, doubtful way, “How has he prepared you to hate us?—By praising us?”
“Oh, no; that would have been too much on the surface. He knew the effect of that,” looking in his sleepy eyes for a twinkle of response. “No; his very reserve said, I am going to take her to ground too transcendent for her to walk on, but if I say one word, I shall never get her there at all. It was a deep refinement, you see, and he really meant it, but I was deeper,” and she shook her head at him.
“You are always trying which can go deepest?” said Rachel.
“It is a sweet fraternal sport,” returned Alick.
“Have you no brother?” asked Bessie.
“No.”
“Then you don’t know what detestable creatures they are,” but she looked so lovingly and saucily at her big brother, that Rachel, spite of herself, was absolutely fascinated by this novel form of endearment. An answer was spared her by Miss Keith’s rapture at the sight of some soldiers in the uniform of her father’s old regiment.
“Have a care, Bessie; Miss Curtis will despise you,” said her brother.
“Why should you think so?” exclaimed Rachel, not desirous of putting on a forbidding aspect to this bright creature.
“Have I not been withered by your scorn!”
“I—I—” Rachel was going to say something of her change of opinion with regard to military society, but a sudden consciousness set her cheeks in a flame and checked her tongue; while Bessie Keith, with ease and readiness, filled up the blank.
“What, Alick, you have brought the service into disrepute! I am ashamed of you!”
“Oh, no!” said Rachel, in spite of her intolerable blushes, feeling the necessity of delivering her confession, like a cannon-ball among skirmishers; “only we had been used to regard officers as necessarily empty and frivolous, and our recent experience has—has been otherwise.” Her period altogether failed her.
“There, Alick, is that the effect of your weight of wisdom? I shall be more impressed with it than ever. It has redeemed the character of your profession. Captain Keith and the army.”
“I am afraid I cannot flatter myself,” said Alick; and a sort of reflection of Rachel’s burning colour seemed to have lighted on his cheek, “its reputation has been in better hands.”
“O Colonel Colin! Depend upon it, he is not half as sage as you, Alick. Why, he is a dozen years older!—What, don’t you know, Miss Curtis, that the older people grow the less sage they get?”
“I hope not,” said Rachel.
“Do you! A contrary persuasion sustains me when I see people obnoxiously sage to their fellow-creatures.”
“Obnoxious sageness in youth is the token that there is stuff behind,” said Alick, with eagerness that set his sister laughing at him for fitting on the cap; but Rachel had a sort of odd dreamy perception that Bessie Keith had unconsciously described her (Rachel’s) own aspect, and that Alick was defending her, and she was silent and confused, and rather surprised at the assumption of the character by one who she thought could never even exert himself to be obnoxious. He evidently did not wish to dwell on the subject, but began to inquire after Avonmouth matters, and Rachel in return asked for Mr. Clare.
“Very well,” was the answer; “unfailing in spirits, every one agreed that he was the youngest man at the wedding.”
“Having outgrown his obnoxious sageness,” said Bessie.
“There is nothing he is so adroit at as guessing the fate of a croquet-ball by its sound.”
“Now Bessie,” exclaimed Alick.
“I have not transgressed, have I?” asked Bessie; and in the exclamations that followed, she said, “You see what want of confidence is. This brother of mine no sooner saw you in the carriage than he laid his commands on me not to ask after your croquet-ground all the way home, and the poor word cannot come out of my mouth without—”
“I only told you not to bore Miss Curtis with the eternal subject, as she would think you had no more brains than one of your mallets,” he said, somewhat energetically.
“And if we had begun to talk croquet, we should soon have driven him outside.”
“But suppose I could not talk it,” said Rachel, “and that we have no ground for it.”
“Why, then,”—and she affected to turn up her eyes,—“I can only aver that the coincidence of sentiments is no doubt the work of destiny.”
“Bessie!” exclaimed her brother.
“Poor old fellow! you had excuse enough, lying on the sofa to the tune of tap and click; but for a young lady in the advanced ranks of civilization to abstain is a mere marvel.”
“Surely it is a great waste of time,” said Rachel.
“Ah! when I have converted you, you will wonder what people did with themselves before the invention.”
“Woman’s mission discovered,” quoth her brother.
“Also man’s, unless he neglects it,” returned Miss Elizabeth; “I wonder, now, if you would play if Miss Curtis did.”
“Wisdom never pledges itself how it will act in hypothetical circumstances,” was the reply.
“Hypothetical,” syllabically repeated Bessie Keith; “did you teach him that word, Miss Curtis? Well, if I don’t bring about the hypothetical circumstances, you may call me hyperbolical.”
