CHAPTER IX.
THE WIDOWER AND THE WIDOW.
Mrs. Kirkpatrick was only too happy to accept Lady Cumnor'sinvitation. It was what she had been hoping for, but hardly daring toexpect, as she believed that the family were settled in London forsome time to come. The Towers was a pleasant and luxurious house inwhich to pass her holidays; and though she was not one to make deepplans, or to look far ahead, she was quite aware of the prestigewhich her being able to say she had been staying with "dear LadyCumnor" at the Towers, was likely to give her and her school inthe eyes of a good many people; so she gladly prepared to join herladyship on the 17th. Her wardrobe did not require much arrangement;if it had done, the poor lady would not have had much money toappropriate to the purpose. She was very pretty and graceful; andthat goes a great way towards carrying off shabby clothes; and it washer taste more than any depth of feeling, that had made her perseverein wearing all the delicate tints--the violets and grays--which, witha certain admixture of black, constitute half-mourning. This style ofbecoming dress she was supposed to wear in memory of Mr. Kirkpatrick;in reality because it was both lady-like and economical. Herbeautiful hair was of that rich auburn that hardly ever turns gray;and partly out of consciousness of its beauty, and partly because thewashing of caps is expensive, she did not wear anything on her head;her complexion had the vivid tints that often accompany the kindof hair which has once been red; and the only injury her skin hadreceived from advancing years was that the colouring was rather morebrilliant than delicate, and varied less with every passing emotion.She could no longer blush; and at eighteen she had been very proudof her blushes. Her eyes were soft, large, and china-blue in colour;they had not much expression or shadow about them, which was perhapsowing to the flaxen colour of her eyelashes. Her figure was a littlefuller than it used to be, but her movements were as soft and sinuousas ever. Altogether, she looked much younger than her age, whichwas not far short of forty. She had a very pleasant voice, and readaloud well and distinctly, which Lady Cumnor liked. Indeed, for someinexplicable reason, she was a greater, more positive favourite withLady Cumnor than with any of the rest of the family, though they allliked her up to a certain point, and found it agreeably useful tohave any one in the house who was so well acquainted with their waysand habits; so ready to talk, when a little trickle of conversationwas required; so willing to listen, and to listen with tolerableintelligence, if the subjects spoken about did not refer to serioussolid literature, or science, or politics, or social economy. Aboutnovels and poetry, travels and gossip, personal details, or anecdotesof any kind, she always made exactly the remarks which are expectedfrom an agreeable listener; and she had sense enough to confineherself to those short expressions of wonder, admiration, andastonishment, which may mean anything, when more recondite thingswere talked about.
It was a very pleasant change to a poor unsuccessful schoolmistressto leave her own house, full of battered and shabby furniture (shehad taken the good-will and furniture of her predecessor at avaluation, two or three years before), where the look-out was asgloomy, and the surrounding as squalid, as is often the case in thesmaller streets of a country town, and to come bowling through theTowers Park in the luxurious carriage sent to meet her; to alight,and feel secure that the well-trained servants would see after herbags, and umbrella, and parasol, and cloak, without her loadingherself with all these portable articles, as she had had to dowhile following the wheelbarrow containing her luggage in going tothe Ashcombe coach-office that morning; to pass up the deep-piledcarpets of the broad shallow stairs into my lady's own room, cool anddeliciously fresh, even on this sultry day, and fragrant with greatbowls of freshly gathered roses of every shade of colour. There weretwo or three new novels lying uncut on the table; the daily papers,the magazines. Every chair was an easy-chair of some kind or other;and all covered with French chintz that mimicked the real flowers inthe garden below. She was familiar with the bedroom called hers, towhich she was soon ushered by Lady Cumnor's maid. It seemed to herfar more like home than the dingy place she had left that morning;it was so natural to her to like dainty draperies, and harmoniouscolouring, and fine linen, and soft raiment. She sate down in thearm-chair by the bed-side, and wondered over her fate something inthis fashion--
"One would think it was an easy enough thing to deck a looking-glasslike that with muslin and pink ribbons; and yet how hard it is tokeep it up! People don't know how hard it is till they've tried asI have. I made my own glass just as pretty when I first went toAshcombe; but the muslin got dirty, and the pink ribbons faded, andit is so difficult to earn money to renew them; and when one has gotthe money one hasn't the heart to spend it all at once. One thinksand one thinks how one can get the most good out of it; and a newgown, or a day's pleasure, or some hot-house fruit, or some piece ofelegance that can be seen and noticed in one's drawing-room, carriesthe day, and good-by to prettily decked looking-glasses. Now here,money is like the air they breathe. No one even asks or knows howmuch the washing costs, or what pink ribbon is a yard. Ah! it wouldbe different if they had to earn every penny as I have! They wouldhave to calculate, like me, how to get the most pleasure out of it.I wonder if I am to go on all my life toiling and moiling for money?It's not natural. Marriage is the natural thing; then the husbandhas all that kind of dirty work to do, and his wife sits in thedrawing-room like a lady. I did, when poor Kirkpatrick was alive.Heigho! it's a sad thing to be a widow."
