CHAPTER XII.
PREPARING FOR THE WEDDING.
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Meanwhile the love-affairs between the middle-aged couple wereprospering well, after a fashion after the fashion that they likedbest, although it might probably have appeared dull and prosaic toyounger people. Lord Cumnor had come down in great glee at the newshe had heard from his wife at the Towers. He, too, seemed to think hehad taken an active part in bringing about the match by only speakingabout it. His first words on the subject to Lady Cumnor were,--
"I told you so. Now didn't I say what a good, suitable thing thisaffair between Gibson and Clare would be! I don't know when I've beenso much pleased. You may despise the trade of match-maker, my lady,but I am very proud of it. After this, I shall go on looking outfor suitable cases among the middle-aged people of my acquaintance.I shan't meddle with young folks, they are so apt to be fanciful;but I've been so successful in this, that I do think it's goodencouragement to go on."
"Go on--with what?" asked Lady Cumnor, drily.
"Oh, planning,--you can't deny that I planned this match."
"I don't think you are likely to do either much good or harm byplanning," she replied, with cool, good sense.
"It puts it into people's heads, my dear."
"Yes, if you speak about your plans to them, of course it does. Butin this case you never spoke to either Mr. Gibson or Clare, did you?"
All at once the recollection of how Clare had come upon the passagein Lord Cumnor's letter flashed on his lady, but she did not sayanything about it, but left her husband to flounder about as best hemight.
"No! I never spoke to them; of course not."
"Then you must be strongly mesmeric, and your will acted upon theirs,if you are to take credit for any part in the affair," continued hispitiless wife.
"I really can't say. It's no use looking back to what I said ordid. I'm very well satisfied with it, and that's enough, and I meanto show them how much I'm pleased. I shall give Clare somethingtowards her rigging out, and they shall have a breakfast at AshcombeManor-house. I'll write to Preston about it. When did you say theywere to be married?"
"I think they'd better wait till Christmas, and I have told them so.It would amuse the children, going over to Ashcombe for the wedding;and if it's bad weather during the holidays I'm always afraid oftheir finding it dull at the Towers. It's very different if it's agood frost, and they can go out skating and sledging in the park. Butthese last two years it has been so wet for them, poor dears!"
"And will the other poor dears be content to wait to make a holidayfor your grandchildren? 'To make a Roman holiday.' Pope, or somebodyelse, has a line of poetry like that. 'To make a Roman holiday,'"--herepeated, pleased with his unusual aptitude at quotation.
"It's Byron, and it's nothing to do with the subject in hand. I'msurprised at your lordship's quoting Byron,--he was a very immoralpoet."
"I saw him take his oaths in the House of Lords," said Lord Cumnor,apologetically.
"Well! the less said about him the better," said Lady Cumnor. "I havetold Clare that she had better not think of being married beforeChristmas: and it won't do for her to give up her school in a hurryeither."
But Clare did not intend to wait till Christmas; and for this onceshe carried her point against the will of the countess, and withoutmany words, or any open opposition. She had a harder task in settingaside Mr. Gibson's desire to have Cynthia over for the wedding,even if she went back to her school at Boulogne directly after theceremony. At first she had said that it would be delightful, acharming plan; only she feared that she must give up her own wishesto have her child near her at such a time, on account of the expenseof the double journey.
But Mr. Gibson, economical as he was in his habitual expenditure,had a really generous heart. He had already shown it, in entirelyrelinquishing his future wife's life-interest in the very smallproperty the late Mr. Kirkpatrick had left, in favour of Cynthia;while he arranged that she should come to his home as a daughter assoon as she left the school she was at. The life-interest was aboutthirty pounds a year. Now he gave Mrs. Kirkpatrick three five-poundnotes, saying that he hoped they would do away with the objectionsto Cynthia's coming over to the wedding; and at the time Mrs.Kirkpatrick felt as if they would, and caught the reflection of hisstrong wish, and fancied it was her own. If the letter could havebeen written and the money sent off that day while the reflectedglow of affection lasted, Cynthia would have been bridesmaid toher mother. But a hundred little interruptions came in the way ofletter-writing; and by the next day maternal love had diminished;and the value affixed to the money had increased: money had beenso much needed, so hardly earned in Mrs. Kirkpatrick's life; whilethe perhaps necessary separation of mother and child had lessenedthe amount of affection the former had to bestow. So she persuadedherself, afresh, that it would be unwise to disturb Cynthia at herstudies; to interrupt the fulfilment of her duties just after the_semestre_ had begun afresh; and she wrote a letter to Madame Lefevreso well imbued with this persuasion, that an answer which was almostan echo of her words was returned, the sense of which being conveyedto Mr. Gibson, who was no great French scholar, settled the vexedquestion, to his moderate but unfeigned regret. But the fifteenpounds were not returned. Indeed, not merely that sum, but agreat part of the hundred which Lord Cumnor had given her for hertrousseau, was required to pay off debts at Ashcombe; for the schoolhad been anything but flourishing since Mrs. Kirkpatrick had had it.It was really very much to her credit that she preferred clearingherself from debt to purchasing wedding finery. But it was one of thefew points to be respected in Mrs. Kirkpatrick that she had alwaysbeen careful in payment to the shops where she dealt; it was a littlesense of duty cropping out. Whatever other faults might arise fromher superficial and flimsy character, she was always uneasy till shewas out of debt. Yet she had no scruple in appropriating her futurehusband's money to her own use, when it was decided that it was notto be employed as he intended. What new articles she bought forherself, were all such as would make a show, and an impression uponthe ladies of Hollingford. She argued with herself that linen, andall under-clothing, would never be seen; while she knew that everygown she had, would give rise to much discussion, and would becounted up in the little town.
