CHAPTER XLV.
CONFIDENCES.
All the rest of that day Molly was depressed and not well. Havinganything to conceal was so unusual--almost so unprecedented acircumstance with her that it preyed upon her in every way.
It was a nightmare that she could not shake off; she did so wish toforget it all, and yet every little occurrence seemed to remind herof it. The next morning's post brought several letters; one fromRoger for Cynthia, and Molly, letterless herself, looked at Cynthiaas she read it, with wistful sadness. It appeared to Molly as thoughCynthia should have no satisfaction in these letters, until she hadtold him what was her exact position with Mr. Preston yet Cynthiawas colouring and dimpling up as she always did at any pretty wordsof praise, or admiration, or love. But Molly's thoughts and Cynthia'sreading were both interrupted by a little triumphant sound from Mrs.Gibson, as she pushed a letter she had just received to her husband,with a--
"There! I must say I expected that!" Then, turning to Cynthia, sheexplained--"It is a letter from uncle Kirkpatrick, love. So kind,wishing you to go and stay with them, and help them to cheer upHelen; poor Helen! I am afraid she is very far from well. Butwe could not have had her here, without disturbing dear papa inhis consulting-room; and, though I could have relinquished mydressing-room--he--well! so I said in my letter how you weregrieved--you above all of us, because you are such a friend ofHelen's, you know--and how you longed to be of use,--as I am sure youdo--and so now they want you to go up directly, for Helen has quiteset her heart upon it."
Cynthia's eyes sparkled. "I shall like going," said she--"all butleaving you, Molly," she added, in a lower tone, as if suddenlysmitten with some compunction.
"Can you be ready to go by the 'Bang-up' to-night?" said Mr. Gibson"for, curiously enough, after more than twenty years of quietpractice at Hollingford, I am summoned up to-day for the first timeto a consultation in London to-morrow. I'm afraid Lady Cumnor isworse, my dear."
"You don't say so? Poor dear lady! What a shock it is to me! I'm soglad I've had some breakfast. I could not have eaten anything."
"Nay, I only say she is worse. With her complaint, being worse may beonly a preliminary to being better. Don't take my words for more thantheir literal meaning."
"Thank you. How kind and reassuring dear papa always is! About yourgowns, Cynthia?"
"Oh, they're all right, mamma, thank you. I shall be quite ready byfour o'clock. Molly, will you come with me and help me to pack? Iwanted to speak to you, dear," said she, as soon as they had goneupstairs. "It is such a relief to get away from a place haunted bythat man; but I'm afraid you thought I was glad to leave you; andindeed I am not." There was a little flavour of "protesting too much"about this; but Molly did not perceive it. She only said, "IndeedI did not. I know from my own feelings how you must dislike meetinga man in public in a different manner from what you have done inprivate. I shall try not to see Mr. Preston again for a long, longtime, I'm sure. But, Cynthia, you haven't told me one word out ofRoger's letter. Please, how is he? Has he quite got over his attackof fever?"
"Yes, quite. He writes in very good spirits. A great deal about birdsand beasts, as usual, habits of natives, and things of that kind. Youmay read from there" (indicating a place in the letter) "to there, ifyou can. And I'll tell you what, I'll trust you with it, Molly, whileI pack; and that shows my sense of your honour--not but what youmight read it all, only you'd find the love-making dull; but make alittle account of where he is, and what he is doing, date, and thatsort of thing, and send it to his father."
Molly took the letter down without a word, and began to copy it atthe writing-table; often reading over what she was allowed to read;often pausing, her cheek on her hand, her eyes on the letter, andletting her imagination rove to the writer, and all the scenes inwhich she had either seen him herself, or in which her fancy hadpainted him. She was startled from her meditations by Cynthia'ssudden entrance into the drawing-room, looking the picture of glowingdelight. "No one here? What a blessing! Ah, Miss Molly, you are moreeloquent than you believe yourself. Look here!" holding up a largefull envelope, and then quickly replacing it in her pocket, as ifshe was afraid of being seen. "What's the matter, sweet one?" comingup and caressing Molly. "Is it worrying itself over that letter?Why, don't you see these are my very own horrible letters, that Iam going to burn directly, that Mr. Preston has had the grace tosend me, thanks to you, little Molly--cuishla ma chree, pulse ofmy heart,--the letters that have been hanging over my head likesomebody's sword for these two years?"