Then there was the contrast between the dinners which she had toshare with her scholars at Ashcombe--rounds of beef, legs of mutton,great dishes of potatoes, and large batter-puddings, with the tinymeal of exquisitely cooked delicacies, sent up on old Chelsea china,that was served every day to the earl and countess and herself atthe Towers. She dreaded the end of her holidays as much as the mosthome-loving of her pupils. But at this time that end was some weeksoff, so Clare shut her eyes to the future, and tried to relish thepresent to its fullest extent. A disturbance to the pleasant, evencourse of the summer days came in the indisposition of Lady Cumnor.Her husband had gone back to London, and she and Mrs. Kirkpatrick hadbeen left to the very even tenor of life, which was according to mylady's wish just now. In spite of her languor and fatigue, she hadgone through the day when the school visitors came to the Towers, infull dignity, dictating clearly all that was to be done, what walkswere to be taken, what hothouses to be seen, and when the party wereto return to the "collation." She herself remained indoors, withone or two ladies who had ventured to think that the fatigue or theheat might be too much for them, and who had therefore declinedaccompanying the ladies in charge of Mrs. Kirkpatrick, or those otherfavoured few to whom Lord Cumnor was explaining the new buildingsin his farm-yard. "With the utmost condescension," as her hearersafterwards expressed it, Lady Cumnor told them all about her marrieddaughters' establishments, nurseries, plans for the education oftheir children, and manner of passing the day. But the exertion tiredher; and when every one had left, the probability is that she wouldhave gone to lie down and rest, had not her husband made an unluckyremark in the kindness of his heart. He came up to her and put hishand on her shoulder.
"I'm afraid you're sadly tired, my lady?" he said.
She braced her muscles, and drew herself up, saying coldly,--
"When I am tired, Lord Cumnor, I will tell you so." And her fatigueshowed itself during the rest of the evening in her sittingparticularly upright, and declining all offers of easy-chairs orfoot-stools, and refusing the insult of a suggestion that theyshould all go to bed earlier. She went on in something of thiskind of manner as long as Lord Cumnor remained at the Towers. Mrs.Kirkpatrick was quite deceived by it, and kept assuring Lord Cumnorthat she had never seen dear Lady Cumnor looking better, or sostrong. But he had an affectionate heart, if a blundering head; andthough he could give no reason for his belief, he was almost certainhis wife was not well. Yet he was too much afraid of her to send forMr. Gibson without her permission. His last words to Clare were--
"It's such a comfort to leave my
lady to you; only don't you bedeluded by her ways. She'll not show she's ill till she can't helpit. Consult with Bradley" (Lady Cumnor's "own woman,"--she dislikedthe new-fangledness of "lady's-maid"); "and if I were you, I'd sendand ask Gibson to call--you might make any kind of a pretence,"--andthen the idea he had had in London of the fitness of a matchbetween the two coming into his head just now, he could not helpadding,--"Get him to come and see you, he's a very agreeable man;Lord Hollingford says there's no one like him in these parts: and hemight be looking at my lady while he was talking to you, and see ifhe thinks her really ill. And let me know what he says about her."
But Clare was just as great a coward about doing anything for LadyCumnor which she had not expressly ordered, as Lord Cumnor himself.She knew she might fall into such disgrace if she sent for Mr. Gibsonwithout direct permission, that she might never be asked to stay atthe Towers again; and the life there, monotonous in its smoothness ofluxury as it might be to some, was exactly to her taste. She in herturn tried to put upon Bradley the duty which Lord Cumnor had putupon her.
"Mrs. Bradley," she said one day, "are you quite comfortable aboutmy lady's health? Lord Cumnor fancied that she was looking worn andill?"
"Indeed, Mrs. Kirkpatrick, I don't think my lady is herself. I can'tpersuade myself as she is, though if you was to question me tillnight I couldn't tell you why."
