CHAPTER XVII.
TROUBLE AT HAMLEY HALL.
If Molly thought that peace dwelt perpetually at Hamley Hallshe was sorely mistaken. Something was out of tune in the wholeestablishment; and, for a very unusual thing, the common irritationseemed to have produced a common bond. All the servants were old intheir places, and were told by some one of the family, or gathered,from the unheeded conversation carried on before them, everythingthat affected master or mistress or either of the young gentlemen.Any one of them could have told Molly that the grievance which lay atthe root of everything, was the amount of the bills run up by Osborneat Cambridge, and which, now that all chance of his obtaining afellowship was over, came pouring down upon the Squire. But Molly,confident of being told by Mrs. Hamley herself anything which shewished her to hear, encouraged no confidences from any one else.
She was struck with the change in "madam's" look as soon as shecaught sight of her in the darkened room, lying on the sofa in herdressing-room, all dressed in white, which almost rivalled the whitewanness of her face. The Squire ushered Molly in with,--
"Here she is at last!" and Molly had scarcely imagined that he had somuch variety in the tones of his voice--the beginning of the sentencewas spoken in a loud congratulatory manner, while the last wordswere scarcely audible. He had seen the death-like pallor on hiswife's face; not a new sight, and one which had been presented to himgradually enough, but which was now always giving him a fresh shock.It was a lovely tranquil winter's day; every branch and every twigon the trees and shrubs was glittering with drops of the sun-meltedhoar-frost; a robin was perched on a holly-bush, piping cheerily; butthe blinds were down, and out of Mrs. Hamley's windows nothing of allthis was to be seen. There was even a large screen placed betweenher and the wood-fire, to keep off that cheerful blaze. Mrs. Hamleystretched out one hand to Molly, and held hers firm; with the othershe shaded her eyes.
"She is not so well this morning," said the Squire, shaking his head."But never fear, my dear one; here's the doctor's daughter, nearlyas good as the doctor himself. Have you had your medicine? Yourbeef-tea?" he continued, going about on heavy tiptoe and peeping intoevery empty cup and glass. Then he returned to the sofa; looked ather for a minute or two, and then softly kissed her, and told Mollyhe would leave her in charge.
As if Mrs. Hamley was afraid of Molly's remarks or questions, shebegan in her turn a hasty system of interrogatories.
"Now, dear child, tell me all; it's no breach of confidence, for Ishan't mention it again, and I shan't be here long. How does it allgo on--the new mother, the good resolutions? let me help you if Ican. I think with a girl I could have been of use--a mother does notknow boys. But tell me anything you like and will; don't be afraid ofdetails."
Even with Molly's small experience of illness she saw how much ofrestless fever there was in this speech; and instinct, or somesuch gift, prompted her to tell a long story of many things--thewedding-day, her visit to Miss Brownings', the new furniture, LadyHarriet, &c., all in an easy flow of talk which was very soothingto Mrs. Hamley, inasmuch as it gave her something to think aboutbeyond her own immediate sorrows. But Molly did not speak of her owngrievances, nor of the new domestic relationship. Mrs. Hamley noticedthis.
"And you and Mrs. Gibson get on happily together?"
"Not always," said Molly. "You know we didn't know much of each otherbefore we were put to live together."
"I didn't like what the Squire told me last night. He was veryangry."
That sore had not yet healed over; but Molly resolutely kept silence,beating her brains to think of some other subject of conversation.
"Ah! I see, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley; "you won't tell me yoursorrows, and yet, perhaps, I could have done you some good."
"I don't like," said Molly, in a low voice. "I think papa wouldn'tlike it. And, besides, you have helped me so much--you and Mr.Roger Hamley. I often think of the things he said; they come in sousefully, and are such a strength to me."
"Ah, Roger! yes. He is to be trusted. Oh, Molly! I've a great dealto say to you myself, only not now. I must have my medicine and tryto go to sleep. Good girl! You are stronger than I am, and can dowithout sympathy."
Molly was taken to another room; the maid who conducted her to ittold her that Mrs. Hamley had not wished her to have her nightsdisturbed, as they might very probably have been if she had been inher former sleeping-room. In the afternoon Mrs. Hamley sent for her,and with the want of reticence common to invalids, especially tothose suffering from long and depressing maladies, she told Molly ofthe family distress and disappointment.