"Oh, I am so glad!" said Molly, rousing up a little. "I never thoughthe would have sent them. He is better than I believed him. And now itis all over. I am so glad! You quite think he means to give up allclaim over you by this, don't you, Cynthia?"
"He may claim, but I won't be claimed; and he has no proofs now. Itis the most charming relief; and I owe it all to you, you preciouslittle lady! Now there's only one thing more to be done; and if youwould but do it for me--" (coaxing and caressing while she asked thequestion).
"Oh, Cynthia, don't ask me; I cannot do any more. You don't know howsick I go when I think of yesterday, and Mr. Sheepshanks' look."
"It is only a very little thing. I won't burden your conscience withtelling you how I got my letters, but it is not through a personI can trust with money; and I must force him to take back histwenty-three pounds odd shillings. I have put it together at the rateof five per cent., and it's sealed up. Oh, Molly, I should go offwith such a light heart if you would only try to get it safely tohim. It's the last thing; there would be no immediate hurry, youknow. You might meet him by chance in a shop, in the street, even ata party--and if you only had it with you in your pocket, there wouldbe nothing so easy."
Molly was silent. "Papa would give it to him. There would be no harmin that. I would tell him he must ask no questions as to what itwas."
"Very well," said Cynthia, "have it your own way. I think my way isthe best: for if any of this affair comes out-- But you've done agreat deal for me already, and I won't blame you now for declining todo any more!"
"I do so dislike having these underhand dealings with him," pleadedMolly.
"Underhand! just simply giving him a letter from me! If I left a notefor Miss Browning, should you dislike giving it to her?"
"You know that's very different. I could do it openly."
"And yet there might be writing in that; and there wouldn't be aline with the money. It would only be the winding-up--the honourable,honest winding-up of an affair which has worried me for years. But doas you like!"
"Give it me!" said Molly. "I will try."
"There's a darling! You can but try; and if you can't give it to himin private, without getting yourself into a scrape, why, keep it tillI come back again. He shall have it then, whether he will or no!"
Molly looked forward to her two days alone with Mrs. Gibson with verydifferent anticipations from those with which she had welcomed thesimilar intercourse with her father. In the first place, there was noaccompanying the travellers to the inn from which the coach started;leave-taking in the market-place was quite out of the bounds of Mrs.Gibson's sense of propriety. Besides this, it was a gloomy, rainyevening, and candles had to be brought in at an unusually early hour.There would be no break for six hours--no music, no reading; butthe two ladies would sit at their worsted work, pattering away atsmall-talk, with not even the usual break of dinner; for, to suitthe requirements of those who were leaving, they had already dinedearly. But Mrs. Gibson really meant to make Molly happy, and tried tobe an agreeable companion, only Molly was not well, and was uneasyabout many apprehended cares and troubles--and at such hours ofindisposition as she was then passing through, apprehensions takethe shape of certainties, lying await in our paths. Molly would havegiven a good deal to have shaken off all these feelings, unusualenough to her; but the very house and furniture, and rain-blurredouter landscape, seemed steeped with unpleasant associations, most ofthem dating from the last few days.
"You and I
must go on the next journey, I think, my dear," said Mrs.Gibson, almost chiming in with Molly's wish that she could get awayfrom Hollingford into some new air and life, for a week or two. "Wehave been stay-at-homes for a long time, and variety of scene is sodesirable for the young! But I think the travellers will be wishingthemselves at home by this nice bright fireside. 'There's no placelike home,' as the poet says. 'Mid pleasures and palaces although Imay roam,' it begins, and it's both very pretty and very true. It's agreat blessing to have such a dear little home as this, is not it,Molly?"
"Yes," said Molly, rather drearily, having something of the "toujoursperdrix" feeling at the moment. If she could but have gone away withher father, just for two days, how pleasant it would have been.
"To be sure, love, it would be very nice for you and me to go alittle journey all by ourselves. You and I. No one else. If itwere not such miserable weather we would have gone off on a littleimpromptu tour. I've been longing for something of the kind for someweeks; but we live such a restricted kind of life here! I declaresometimes I get quite sick of the very sight of the chairs and tablesthat I know so well. And one misses the others too! It seems so flatand deserted without them!"
"Yes! We are very forlorn to-night; but I think it's partly owing tothe weather!"