So they talked, Rachel in a state of bewilderment, whether she were teased or enchanted, and Alexander Keith’s quiet nonchalance not concealing that he was in some anxiety at his sister’s reckless talk, but, perhaps, he hardly estimated the effect of the gay, quaint manner that took all hearts by storm, and gave a frank careless grace to her nonsense. She grew graver and softer as she came nearer Avonmouth, and spoke tenderly of the kindness she had received at the time of her mother’s death at the Cape, when she had been brought to the general’s, and had there remained like a child of the house, till she had been sent home on the removal of the regiment to India.
“I remember,” she said, “Mrs. Curtis kept great order. In fact, between ourselves, she was rather a dragon; and Lady Temple, though she had one child then, seemed like my companion and playfellow. Dear little Lady Temple, I wonder if she is altered!”
“Not in the least,” returned both her companions at once, and she was quite ready to agree with them when the slender form and fair young face met her in the hall amid a cloud of eager boys. The meeting was a full renewal of the parting, warm and fond, and Bessie so comported herself on her introduction to the children, that they all became enamoured of her on the spot, and even Stephana relaxed her shyness on her behalf. That sunny gay good-nature could not be withstood, and Rachel, again sharing Fanny’s first dinner after an arrival, no longer sat apart despising the military atmosphere, but listening, not without amusement, to the account of the humours of the wedding, mingled with Alick Keith’s touches of satire.
“It was very stupid,” said Bessie, “of none of those girls to have Uncle George to marry them. My aunt fancied he would be nervous, but I know he did marry a couple when Mr. Lifford was away; I mean him to marry me, as I told them all.”
“You had better wait till you know whether he will,” observed Alick.
“Will? Oh, he is always pleased to feel he can do like other people,” returned Bessie, “and I’ll undertake to see that he puts the ring on the right—I mean the left finger. Because you’ll have to give me away, you know, Alick, so you can look after him.”
“You seem to have arranged the programme pretty thoroughly,” said Rachel.
“After four weddings at home, one can’t but lay by a little experience for the future,” returned Bessie; “and after all, Alick need not look as if it must be for oneself. He is quite welcome to profit by it, if he has the good taste to want my uncle to marry him.”
“Not unless I were very clear that he liked my choice,” said Alick, gravely.
“Oh, dear! Have you any doubts, or is that meant for a cut at poor innocent me, as if I could help people’s folly, or as if he was not gone to Rio Janeiro,” exclaimed Bessie, with a sort of meek simplicity and unconsciousness that totally removed all the unsatisfactoriness of the speech, and made even her brother smile while he looked annoyed; and Lady Temple quietly changed the conversation. Alick Keith was obliged to go away early, and the three ladies sat long in the garden outside the window, in the summer twilight, much relishing the frank-hearted way in which this engaging girl talked of herself and her difficulties to Fanny as to an old friend, and to Rachel as belonging to Fanny.
“I am afraid that I was very naughty,” she said, with a hand laid on Lady Temple’s, as if to win pardon; “but I never can resist plaguing that dear anxious brother of mine, and he did so dreadfully take to heart the absurdities of that little Charlie Carleton, as if any one with brains could think him good for anything but a croquet partner, that I could not help giving a little gentle titillation. I saw you did not like it, dear Lady Temple, and I am sorry for it.”
“I hope I did not vex you,” said Fanny, afraid of having been severe.
“Oh, no, indeed; a little check just makes one feel one is cared for,” and they kissed affectionately: “you see when one has a very wise brother, plaguing him is irresistible. How little Stephana will plague hers, in self-defence, with so many to keep her in order.”
“They all spoil her.”
“Ah, this is the golden age. See what it will be when they think themselves responsible for her! Dear Lady Temple, how could you send him home so old and so grave?”
“I am afraid we sent him home very ill. I never expected to see him so perfectly recovered. I could hardly believe my eyes when Colonel Keith brought him to the carriage not in the least lame.”
“Yes; and it was half against his will. He would have been almost glad to be a lay curate to Uncle George, only he knew if he was fit for service my father would have been vexed at his giving up his profession.”
“Then it was not his choice!” said Rachel.
“Oh, he was born a soldier, like all the rest of us, couldn’t help it. The —th is our home, and if he would only take my hint and marry, I could be with him there, now! Lady Temple, do pray send for all the eligible officers—I don’t know any of them now, except the two majors, and Alick suspects my designs, I believe, for he won’t tell me anything about them.”
“My dear!” said Fanny, bewildered, “how you talk; you know we are living a very quiet life here.”
“Oh, yes, so Alick has told me,” she said, with a pretty compunction in her tone; “you must be patient with me,” and she kissed Fanny’s fingers again and spoke in a gentler way. “I am used to be a great chatter-box, and nobody protested but Alick.”
