CHAPTER XVI.
THE BRIDE AT HOME.
Among the "county people" (as Mrs. Gibson termed them) who calledupon her as a bride, were the two young Mr. Hamleys. The Squire,their father, had done his congratulations, as far as he everintended to do them, to Mr. Gibson himself when he came to the hall;but Mrs. Hamley, unable to go and pay visits herself, anxious to showattention to her kind doctor's new wife, and with perhaps a littlesympathetic curiosity as to how Molly and her stepmother got ontogether, made her sons ride over to Hollingford with her cards andapologies. They came into the newly-furnished drawing-room, lookingbright and fresh from their ride: Osborne first, as usual, perfectlydressed for the occasion, and with the sort of fine manner whichsate so well upon him; Roger, looking like a strong-built, cheerful,intelligent country farmer, followed in his brother's train. Mrs.Gibson was dressed for receiving callers, and made the effect shealways intended to produce, of a very pretty woman, no longer infirst youth, but with such soft manners and such a caressing voice,that people forgot to wonder what her real age might be. Molly wasbetter dressed than formerly; her stepmother saw after that. Shedisliked anything old or shabby, or out of taste about her; it hurther eye; and she had already fidgeted Molly into a new amount of careabout the manner in which she put on her clothes, arranged her hair,and was gloved and shod. Mrs. Gibson had tried to put her through acourse of rosemary washes and creams in order to improve her tannedcomplexion but about that Molly was either forgetful or rebellious,and Mrs. Gibson could not well come up to the girl's bedroom everynight and see that she daubed her face and neck over with thecosmetics so carefully provided for her. Still her appearance wasextremely improved, even to Osborne's critical eye. Roger soughtrather to discover in her looks and expression whether she was happyor not; his mother had especially charged him to note all thesesigns.
Osborne and Mrs. Gibson made themselves agreeable to each otheraccording to the approved fashion when a young man calls on amiddle-aged bride. They talked of the "Shakspeare and musicalglasses" of the day, each vieing with the other in their knowledgeof London topics. Molly heard fragments of their conversation in thepauses of silence between Roger and herself. Her hero was comingout in quite a new character; no longer literary or poetical, orromantic, or critical, he was now full of the last new play, thesingers at the opera. He had the advantage over Mrs. Gibson, who, infact, only spoke of these things from hearsay, from listening to thetalk at the Towers, while Osborne had run up from Cambridge two orthree times to hear this, or to see that wonder of the season. Butshe had the advantage over him in greater boldness of invention toeke out her facts; and besides she had more skill in the choice andarrangement of her words, so as to make it appear as if the opinionsthat were in reality quotations, were formed by herself from actualexperience or personal observation such as, in speaking of themannerisms of a famous Italian singer, she would ask,--
SHAKSPEARE AND THE MUSICAL GLASSES.]
"Did you observe her constant trick of heaving her shoulders andclasping her hands together before she took a high note?"--which wasso said as to imply that Mrs. Gibson herself had noticed this trick.Molly, who had a pretty good idea by this time of how her stepmotherhad passed the last year of her life, listened with no smallbewilderment to this conversation but at length decided that shemust misunderstand what they were saying, as she could not gather upthe missing links for the necessity of replying to Roger's questionsand remarks. Osborne was not the same Osborne he was when with hismother at the Hall.
Roger saw Molly glancing at his brother.
"You think my brother looking ill?" said he, lowering his voice.
"No--not exactly."
"He is not well. Both my father and I are anxious about him.That run on the Continent did him harm, instead of good; and hisdisappointment at his examination has told upon him, I'm afraid."
"I was not thinking he looked ill; only changed somehow."
"He says he must go back to Cambridge soon. Possibly it may do himgood; and I shall be off next week. This is a farewell visit to you,as well as one of congratulation to Mrs. Gibson."
"Your mother will feel your both going away, won't she? But of courseyoung men will always have to live away from home."
"Yes," he replied. "Still she feels it a good deal; and I'm notsatisfied about her health either. You will go out and see hersometimes, will you? she is very fond of you."
"If I may," said Molly, unconsciously glancing at her stepmother. Shehad an uncomfortable instinct that, in spite of Mrs. Gibson's ownperpetual flow of words, she could, and did, hear everything thatfell from Molly's lips.
"Do you want any more books?" said he. "If you do, make a list out,and send it to my mother before I leave, next Tuesday. After I amgone, there will be no one to go into the library and pick them out."
As soon as they had left, Mrs. Gibson began her usual comments on thedeparted visitors.