"Nonsense, dear. I can't have you giving in to the silly fancy ofbeing affected by weather. Poor dear Mr. Kirkpatrick used to say, 'acheerful heart makes its own sunshine.' He would say it to me, inhis pretty way, whenever I was a little low--for I am a completebarometer--you may really judge of the state of the weather by myspirits, I have always been such a sensitive creature! It is wellfor Cynthia that she does not inherit it; I don't think her easilyaffected in any way, do you?"
Molly thought for a minute or two, and then replied--"No, shecertainly is not easily affected--not deeply affected perhaps Ishould say."
"Many girls, for instance, would have been touched by the admirationshe excited--I may say the attentions she received when she was ather uncle's last summer."
"At Mr. Kirkpatrick's?"
"Yes. There was Mr. Henderson, that young lawyer; that's to say, heis studying law, but he has a good private fortune and is likelyto have more, so he can only be what I call playing at law. Mr.Henderson was over head and ears in love with her. It is not myfancy, although I grant mothers are partial: both Mr. and Mrs.Kirkpatrick noticed it; and in one of Mrs. Kirkpatrick's letters,she said that poor Mr. Henderson was going into Switzerland for thelong vacation, doubtless to try and forget Cynthia; but she reallybelieved he would find it only 'dragging at each remove a lengtheningchain.' I thought it such a refined quotation, and altogether wordedso prettily. You must know aunt Kirkpatrick some day, Molly, my love;she is what I call a woman of a truly elegant mind."
"I can't help thinking it was a pity that Cynthia did not tell themof her engagement."
"It is not an engagement, my dear! How often must I tell you that?"
"But what am I to call it?"
"I don't see why you need to call it anything. Indeed, I don'tunderstand what you mean by 'it.' You should always try to expressyourself intelligibly. It really is one of the first principlesof the English language. In fact, philosophers might ask what islanguage given us for at all, if it is not that we may make ourmeaning understood?"
"But there is something between Cynthia and Roger; they are more toeach other than I am to Osborne, for instance. What am I to call it?"
"You should not couple your name with that of any unmarried youngman; it is so difficult to teach you delicacy, child. Perhaps one maysay there is a peculiar relation between dear Cynthia and Roger, butit is very difficult to characterize it; I have no doubt that is thereason she shrinks from speaking about it. For, between ourselves,Molly, I really sometimes think it will come to nothing. He isso long away, and, privately speaking, Cynthia is not very, veryconstant. I once knew her very much taken before--that little affairis quite gone by; and she was very civil to Mr. Henderson, in herway; I fancy she inherits it, for when I was a girl I was beset bylovers, and could never find in my heart to shake them off. You havenot heard dear papa say anything of the old Squire, or dear Osborne,have you? It seems so long since we have heard or seen anything ofOsborne. But he must be quite well, I think, or we should have heardof it."
"I believe he is quite well. Some one said the other day that theyhad met him riding--it was Mrs. Goodenough, now I remember--and thathe was looking stronger than he had done for years."
"Indeed! I am truly glad to hear it. I always was fond of Osborne;and, do you know, I never really took to Roger? I respected himand all that, of course; but to compare him with Mr. Henderson! Mr.Henderson is so handsome and well-bred, and gets all his gloves fromHoubigant!"
It was true that they had not seen anything of Osborne Hamley fora long time; but, as it often happens, just after they had beenspeaking about him he appeared. It was on the day following Mr.Gibson's departure that Mrs. Gibson received one of the notes, notso common now as formerly, from the family in town, asking her to goover to the Towers, and find a book, or a manuscript, or something orother that Lady Cumnor wanted with all an invalid's impatience. Itwas just the kind of employment she required for an amusement on agloomy day, and it put her into a good humour immediately. There wasa certain confidential importance about it, and it was a variety, andit gave her the pleasant drive in a fly up the noble avenue, and thesense of being the temporary mistress of all the grand rooms once sofamiliar to her. She asked Molly to accompany her, out of an accessof kindness, but was not at all sorry when Molly excused herself andpreferred stopping at home. At eleven o'clock Mrs. Gibson was off,all in her Sunday best (to use the servant's expression, which sheherself would so have contemned), well-dressed in order to impose onthe servants at the Towers, for there was no one else to see or to beseen by.
"I shall not be at home until the afternoon, my dear! But I hope youwill not find it dull. I don't think you will, for you are somethinglike me, my love--never less alone than when alone, as one of thegreat authors has justly expressed it."