"Don't you think you could make some errand to Hollingford, and seeMr. Gibson, and ask him to come round this way some day, and make acall on Lady Cumnor?"
"It would be as much as my place is worth, Mrs. Kirkpatrick. Till mylady's dying day, if Providence keeps her in her senses, she'll haveeverything done her own way, or not at all. There's only Lady Harrietthat can manage her the least, and she not always."
"Well, then--we must hope that there is nothing the matter with her;and I daresay there is not. She says there is not, and she ought toknow best herself."
But a day or two after this conversation took place, Lady Cumnorstartled Mrs. Kirkpatrick, by saying suddenly,--"Clare, I wish you'dwrite a note to Mr. Gibson, saying I should like to see him thisafternoon. I thought he would have called of himself before now. Heought to have done so, to pay his respects."
Mr. Gibson had been far too busy in his profession to have time formere visits of ceremony, though he knew quite well he was neglectingwhat was expected of him. But the district of which he may be said tohave had medical charge was full of a bad kind of low fever, whichtook up all his time and thought, and often made him very thankfulthat Molly was out of the way in the quiet shades of Hamley.
His domestic "rows" had not healed over in the least, though hewas obliged to put the perplexities on one side for the time. Thelast drop--the final straw, had been an impromptu visit of LordHollingford's, whom he had met in the town one forenoon. They had hada good deal to say to each other about some new scientific discovery,with the details of which Lord Hollingford was well acquainted,while Mr. Gibson was ignorant and deeply interested. At length LordHollingford said suddenly,--
"Gibson, I wonder if you'd give me some lunch; I've been a gooddeal about since my seven-o'clock breakfast, and am getting quiteravenous."
Now Mr. Gibson was only too much pleased to show hospitality to onewhom he liked and respected so much as Lord Hollingford, and hegladly took him home with him to the early family dinner. But it wasjust at the time when the cook was sulking at Bethia's dismissal--andshe chose to be unpunctual and careless. There was no successor toBethia as yet appointed to wait at the meals. So, though Mr. Gibsonknew well that bread-and-cheese, cold beef, or the simplest foodavailable, would have been welcome to the hungry lord, he could notget either these things for luncheon, or even the family dinner, atanything like the proper time, in spite of all his ringing, and asmuch anger as he liked to show, for fear of making Lord Hollingforduncomfortable. At last dinner was ready, but the poor host sawthe want of nicety--almost the want of cleanliness, in all itsaccompaniments--dingy plate, dull-looking glass, a table-cloth that,if not absolutely dirty, was anything but fresh in its splashed andrumpled condition, and compared it in his own mind with the daintydelicacy with which even a loaf of brown bread was served up athis guest's home. He did not apologize directly, but, after dinner,just as they were parting, he said,--"You see a man like me--awidower--with a daughter who cannot always be at home--has not theregulated household which would enable me to command the smallportions of time I can spend there."
He made no allusion to the comfortless meal of which they had bothpartaken, though it was full in his mind. Nor was it absent from LordHollingford's as he made reply,--
"True, true. Yet a man like you ought to be free from any thought ofhousehold cares. You ought to have somebody. How old is Miss Gibson?"
"Seventeen. It's a very awkward age for a motherless girl."
"Yes; very. I have only boys, but it must be very awkward witha girl. Excuse me, Gibson, but we're talking like friends. Haveyou never thought of marrying again? It wouldn't be like a firstmarriage, of course; but if you found a sensible, agreeable woman ofthirty or so, I really think you couldn't do better than take her tomanage your home, and so save you either discomfort or worry; and,besides, she would be able to give your daughter that kind of tendersupervision which, I fancy, all girls of that age require. It's adelicate subject, but you'll excuse my having spoken frankly."
Mr. Gibson had thought of this advice several times since it wasgiven; but it was a case of "first catch your hare." Where was the"sensible and agreeable woman of thirty or so?" Not Miss Browning,nor Miss Phoebe, nor Miss Goodenough. Among his country patientsthere were two classes pretty distinctly marked: farmers, whosechildren were unrefined and uneducated; squires, whose daughterswould, indeed, think the world was coming to a pretty pass, if theywere to marry a country surgeon.
