CHAPTER VII.
FORESHADOWS OF LOVE PERILS.
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If Squire Hamley had been unable to tell Molly who had ever beenthought of as her father's second wife, fate was all this timepreparing an answer of a pretty positive kind to her wonderingcuriosity. But fate is a cunning hussy, and builds up her plans asimperceptibly as a bird builds her nest; and with much the same kindof unconsidered trifles. The first "trifle" of an event was thedisturbance which Jenny (Mr. Gibson's cook) chose to make at Bethia'sbeing dismissed. Bethia was a distant relation and protegee ofJenny's, and she chose to say it was Mr. Coxe the tempter who oughtto have "been sent packing," not Bethia the tempted, the victim. Inthis view there was quite enough plausibility to make Mr. Gibsonfeel that he had been rather unjust. He had, however, taken care toprovide Bethia with another situation, to the full as good as thatwhich she held in his family. Jenny, nevertheless, chose to givewarning; and though Mr. Gibson knew full well from former experiencethat her warnings were words, not deeds, he hated the discomfort, theuncertainty,--the entire disagreeableness of meeting a woman at anytime in his house, who wore a grievance and an injury upon her faceas legibly as Jenny took care to do.
Down into the middle of this small domestic trouble came another, andone of greater consequence. Miss Eyre had gone with her old mother,and her orphan nephews and nieces, to the sea-side, during Molly'sabsence, which was only intended at first to last for a fortnight.After about ten days of this time had elapsed, Mr. Gibson received abeautifully written, beautifully worded, admirably folded, and mostneatly sealed letter from Miss Eyre. Her eldest nephew had fallen illof scarlet fever, and there was every probability that the youngerchildren would be attacked by the same complaint. It was distressingenough for poor Miss Eyre--this additional expense, this anxiety--thelong detention from home which the illness involved. But she saidnot a word of any inconvenience to herself; she only apologized withhumble sincerity for her inability to return at the appointed timeto her charge in Mr. Gibson's family; meekly adding, that perhaps itwas as well, for Molly had never had the scarlet fever, and even ifMiss Eyre had been able to leave the orphan children to return to heremployments, it might not have been a safe or a prudent step.
"To be sure not," said Mr. Gibson, tearing the letter in two, andthrowing it into the hearth, where he soon saw it burnt to ashes. "Iwish I'd a five-pound house and not a woman within ten miles of me. Imight have some peace then." Apparently, he forgot Mr. Coxe's powersof making mischief; but indeed he might have traced that evil backto the unconscious Molly. The martyr-cook's entrance to take awaythe breakfast things, which she announced by a heavy sigh, roused Mr.Gibson from thought to action.
"Molly must stay a little longer at Hamley," he resolved. "They'veoften asked for her, and now they'll have enough of her, I think. ButI can't have her back here just yet; and so the best I can do for heris to leave her where she is. Mrs. Hamley seems very fond of her, andthe child is looking happy, and stronger in health. I'll ride roundby Hamley to-day at any rate, and see how the land lies."
He found Mrs. Hamley lying on a sofa placed under the shadow of thegreat cedar-tree on the lawn. Molly was flitting about her, gardeningaway under her directions; tying up the long sea-green stalks ofbright budded carnations, snipping off dead roses.
"Oh! here's papa!" she cried out, joyfully, as he rode up to thewhite paling which separated the trim lawn and trimmer flower-gardenfrom the rough park-like ground in front of the house.
"Come in--come here--through the drawing-room window," said Mrs.Hamley, raising herself on her elbow. "We've got a rose-tree to showyou that Molly has budded all by herself. We are both so proud ofit."
So Mr. Gibson rode round to the stables, left his horse there, andmade his way through the house to the open-air summer-parlour underthe cedar-tree, where there were chairs, table, books, and tangledwork. Somehow, he rather disliked asking for Molly to prolong hervisit; so he determined to swallow his bitter first, and then takethe pleasure of the delicious day, the sweet repose, the murmurous,scented air. Molly stood by him, her hand on his shoulder. He sateopposite to Mrs. Hamley.
"I've come here to-day to ask a favour," he began.
"Granted before you name it. Am not I a bold woman?"
He smiled and bowed, but went straight on with his speech.
"Miss Eyre, who has been Molly's governess, I suppose I must callher--for many years, writes to-day to say that one of the littlenephews she took with her to Newport while Molly was staying here,has caught the scarlet fever."
"I guess your request. I make it before you do. I beg for dear littleMolly to stay on here. Of course Miss Eyre can't come back to you;and of course Molly must stay here!"
"Thank you; thank you very much. That was my request."
Molly's hand stole down to his, and nestled in that firm compactgrasp.