"I do like that Osborne Hamley! What a nice fellow he is! Somehow,I always do like eldest sons. He will have the estate, won't he? Ishall ask your dear papa to encourage him to come about the house. Hewill be a very good, very pleasant acquaintance for you and Cynthia.The other is but a loutish young fellow, to my mind; there is noaristocratic bearing about him. I suppose he takes after his mother,who is but a parvenue, I've heard them say at the Towers."
Molly was spiteful enough to have great pleasure in saying,--
"I think I've heard her father was a Russian merchant, and importedtallow and hemp. Mr. Osborne Hamley is extremely like her."
"Indeed! But there's no calculating these things. Anyhow, he is theperfect gentleman in appearance and manner. The estate is entailed,is it not?"
"I know nothing about it," said Molly.
A short silence ensued. Then Mrs. Gibson said,--
"Do you know, I almost think I must get dear papa to give a littledinner-party, and ask Mr. Osborne Hamley? I should like to have himfeel at home in this house. It would be something cheerful for himafter the dulness and solitude of Hamley Hall. For the old peopledon't visit much, I believe?"
"He's going back to Cambridge next week," said Molly.
"Is he? Well, then, we'll put off our little dinner till Cynthiacomes home. I should like to have some young society for her, poordarling, when she returns."
"When is she coming?" said Molly, who had always a longing curiosityfor this same Cynthia's return.
"Oh! I'm not sure; perhaps at the new year--perhaps not till Easter.I must get this drawing-room all new furnished first; and then I meanto fit up her room and yours just alike. They are just the same size,only on opposite sides of the passage."
"Are you going to new-furnish that room?" said Molly, in astonishmentat the never-ending changes.
"Yes; and yours, too, darling; so don't be jealous."
"Oh, please, mamma, not mine," said Molly, taking in the idea for thefirst time.
"Yes, dear! You shall have yours done as well. A little French bed,and a new paper, and a pretty carpet, and a dressed-up toilet-tableand glass, will make it look quite a different place."
"But I don't want it to look different. I like it as it is. Praydon't do anything to it."
"What nonsense, child! I never heard anything more ridiculous!Most girls would be glad to get rid of furniture only fit for thelumber-room."
"It was my own mamma's before she was married," said Molly, in avery low voice; bringing out this last plea unwillingly, but with acertainty that it would not be resisted.
Mrs. Gibson paused for a moment before she replied:
"It's very much to your credit that you should have such feelings,I'm sure. But don't you think sentiment may be carried too far? Why,we should have no new furniture at all, and should have to put upwith worm-eaten horrors. Besides, my dear, Hollingford will seem verydull to Cynthia, after pretty, gay France, and I want to make thefirst impressions attractive. I've a notion I can settle her downnear here; and I want her to come in a good temper; for, betweenourselves, my dear, she is a li
ttle, leetle wilful. You need notmention this to your papa."
"But can't you do Cynthia's room, and not mine? Please let minealone."
"No, indeed! I couldn't agree to that. Only think what would be saidof me by everybody; petting my own child and neglecting my husband's!I couldn't bear it."
"No one need know."
"In such a tittle-tattle place as Hollingford! Really, Molly, you areeither very stupid or very obstinate, or else you don't care whathard things may be said about me: and all for a selfish fancy ofyour own! No! I owe myself the justice of acting in this matter as Iplease. Every one shall know I'm not a common stepmother. Every pennyI spend on Cynthia I shall spend on you too; so it's no use talkingany more about it."
So Molly's little white dimity bed, her old-fashioned chest ofdrawers, and her other cherished relics of her mother's maiden-days,were consigned to the lumber-room; and after a while, when Cynthiaand her great French boxes had come home, the old furniture that hadfilled up the space required for the fresh importation of trunks,disappeared likewise into the same room.
All this time the family at the Towers had been absent; Lady Cumnorhad been ordered to Bath for the early part of the winter, and herfamily were with her there. On dull rainy days, Mrs. Gibson used tobethink her of missing "the Cumnors," for so she had taken to callingthem since her position had become more independent of theirs. Itmarked a distinction between her intimacy in the family, and thereverential manner in which the townspeople were accustomed to speakof "the earl and the countess." Both Lady Cumnor and Lady Harrietwrote to their "dear Clare" from time to time. The former hadgenerally some commissions that she wished to have executed at theTowers, or in the town; and no one could do them so well as Clare,who was acquainted with all the tastes and ways of the countess.These commissions were the cause of various bills for flys and carsfrom the George Inn. Mr. Gibson pointed out this consequence tohis wife; but she, in return, bade him remark that a present ofgame was pretty sure to follow upon the satisfactory execution ofLady Cumnor's wishes. Somehow, Mr. Gibson did not quite like thisconsequence either; but he was silent about it, at any rate. LadyHarriet's letters were short and amusing. She had that sort of regardfor her old governess which prompted her to write from time to time,and to feel glad when the half-voluntary task was accomplished. Sothere was no real outpouring of confidence, but enough news of thefamily and gossip of the place she was in, as she thought wouldmake Clare feel that she was not forgotten by her former pupils,intermixed with moderate but sincere expressions of regard. Howthose letters were quoted and referred to by Mrs. Gibson in herconversations with the Hollingford ladies! She had found out theireffect at Ashcombe; and it was not less at Hollingford. But she wasrather perplexed at kindly messages to Molly, and at inquiries asto how the Miss Brownings liked the tea she had sent; and Mollyhad first to explain, and then to narrate at full length, all theoccurrences of the afternoon at Ashcombe Manor-house, and LadyHarriet's subsequent call upon her at Miss Brownings'.