Molly enjoyed the house to herself fully as much as Mrs. Gibson wouldenjoy having the Towers to herself. She ventured on having her lunchbrought upon a tray into the drawing-room, so that she might eather sandwiches while she went on with her book. In the middle, Mr.Osborne Hamley was announced. He came in, looking wretchedly ill inspite of purblind Mrs. Goodenough's report of his healthy appearance.
"This call is not on you, Molly," said he, after the first greetingswere over. "I was in hopes I might have found your father at home;I thought lunch-time was the best hour." He had sate down, as ifthoroughly glad of the rest, and fallen into a languid stoopingposition, as if it had become so natural to him that no sense of whatwere considered good manners sufficed to restrain him now.
"I hope you did not want to see him professionally?" said Molly,wondering if she was wise in alluding to his health, yet urged to itby her real anxiety.
"Yes, I did. I suppose I may help myself to a biscuit and a glass ofwine? No, don't ring for more. I could not eat it if it was here. ButI just want a mouthful; this is quite enough, thank you. When willyour father be back?"
"He was summoned up to London. Lady Cumnor is worse. I fancy there issome operation going on but I don't know. He will be back to-morrownight."
"Very well. Then I must wait. Perhaps I shall be better by that time.I think it's half fancy; but I should like your father to tell me so.He will laugh at me, I daresay; but I don't think I shall mind that.He always is severe on fanciful patients, isn't he, Molly?"
Molly thought that if he saw Osborne's looks just then he wouldhardly think him fanciful, or be inclined to be severe. But she onlysaid,--"Papa enjoys a joke at everything, you know. It is a reliefafter all the sorrow he sees."
"Very true. There is a great deal of sorrow in the world. I don'tthink it's a very happy place after all. So Cynthia is gone toLondon?" he added, after a pause. "I think I should like to have seenher again. Poor old Roger! H
e loves her very dearly, Molly," he said.Molly hardly knew how to answer him in all this; she was so struck bythe change in both voice and manner.
"Mamma has gone to the Towers," she began, at length. "Lady Cumnorwanted several things that mamma only can find. She will be sorry tomiss you. We were speaking of you only yesterday, and she said howlong it was since we had seen you."
"I think I've grown careless; I've often felt so weary and ill thatit was all I could do to keep up a brave face before my father."
"Why did you not come and see papa?" said Molly; "or write to him?"
"I cannot tell. I drifted on, sometimes better, and sometimes worse,till to-day I mustered up pluck, and came to hear what your fatherhas got to tell me: and all for no use it seems."
"I am very sorry. But it is only for two days. He shall go and seeyou as soon as ever he returns."
"He must not alarm my father, remember, Molly," said Osborne, liftinghimself by the arms of his chair into an upright position andspeaking eagerly for the moment. "I wish to God Roger was at home!"said he, falling back into the old posture.
"I can't help understanding you," said Molly. "You think yourselfvery ill; but isn't it that you are tired just now?" She was not sureif she ought to have understood what was passing in his mind; but asshe did, she could not help speaking a true reply.
"Well, sometimes I do think I'm very ill; and then, again, I thinkit's only the moping life sets me fancying and exaggerating." He wassilent for some time. Then, as if he had taken a sudden resolution,he spoke again. "You see, there are others depending upon me--upon myhealth. You haven't forgotten what you heard that day in the libraryat home? No, I know you haven't. I have seen the thought of it inyour eyes often since then. I didn't know you at that time. I think Ido now."
"Don't go on talking so fast," said Molly. "Rest. No one willinterrupt us; I will go on with my sewing; when you want to sayanything more I shall be listening." For she was alarmed at thestrange pallor that had come over his face.
"Thank you." After a time he roused himself, and began to speak veryquietly, as if on an indifferent matter of fact.
"The name of my wife is Aimee. Aimee Hamley, of course. She livesat Bishopsfield, a village near Winchester. Write it down, but keepit to yourself. She is a Frenchwoman, a Roman Catholic, and was aservant. She is a thoroughly good woman. I must not say how dear sheis to me. I dare not. I meant once to have told Cynthia, but shedidn't seem quite to consider me as a brother. Perhaps she was shy ofa new relation but you'll give my love to her, all the same. It isa relief to think that some one else has my secret; and you are likeone of us, Molly. I can trust you almost as I can trust Roger. I feelbetter already, now I feel that some one else knows the whereaboutsof my wife and child."
"Child!" said Molly, surprised. But before he could reply, Maria hadannounced, "Miss Phoebe Browning."
"Fold up that paper," said he, quickly, putting something into herhands. "It is only for yourself."