"Papa!--Mrs. Hamley!--I know you'll both understand me--but mayn't Igo home? I am very happy here; but--oh papa! I think I should like tobe at home with you best."
An uncomfortable suspicion flashed across his mind. He pulled herround, and looked straight and piercingly into her innocent face. Hercolour came at his unwonted scrutiny, but her sweet eyes were filledwith wonder, rather than with any feeling which he dreaded to find.For an instant he had doubted whether young red-headed Mr. Coxe'slove might not have called out a response in his daughter's breast;but he was quite clear now.
"Molly, you're rude to begin with. I don't know how you're to makeyour peace with Mrs. Hamley, I'm sure. And in the next place, doyou think you're wiser than I am; or that I don't want you at home,if all other things were conformable? Stay where you are, and bethankful."
Molly knew him well enough to be certain that the prolongation of hervisit at Hamley was quite a decided affair in his mind; and then shewas smitten with a sense of ingratitude. She left her father, andwent to Mrs. Hamley, and bent over her and kissed her; but she didnot speak. Mrs. Hamley took hold of her hand, and made room on thesofa for her.
"I was going to have asked for a longer visit the next time you came,Mr. Gibson. We are such happy friends, are not we, Molly? and now,that this good little nephew of Miss Eyre's--"
"I wish he was whipped," said Mr. Gibson.
"--has given us such a capital reason, I shall keep Molly for a reallong visitation. You must come over and see us very often. There's aroom here for you always, you know; and I don't see why you shouldnot start on your rounds from Hamley every morning, just as well asfrom Hollingford."
"Thank you. If you hadn't been so kind to my little girl, I might betempted to say something rude in answer to your last speech."
"Pray say it. You won't be easy till you have given it out, I know."
"Mrs. Hamley has found out from whom I get my rudeness," said Molly,triumphantly. "It's an hereditary quality."
"I was going to say that proposal of yours that I should sleep atHamley was just like a woman's idea--all kindness, and no commonsense. How in the world would my patients find me out, seven milesfrom my accustomed place? They'd be sure to send for some otherdoctor, and I should be ruined in a month."
"Couldn't they send on here? A messenger costs very little."
"Fancy old Goody Henbury struggling up to my surgery, groaning atevery step, and then being told to just step on seven miles farther!Or take the other end of society:--I don't think my Lady Cumnor'ssmart groom would thank me for having to ride on to Hamley every timehis mistress wants me."
"Well, well, I submit. I am a woman. Molly, thou art a woman! Go andorder some strawberries and cream for this father of yours. Suchhumble offices fall within the province of women. Strawberries andcream are all kindness and no common sense, for they'll give him ahorrid fit of indigestion."
"Please speak for yourself, Mrs. Hamley," said Molly, merrily."I ate--oh, such a great basketful yesterday, and the squire wenthimself to the dairy and brought out a great bowl of cream, when hefound me at my busy work. And I'm as well as ever I was,
to-day, andnever had a touch of indigestion near me."
"She's a good girl," said her father, when she had danced out ofhearing. The words were not quite an inquiry, he was so certain ofhis answer. There was a mixture of tenderness and trust in his eyes,as he awaited the reply, which came in a moment.
"She's a darling. I cannot tell you how fond the Squire and I are ofher; both of us. I am so delighted to think she isn't to go away fora long time. The first thing I thought of this morning when I wakenedup, was that she would soon have to return to you, unless I couldpersuade you into leaving her with me a little longer. And now shemust stay--oh, two months at least."
It was quite true that the Squire had become very fond of Molly. Thecharm of having a young girl dancing and singing inarticulate dittiesabout the house and garden, was indescribable in its novelty to him.And then Molly was so willing and so wise; ready both to talk and tolisten at the right times. Mrs. Hamley was quite right in speakingof her husband's fondness for Molly. But either she herself chose awrong time for telling him of the prolongation of the girl's visit,or one of the fits of temper to which he was liable, but which hegenerally strove to check in the presence of his wife, was upon him;at any rate, he received the news in anything but a gracious frame ofmind.
"Stay longer! Did Gibson ask for it?"
"Yes! I don't see what else is to become of her; Miss Eyre away andall. It's a very awkward position for a motherless girl like her tobe at the head of a household with two young men in it."
"That's Gibson's look-out; he should have thought of it before takingpupils, or apprentices, or whatever he calls them."
"My dear Squire! why, I thought you'd be as glad as I was--as I am tokeep Molly. I asked her to stay for an indefinite time; two months atleast."
"And to be in the house with Osborne! Roger, too, will be at home."
By the cloud in the Squire's eyes, Mrs. Hamley read his mind.
"Oh, she's not at all the sort of girl young men of their age wouldtake to. We like her because we see what she really is; but lads ofone or two and twenty want all the accessories of a young woman."