"What nonsense!" said Mrs. Gibson, with some annoyance. "Lady Harrietonly went to see you out of a desire of amusement. She would onlymake fun of Miss Brownings, and those two will be quoting her andtalking about her, just as if she was their intimate friend."
"I don't think she did make fun of them. She really seemed as if shehad been very kind."
"And you suppose you know her ways better than I do who have knownher these fifteen years? I tell you she turns every one into ridiculewho does not belong to her set. Why, she used always to speak of MissBrownings as 'Pecksy and Flapsy.'"
"She promised me she would not," said Molly driven to bay.
"Promised you!--Lady Harriet? What do you mean?"
"Only--she spoke of them as Pecksy and Flapsy--and when she talked ofcoming to call on me at their house, I asked her not to come if shewas going to--to make fun of them."
"Upon my word! with all my long acquaintance with Lady Harriet, Ishould never have ventured on such impertinence."
"I didn't mean it as impertinence," said Molly sturdily. "And I don'tthink Lady Harriet took it as such."
"You can't know anything about it. She can put on any kind ofmanner."
Just then Squire Hamley came in. It was his first call; and Mrs.Gibson gave him a graceful welcome, and was quite ready to accepthis apology for its tardiness, and to assure him that she quiteunderstood the pressure of business on every land-owner who farmedhis own estate. But no such apology was made. He shook her handheartily, as a mark of congratulation on her good fortune in havingsecured such a prize as his friend Gibson, but said nothing about hislong neglect of duty. Molly, who by this time knew the few strongexpressions of his countenance well, was sure that something was thematter, and that he was very much disturbed. He hardly attended toMrs. Gibson's fluent opening of conversation, for she had alreadydetermined to make a favourable impression on the father of thehandsome young man who was heir to an estate, besides his ownpersonal agreeableness; but he turned to Molly and, addressing her,said--almost in a low voice, as if he was making a confidence to herthat he did not intend Mrs. Gibson to hear,--
"Molly, we are all wrong at home! Osborne has lost the fellowshipat Trinity he went back to try for. Then he has gone and failedmiserably in his degree, after all that he said, and that his mothersaid; and I, like a fool, went and boasted about my clever son. Ican't understand it. I never expected anything extraordinary fromRoger; but Osborne--! And then it has thrown madam into one of herbad fits of illness; and she seems to have a fancy for you, child!Your father came to see her this morning. Poor thing, she's verypoorly, I'm afraid; and she told him how she should like to have youabout her, and he said I might fetch you. You'll come, won't you, mydear? She's not a poor woman, such as many people think it's the onlycharity to be kind to, but she's just as forlorn of woman's care asif she was poor--worse, I daresay."
"I'll be ready in ten minutes," said Molly, much touched by thesquire's words and manner, never thinking of asking her stepmother'sconsent, now that she had heard that her father had given his. As sherose to leave the room, Mrs. Gibson, who had only half heard what theSquire had said, and was a little affronted at the exclusiveness ofhis confidence, said,--"My dear, where are you going?"
"Mrs. Hamley wants me, and papa says I may go," said Molly; andalmost at the same time the Squire replied,--
"My wife is ill, and as she's very fond of your daughter, she beggedMr. Gibson to allow her to come to the Hall for a little while, andhe kindly said she might, and I'm come to fetch her."
"Stop a minute, darling," said Mrs. Gibson to Molly--a slight cloudover her countenance, in spite of her caressing word. "I am sure dearpapa quite forgot that you were to go out with me to-night, to visitpeople," continued she, addressing herself to the Squire, "with whomI am quite unacquainted--and it is very uncertain if Mr. Gibson canreturn in time to accompany me--so, you see, I cannot allow Molly togo with you."