She made Molly sit down near her on a little stool, and, holding herhand, and looking into her eyes to catch her spoken sympathy fromtheir expression quicker than she could from her words, she said,--
"Osborne has so disappointed us! I cannot understand it yet. And theSquire was so terribly angry! I cannot think how all the money wasspent--advances through money-lenders, besides bills. The Squiredoes not show me how angry he is now, because he's afraid of anotherattack; but I know how angry he is. You see he has been spending everso much money in reclaiming that land at Upton Common, and is veryhard pressed himself. But it would have doubled the value of theestate, and so we never thought anything of economies which wouldbenefit Osborne in the long run. And now the Squire says he mustmortgage some of the land; and you can't think how it cuts him tothe heart. He sold a great deal of timber to send the two boys tocollege. Osborne--oh! what a dear, innocent boy he was: he was theheir, you know; and he was so clever, every one said he was sure ofhonours and a fellowship, and I don't know what all; and he did geta scholarship, and then all went wrong. I don't know how. That isthe worst. Perhaps the Squire wrote too angrily, and that stopped upconfidence. But he might have told me. He would have done, I think,Molly, if he had been here, face to face with me. But the Squire, inhis anger, told him not to show his face at home till he had paid offthe debts he had incurred out of his allowance. Out of two hundredand fifty a year to pay off more than nine hundred, one way oranother! And not to come home till then! Perhaps Roger will havedebts too! He had but two hundred; but, then, he was not the eldestson. The Squire has given orders that the men are to be turned offthe draining-works; and I lie awake thinking of their poor familiesthis wintry weather. But what shall we do? I've never been strong,and, perhaps, I've been extravagant in my habits; and there werefamily traditions as to expenditure, and the reclaiming of this land.Oh! Molly, Osborne was such a sweet little baby, and such a lovingboy: so clever, too! You know I read you some of his poetry: now,could a person who wrote like that do anything very wrong? And yetI'm afraid he has."
"Don't you know, at all, how the money has gone?" asked Molly.
"No! not at all. That's the sting. There are tailors' bills,and bills for book-binding and wine and pictures--those cometo four or five hundred; and though this expenditure isextraordinary--inexplicable to such simple folk as we are--yet itmay be only the luxury of the present day. But the money for whichhe will give no account,--of which, indeed, we only heard throughthe Squire's London agents, who found out that certain disreputableattorneys were making inquiries as to the entail of the estate;--oh!Molly, worse than all--I don't know how to bring myself to tellyou--as to the age and health of the Squire, his dear father"--(shebegan to sob almost hysterically; yet she would go on talking, inspite of Molly's efforts to stop her)--"who held him in his arms, andblessed him, even before I had kissed him; and thought always so muchof him as his heir and first-born darling. How he has loved him! HowI have loved him! I sometimes have thought of late that we've almostdone that good Roger injustice."
"No! I'm sure you've not: only look at the way he loves you. Why, youare his first thought: he may not speak about it, but any one may seeit. And dear, dear Mrs. Hamley," said Molly, determined to say outall that was in her mind now that she had once got the word, "don'tyou think that it would be better not to misjudge Mr. Osborne Hamley?We don't know what he has done with the money: he is so good (is he
not?) that he may have wanted it to relieve some poor person--sometradesman, for instance, pressed by creditors--some--"
"You forget, dear," said Mrs. Hamley, smiling a little at the girl'simpetuous romance, but sighing the next instant, "that all the otherbills come from tradesmen, who complain piteously of being kept outof their money."
Molly was nonplussed for the moment; but then she said,--
"I daresay they imposed upon him. I'm sure I've heard stories ofyoung men being made regular victims of by the shopkeepers in greattowns."
"You're a great darling, child," said Mrs. Hamley, comforted byMolly's strong partisanship, unreasonable and ignorant though it was.
"And, besides," continued Molly, "some one must be acting wrongly inOsborne's--Mr. Osborne Hamley's, I mean--I can't help saying Osbornesometimes, but, indeed, I always think of him as Mr. Osborne--"
"Never mind, Molly, what you call him; only go on talking. Itseems to do me good to hear the hopeful side taken. The Squire hasbeen so hurt and displeased: strange-looking men coming into theneighbourhood, too, questioning the tenants, and grumbling about thelast fall of timber, as if they were calculating on the Squire'sdeath."
"That's just what I was going to speak about. Doesn't it show thatthey are bad men? and would bad men scruple to impose upon him, andto tell lies in his name, and to ruin him?"
"Don't you see, you only make him out weak, instead of wicked?"