But the first day on which Mr. Gibson paid his visit to Lady Cumnor,he began to think it possible that Mrs. Kirkpatrick was his "hare."He rode away with slack rein, thinking over what he knew of her,more than about the prescriptions he should write, or the way he wasgoing. He remembered her as a very pretty Miss Clare: the governesswho had the scarlet fever; that was in his wife's days, a long timeago; he could hardly understand Mrs. Kirkpatrick's youthfulnessof appearance when he thought how long. Then he had heard of hermarriage to a curate; and the next day (or so it seemed, he could notrecollect the exact duration of the interval), of his death. He knew,in some way, that she had been living ever since as a governess indifferent families; but that she had always been a great favouritewith the family at the Towers, for whom, quite independent of theirrank, he had a true respect. A year or two ago he had heard that shehad taken the good-will of a school at Ashcombe; a small town closeto another property of Lord Cumnor's, in the same county. Ashcombewas a larger estate than that near Hollingford, but the oldManor-house there was not nearly so good a residence as the Towers;so it was given up to Mr. Preston, the land-agent for the Ashcombeproperty, just as Mr. Sheepshanks was for that at Hollingford.There were a few rooms at the Manor-house reserved for theoccasional visits of the family, otherwise Mr. Preston, a handsomeyoung bachelor, had it all to himself. Mr. Gibson knew that Mrs.Kirkpatrick had one child, a daughter, who must be much about thesame age as Molly. Of course she had very little, if any, property.But he himself had lived carefully, and had a few thousands wellinvested; besides which, his professional income was good, andincreasing rather than diminishing every year. By the time he hadarrived at this point in his consideration of the case, he was at thehouse of the next patient on his round, and he put away all thoughtof matrimony and Mrs. Kirkpatrick for the time. Once again, in thecourse of the day, he remembered with a certain pleasure that Mollyhad told him some little details connected with her unlucky detentionat the Towers five or six years ago, which had made him feel at thetime as if Mrs. Kirkpatrick had behaved very kindly to his littlegirl. So there the matter rested for the present, as far as he wasconcerned.
Lady Cumnor was out of health; but not so ill as she
had beenfancying herself during all those days when the people about herdared not send for the doctor. It was a great relief to her to haveMr. Gibson to decide for her what she was to do; what to eat, drink,avoid. Such decisions _ab extra_, are sometimes a wonderful reliefto those whose habit it has been to decide, not only for themselves,but for every one else; and occasionally the relaxation of the strainwhich a character for infallible wisdom brings with it, does much torestore health. Mrs. Kirkpatrick thought in her secret soul that shehad never found it so easy to get on with Lady Cumnor; and Bradleyand she had never done singing the praises of Mr. Gibson, "who alwaysmanaged my lady so beautifully."
Reports were duly sent up to my lord, but he and his daughters werestrictly forbidden to come down. Lady Cumnor wished to be weakand languid, and uncertain both in body and mind, without familyobservation. It was a condition so different to anything she hadever been in before, that she was unconsciously afraid of losing herprestige, if she was seen in it. Sometimes she herself wrote thedaily bulletins; at other times she bade Clare do it, but she wouldalways see the letters. Any answers she received from her daughtersshe used to read herself, occasionally imparting some of theircontents to "that good Clare." But anybody might read my lord'sletters. There was no great fear of family secrets oozing out in hissprawling lines of affection. But once Mrs. Kirkpatrick came upon asentence in a letter from Lord Cumnor, which she was reading out loudto his wife, that caught her eye before she came to it, and if shecould have skipped it and kept it for private perusal, she wouldgladly have done so. My lady was too sharp for her, though. In heropinion "Clare was a good creature, but not clever," the truthbeing that she was not always quick at resources, though tolerablyunscrupulous in the use of them.
"Read on. What are you stopping for? There is no bad news, is there,about Agnes?--Give me the letter."
Lady Cumnor read, half aloud,--
"'How are Clare and Gibson getting on? You despised my advice to helpon that affair, but I really think a little match-making would be avery pleasant amusement now that you are shut up in the house; and Icannot conceive any marriage more suitable.'"
"Oh!" said Lady Cumnor, laughing, "it was awkward for you to comeupon that, Clare: I don't wonder you stopped short. You gave me aterrible fright, though."
"Lord Cumnor is so fond of joking," said Mrs. Kirkpatrick, a littleflurried, yet quite recognizing the truth of his last words,--"Icannot conceive any marriage more suitable." She wondered what LadyCumnor thought of it. Lord Cumnor wrote as if there was really achance. It was not an unpleasant idea; it brought a faint smile outupon her face, as she sat by Lady Cumnor, while the latter took herafternoon nap.
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