"I shouldn't have thought it would have signified. Brides are alwaysbrides, I suppose; and it's their part to be timid; but I shouldn'thave thought it--in this case. And my wife sets her heart on things,as sick people do. Well, Molly" (in a louder tone, for theseforegoing sentences were spoken _sotto voce_), "we must put it offtill to-morrow: and it's our loss, not yours," he continued, ashe saw the reluctance with which she slowly returned to her place."You'll be as gay as can be to-night, I daresay--"
"No, I shall not," broke in Molly. "I never wanted to go, and now Ishall want it less than ever."
"Hush, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson and, addressing the Squire, sheadded, "The visiting here is not all one could wish for so young agirl--no young people, no dances, nothing of gaiety; but it is wrongin you, Molly, to speak against such kind friends of your father's asI understand these Cockerells are. Don't give so bad an impression ofyourself to the kind Squire."
"Let her alone! let her alone!" quoth he. "I see what she means.She'd rather come and be in my wife's sick-room than go out for thisvisit to-night. Is there no way of getting her off
?"
"None whatever," said Mrs. Gibson. "An engagement is an engagementwith me; and I consider that she is not only engaged to Mrs.Cockerell, but to me--bound to accompany me, in my husband'sabsence."
The Squire was put out; and when he was put out he had a trick ofplacing his hands on his knees and whistling softly to himself. Mollyknew this phase of his displeasure, and only hoped he would confinehimself to this wordless expression of annoyance. It was pretty hardwork for her to keep the tears out of her eyes; and she endeavouredto think of something else, rather than dwell on regrets andannoyances. She heard Mrs. Gibson talking on in a sweet monotone, andwished to attend to what she was saying, but the Squire's visibleannoyance struck sharper on her mind. At length, after a pause ofsilence, he started up, and said,--
"Well! it's no use. Poor madam; she won't like it. She'll bedisappointed! But it's but for one evening!--but for one evening! Shemay come to-morrow, mayn't she? Or will the dissipation of such anevening as she describes, be too much for her?"
There was a touch of savage irony in his manner which frightened Mrs.Gibson into good behaviour.
"She shall be ready at any time you name. I am so sorry: my foolishshyness is in fault, I believe; but still you must acknowledge thatan engagement is an engagement."
"Did I ever say an engagement was an elephant, madam? However,there's no use saying any more about it, or I shall forget mymanners. I'm an old tyrant, and she--lying there in bed, poorgirl--has always given me my own way. So you'll excuse me, Mrs.Gibson, won't you; and let Molly come along with me at ten to-morrowmorning?"
"Certainly," said Mrs. Gibson, smiling. But when his back was turned,she said to Molly,--
"Now, my dear, I must never have you exposing me to the ill-mannersof such a man again! I don't call him a squire; I call him a boor,or a yeoman at best. You must not go on accepting or rejectinginvitations as if you were an independent young lady, Molly. Pay methe respect of a reference to my wishes another time, if you please,my dear!"
"Papa had said I might go," said Molly, choking a little.
"As I am now your mamma, your references must be to me, for thefuture. But as you are to go you may as well look well dressed. Iwill lend you my new shawl for this visit, if you like it, and my setof green ribbons. I am always indulgent when proper respect is paidto me. And in such a house as Hamley Hall, no one can tell who may becoming and going, even if there is sickness in the family."
"Thank you. But I don't want the shawl and the ribbons, please: therewill be nobody there except the family. There never is, I think; andnow that she is so ill"--Molly was on the point of crying at thethought of her friend lying ill and lonely, and looking for herarrival. Moreover, she was sadly afraid lest the Squire had gone offwith the idea that she did not want to come--that she preferred thatstupid, stupid party at the Cockerells'. Mrs. Gibson, too, was sorry;she had an uncomfortable consciousness of having given way to temperbefore a stranger, and a stranger, too, whose good opinion she hadmeant to cultivate; and she was also annoyed at Molly's tearful face.
"What can I do for you, to bring you back into good temper?" shesaid. "First, you insist upon your knowing Lady Harriet better thanI do--I, who have known her for eighteen or nineteen years at least.Then you jump at invitations without ever consulting me, or thinkingof how awkward it would be for me to go stumping into a drawing-roomall by myself; following my new name, too, which always makes me feeluncomfortable, it is such a sad come-down after Kirkpatrick! Andthen, when I offer you some of the prettiest things I have got, yousay it does not signify how you are dressed. What can I do to pleaseyou, Molly? I, who delight in nothing more than peace in a family, tosee you sitting there with despair upon your face?"
Molly could stand it no longer; she went upstairs to her ownroom--her own smart new room, which hardly yet seemed a familiarplace; and began to cry so heartily and for so long a time, that shestopped at length for very weariness. She thought of Mrs. Hamleywearying for her; of the old Hall whose very quietness might becomeoppressive to an ailing person of the trust the Squire had had inher that she would come off directly with him. And all this oppressedher much more than the querulousness of her stepmother's words.