"Yes; perhaps I do. But I don't think he is weak. You know yourself,dear Mrs. Hamley, how very clever he really is. Besides, I wouldrather he was weak than wicked. Weak people may find themselves allat once strong in heaven, when they see things quite clearly; but Idon't think the wicked will turn themselves into virtuous people allat once."
"I think I've been very weak, Molly," said Mrs. Hamley, strokingMolly's curls affectionately. "I've made such an idol of my beautifulOsborne; and he turns out to have feet of clay, not strong enough tostand firm on the ground. And that's the best view of his conduct,too!"
What with his anger against his son, and his anxiety about his wife;the difficulty of raising the money immediately required, and hisirritation at the scarce-concealed inquiries made by strangers as tothe value of his property, the poor Squire was in a sad state. Hewas angry and impatient with every one who came near him; and thenwas depressed at his own violent temper and unjust words. The oldservants, who, perhaps, cheated him in many small things, werebeautifully patient under his upbraidings. They could understandbursts of passion, and knew the cause of his variable moods as wellas he did himself. The butler, who was accustomed to argue with hismaster about every fresh direction as to his work, now nudged Mollyat dinner-time to make her eat of some dish which she had just beendeclining, and explained his conduct afterwards as follows:--
"You see, miss, me and cook had planned a dinner as would temptmaster to eat; but when you say, 'No, thank you,' when I hand youanything, master never so much as looks at it. But if you takes athing, and eats with a relish, why first he waits, and then he looks,and by-and-by he smells; and then he finds out as he's hungry, andfalls to eating as natural as a kitten takes to mewing. That's thereason, miss, as I gave you a nudge and a wink, which no one knowsbetter nor me was not manners."
Osborne's name was never mentioned during these cheerless meals. TheSquire asked Molly questions about Hollingford people, but did notseem much to attend to her answers. He used also to ask her every dayhow she thought that his wife was; but if Molly told the truth--thatevery day seemed to make her weaker and weaker--he was almost savagewith the girl. He could not bear it; and he would not. Nay, once hewas on the point of dismissing Mr. Gibson because he insisted on aconsultation with Dr. Nicholls, the great physician of the county.
"It's nonsense thinking her so ill as that--you know it's only thedelicacy she's had for years; and if you can't do her any good insuch a simple case--no pain--only weakness and nervousness--it is asimple case, eh?--don't look in that puzzled way, man!--you'd bettergive her up altogether, and I'll take her to Bath or Brighton,or somewhere for change, for in my opinion it's only moping andnervousness."
But the Squire's bluff florid face was pinched with anxiety, and wornwith the effort of being deaf to the footsteps of fate as he saidthese words which belied his fears.
Mr. Gibson replied very quietly,--
"I shall go on coming to see her, and I know you'll not forbid myvisits. But I shall bring Dr. Nicholls with me the next time I come.I may be mistaken in my treatment; and I wish to God he may say I ammistaken in my apprehensions."
"Don't tell me them! I cannot bear them!" cried the Squire. "Ofcourse we must all die; and she must too. But the cleverest doctorin England shan't go about coolly meting out the life of such as her.I daresay I shall die first. I hope I shall. But I'll knock any onedown who speaks to me of death sitting within me. And, besides, Ithink all doctors are ignorant quacks, pretending to knowledge theyhaven't got. Ay, you may smile at me. I don't care. Unless you cantell me I shall die first, neither you nor your Dr. Nicholls shallcome prophesying and croaking about this house."
Mr. Gibson went away, heavy at heart from the thought of Mrs.Hamley's approaching death, but thinking little enough of theSquire's speeches. He had almost forgotten them, in fact, when aboutnine o'clock that evening, a groom rode in from Hamley Hall in hothaste, with a note from the Squire.
DEAR GIBSON,--
For God's sake forgive me if I was rude to-day. She is much worse. Come and spend the night here. Write for Nicholls, and all the physicians you want. Write before you start off. They may give her ease. There were Whitworth doctors much talked of in my youth for curing people given up by the regular doctors; can't you get one of them? I put myself in your hands. Sometimes I think it is the turning point, and she'll rally after this bout. I trust all to you.
Yours ever,
R. HAMLEY.
P.S.--Molly is a treasure.--God help me!
Of course Mr. Gibson went; for the first time since his marriagecutting short Mrs. Gibson's querulous lamentations over her life,as involved in that of a doctor called out at all hours of day andnight.