"Want what?" growled the Squire.
"Such things as becoming dress, style of manner. They would not attheir age even see that she is pretty; their ideas of beauty wouldinclude colour."
"I suppose all that's very clever; but I don't understand it. All Iknow is, that it's a very dangerous thing to shut two young men ofone and three and twenty up in a country-house like this with a girlof seventeen--choose what her gowns may be like, or her hair, or hereyes. And I told you particularly I didn't want Osborne, or either ofthem, indeed, to be falling in love with her. I'm very much annoyed."
Mrs. Hamley's face fell; she became a little pale.
"Shall we make arrangements for their stopping away while she ishere; staying up at Cambridge, or reading with some one? going abroadfor a month or two?"
"No; you've been reckoning this ever so long on their coming home.I've seen the marks of the weeks on your almanack. I'd sooner speakto Gibson, and tell him he must take his daughter away, for it's notconvenient to us--"
"My dear Roger! I beg you will do no such thing. It will be sounkind; it will give the lie to all I said yesterday. Don't, please,do that. For my sake, don't speak to Mr. Gibson!"
"Well, well, don't put yourself in a flutter," for he was afraid ofher becoming hysterical; "I'll speak to Osborne when he comes home,and tell him how much I should dislike anything of the kind."
"And Roger is always far too full of his natural history andcomparative anatomy, and messes of that sort, to be thinking offalling in love with Venus herself. He has not the sentiment andimagination of Osborne."
"Ah, you don't know; you never can be sure about a young man! Butwith Roger it wouldn't so much signify. He would know he couldn'tmarry for years to come."
All that afternoon the Squire tried to steer clear of Molly, to whomhe felt himself to have been an inhospitable traitor. But she was soperfectly unconscious of his shyness of her, and so merry and sweetin her behaviour as a welcome guest, never distrusting him for amoment, however gruff he might be, that by the next morning she hadcompletely won him round, and they were quite on the old terms again.At breakfast this very morning, a letter was passed from the Squireto his wife, and back again, without a word as to its contents; but--
"Fortunate!"
"Yes! very!"
Little did Molly apply these expressions to the piece of news Mrs.Hamley told her in the course of the day; namely, that her sonOsborne had received an invitation to stay with a friend in theneighbourhood of Cambridge, and perhaps to make a tour on theContinent with him subsequently; and that, consequently, he would notaccompany his brother when Roger came home.
Molly was very sympathetic.
"Oh, dear! I am so sorry!"
Mrs. Hamley was thankful her husband was not present, Molly spoke thewords so heartily.
"You have been thinking so long of his coming home. I am afraid it isa great disappointment."
Mrs. Hamley smiled--relieved.
"Yes! it is a disappointment certainly, but we must think ofOsborne's pleasure. And with his poetical mind, he will write us suchdelightful travelling letters. Poor fellow! he must be going into theexamination to-day! Both his father and I feel sure, though, that hewill be a high wrangler. Only--I should like to have seen him, my owndear boy. But it is best as it is."
Molly was a little puzzled by this speech, but soon put it out of herhead. It was a disappointment to her, too, that she should not seethis beautiful, brilliant young man, his mother's hero. From time totime her maiden fancy had dwelt upon what he would be like; how thelovely boy of the picture in Mrs. Hamley's dressing-room would havechanged in the ten years that had elapsed since the likeness wastaken; if he would read poetry aloud; if he would even read his ownpoetry. However, in the never-ending feminine business of the day,she soon forgot her own disappointment; it only came back to her onfirst wakening the next morning, as a vague something that was notquite so pleasant as she had anticipated, and then was banished as asubject of regret. Her days at Hamley were well filled up with thesmall duties that would have belonged to a daughter of the house hadthere been one. She made breakfast for the lonely squire, and wouldwillingly have carried up madam's, but that daily piece of workbelonged to the squire, and was jealously guarded by him. She readthe smaller print of the newspapers aloud to him, city articles,money and corn markets included. She strolled about the gardens withhim, gathering fresh flowers, meanwhile, to deck the drawing-roomagainst Mrs. Hamley should come down. She was her companion when shetook her drives in the close carriage; they read poetry and mildliterature together in Mrs. Hamley's sitting-room upstairs. She wasquite clever at cribbage now, and could beat the squire if she tookpains. Besides these things, there were her own independent ways ofemploying herself. She used to try to practise an hour daily onthe old grand piano in the solitary drawing-room, because she hadpromised Miss Eyre she would do so. And she had found her way intothe library, and used to undo the heavy bars of the shutters if thehousemaid had forgotten this duty, and mount the ladder, sitting onthe steps, for an hour at a time, deep in some book of the oldEnglish classics. The summer days were very short to this happy girlof seventeen.
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