He brought Mrs. Hamley through this attack; and for a day or two theSquire's alarm and gratitude made him docile in Mr. Gibson's hands.Then he returned to the idea of its being a crisis through which hiswife had passed; and that she was now on the way to recovery. Butthe day after the consultation with Dr. Nicholls, Mr. Gibson said toMolly,--
"Molly! I've written to Osborne and Roger. Do you know Osborne'saddress?"
"No, papa. He's in disgrace. I don't know if the Squire knows; andshe has been too ill to write."
"Never mind. I'll enclose it to Roger; whatever those lads may be toothers, there's as strong brotherly love as ever I saw, between thetwo. Roger will know. And, Molly, they are sure to come home as soonas they hear my report of their mother's state. I wish you'd tell theSquire what I've done. It's not a pleasant piece of work; and I'lltell madam myself in my own way. I'd have told him if he'd been athome; but you say he was obliged to go to Ashcombe on business."
"Quite obliged. He was so sorry to miss you. But, papa, he will be soangry! You don't know how mad he is against Osborne."
Molly dreaded the Squire's anger when she gave him her father'smessage. She had seen quite enough of the domestic relations ofthe Hamley family to understand that, underneath his old-fashionedcourtesy, and the pleasant hospitality he showed to her as a guest,there was a strong will, and a vehement passionate temper, along withthat degree of obstinacy in prejudices (or "opinions," as he wouldhave called them) so common to those who have, neither in youth norin manhood, mixed largely with their kind. She had listened, dayafter day, to Mrs. Hamley's plaintive murmurs as to the deep disgracein which Osborne was being held by his father--the prohibition of hiscoming home; and she hardly knew how to begin to tell him that theletter summoning Osborne had already been sent off.
Their dinners were tete-a-tete. The Squire tried to make thempleasant to
Molly, feeling deeply grateful to her for the soothingcomfort she was to his wife. He made merry speeches, which sankaway into silence, and at which they each forgot to smile. Heordered up rare wines, which she did not care for, but tasted out ofcomplaisance. He noticed that one day she had eaten some brown beurrepears as if she liked them; and as his trees had not produced manythis year, he gave directions that this particular kind should besought for through the neighbourhood. Molly felt that, in many ways,he was full of good-will towards her; but it did not diminish herdread of touching on the one sore point in the family. However, ithad to be done, and that without delay.
The great log was placed on the after-dinner fire, the hearth sweptup, the ponderous candles snuffed, and then the door was shut andMolly and the Squire were left to their dessert. She sat at the sideof the table in her old place. That at the head was vacant; yet, asno orders had been given to the contrary, the plate and glasses andnapkin were always arranged as regularly and methodically as if Mrs.Hamley would come in as usual. Indeed, sometimes, when the doorby which she used to enter was opened by any chance, Molly caughtherself looking round as if she expected to see the tall, languidfigure in the elegant draperies of rich silk and soft lace, whichMrs. Hamley was wont to wear of an evening.
This evening, it struck her, as a new thought of pain, that intothat room she would come no more. She had fixed to give her father'smessage at this very point of time; but something in her throatchoked her, and she hardly knew how to govern her voice. The Squiregot up and went to the broad fireplace, to strike into the middle ofthe great log, and split it up into blazing, sparkling pieces. Hisback was towards her. Molly began, "When papa was here to-day, hebade me tell you he had written to Mr. Roger Hamley to say that--thathe thought he had better come home; and he enclosed a letter to Mr.Osborne Hamley to say the same thing."
The Squire put down the poker, but he still kept his back to Molly.
"He sent for Osborne and Roger?" he asked, at length.
Molly answered, "Yes."
Then there was a dead silence, which Molly thought would never end.The Squire had placed his two hands on the high chimney-piece, andstood leaning over the fire.
"Roger would have been down from Cambridge on the 18th," said he."And he has sent for Osborne, too! Did he know,"--he continued,turning round to Molly, with something of the fierceness she hadanticipated in voice and look. In another moment he had dropped hisvoice. "It's right, quite right. I understand. It has come at length.Come! come! Osborne has brought it on, though," with a fresh accessof anger in his tones. "She might have" (some word Molly could nothear--she thought it sounded like "lingered") "but for that. I can'tforgive him; I cannot."
And then he suddenly left the room. While Molly sat there still, verysad in her sympathy with all, he put his head in again:--
"Go to her, my dear; I cannot--not just yet. But I will soon. Justthis bit; and after that I won't lose a moment. You're a good girl.God bless you!"
It is not to be supposed that Molly had remained all this time at theHall without interruption. Once or twice her father had brought hera summons home. Molly thought she could perceive that he had broughtit unwillingly; in fact, it was Mrs. Gibson that had sent for her,almost, as it were, to preserve a "right of way" through her actions.
"You shall come back to-morrow, or the next day," her father hadsaid. "But mamma seems to think people will put a bad construction onyour being so much away from home so soon after our marriage."
"Oh, papa, I'm afraid Mrs. Hamley will miss me! I do so like beingwith her."
"I don't think it is likely she will miss you as much as she wouldhave done a month or two ago. She sleeps so much now, that she isscarcely conscious of the lapse of time. I'll see that you come backhere again in a day or two."
So out of the silence and the soft melancholy of the Hall Mollyreturned into the all-pervading element of chatter and gossip atHollingford. Mrs. Gibson received her kindly enough. Once she had asmart new winter bonnet ready to give her as a present; but she didnot care to hear any particulars about the friends whom Molly hadjust left; and her few remarks on the state of affairs at the Halljarred terribly on the sensitive Molly.
"What a time she lingers! Your papa never expected she would lasthalf so long after that attack. It must be very wearing work to themall; I declare you look quite another creature since you were there.One can only wish it mayn't last, for their sakes."
"You don't know how the Squire values every minute," said Molly.
"Why, you say she sleeps a great deal, and doesn't talk much whenshe's awake, and there's not the slightest hope for her. And yet, atsuch times, people are kept on the tenter-hooks with watching andwaiting. I know it by my dear Kirkpatrick. There really were dayswhen I thought it never would end. But we won't talk any more of suchdismal things; you've had quite enough of them, I'm sure, and italways makes me melancholy to hear of illness and death; and yet yourpapa seems sometimes as if he could talk of nothing else. I'm goingto take you out to-night, though, and that will give you somethingof a change; and I've been getting Miss Rose to trim up one of myold gowns for you; it's too tight for me. There's some talk ofdancing,--it's at Mrs. Edwards'."
"Oh, mamma, I cannot go!" cried Molly. "I've been so much with her;and she may be suffering so, or even dying--and I to be dancing!"
"Nonsense! You're no relation, so you need not feel it so much. Iwouldn't urge you, if she was likely to know about it and be hurt;but as it is, it's all fixed that you are to go; and don't let ushave any nonsense about it. We might sit twirling our thumbs, andrepeating hymns all our lives long, if we were to do nothing elsewhen people were dying."
"I cannot go," repeated Molly. And, acting upon impulse, and almostto her own surprise, she appealed to her father, who came into theroom at this very time. He contracted his dark eyebrows, and lookedannoyed as both wife and daughter poured their different sides of theargument into his ears. He sat down in desperation of patience. Whenhis turn came to pronounce a decision, he said,--
"I suppose I can have some lunch? I went away at six this morning,and there's nothing in the dining-room. I have to go off againdirectly."
Molly started to the door; Mrs. Gibson made haste to ring the bell.
"Where are you going, Molly?" said she, sharply.
"Only to see about papa's lunch."
"There are servants to do it; and I don't like your going into thekitchen."
"Come, Molly! sit down and be quiet," said her father. "One comeshome wanting peace and quietness--and food too. If I am to beappealed to, which I beg I may not be another time, I settle thatMolly stops at home this evening. I shall come back late and tired.See that I have something ready to eat, goosey, and then I'll dressmyself up in my best, and go and fetch you home, my dear. I wish allthese wedding festivities were well over. Ready, is it? Then I'll gointo the dining-room and gorge myself. A doctor ought to be able toeat like a camel, or like Major Dugald Dalgetty."
It was well for Molly that callers came in just at this time, forMrs. Gibson was extremely annoyed. They told her some little localpiece of news, however, which filled up her mind; and Molly foundthat, if she only expressed wonder enough at the engagement they hadboth heard of from the departed callers, the previous discussion asto her accompanying her stepmother or not might be entirely passedover. Not entirely though; for the next morning she had to listen toa very brilliantly touched-up account of the dance and the gaietywhich she had missed; and also to be told that Mrs. Gibson hadchanged her mind about giving her the gown, and thought now thatshe should reserve it for Cynthia, if only it was long enough; butCynthia was so tall--quite overgrown, in fact. The chances seemedequally balanced as to whether Molly might not have the gown afterall.