So her stock of underclothing was very small, and scarcely any of itnew; but it was made of dainty material, and was finely mended upby her deft fingers, many a night long after her pupils were in bed;inwardly resolving all the time she sewed, that hereafter some oneelse should do her plain-work. Indeed, many a little circumstance offormer subjection to the will of others rose up before her duringthese quiet hours, as an endurance or a suffering never to occuragain. So apt are people to look forward to a different kind of lifefrom that to which they have been accustomed, as being free from careand trial! She recollected how, one time during this very summer atthe Towers, after she was engaged to Mr. Gibson, when she had takenabove an hour to arrange her hair in some new mode carefully studiedfrom Mrs. Bradley's fashion-book--after all, when she came down,looking her very best, as she thought, and ready for her lover, LadyCumnor had sent her back again to her room, just as if she had beena little child, to do her hair over again, and not to make such afigure of fun of herself! Another time she had been sent to changeher gown for one in her opinion far less becoming, but which suitedLady Cumnor's taste better. These were little things; but they werelate samples of what in different shapes she had had to endure formany years; and her liking for Mr. Gibson grew in proportion to hersense of the evils from which he was going to serve as a means ofescape. After all, that interval of hope and plain-sewing, intermixedthough it was with tuition, was not disagreeable. Her wedding-dresswas secure. Her former pupils at the Towers were going to present herwith that; they were to dress her from head to foot on the auspiciousday. Lord Cumnor, as has been said, had given her a hundred poundsfor her trousseau, and had sent Mr. Preston a carte-blanche order forthe wedding-breakfast in the old hall in Ashcombe Manor-
house. LadyCumnor--a little put out by the marriage not being deferred tillher grandchildren's Christmas holidays--had nevertheless given Mrs.Kirkpatrick an excellent English-made watch and chain; more clumsybut more serviceable than the little foreign elegance that had hungat her side so long, and misled her so often.
Her preparations were thus in a very considerable state offorwardness, while Mr. Gibson had done nothing as yet towards any newarrangement or decoration of his house for his intended bride. Heknew he ought to do something. But what? Where to begin, when so muchwas out of order, and he had so little time for superintendence?At length he came to the wise decision of asking one of the MissBrownings, for old friendship's sake, to take the trouble ofpreparing what was immediately requisite; and resolved to leave allthe more ornamental decorations that he proposed, to the taste of hisfuture wife. But before making his request to the Miss Brownings, hehad to tell them of his engagement, which had hitherto been kept asecret from the townspeople, who had set down his frequent visitsat the Towers to the score of the countess's health. He felt how heshould have laughed in his sleeve at any middle-aged widower whocame to him with a confession of the kind he had now to make to MissBrownings, and disliked the idea of the necessary call: but it was tobe done, so one evening he went in "promiscuous," as they called it,and told them his story. At the end of the first chapter--that is tosay, at the end of the story of Mr. Coxe's calf-love, Miss Browningheld up her hands in surprise.
"To think of Molly, as I have held in long-clothes, coming to have alover! Well, to be sure! Sister Phoebe--" (she was just coming intothe room), "here's a piece of news! Molly Gibson has got a lover!One may almost say she's had an offer! Mr. Gibson, may not one?--andshe's but sixteen!"
"Seventeen, sister," said Miss Phoebe, who piqued herself onknowing all about dear Mr. Gibson's domestic affairs. "Seventeen, the22nd of last June."
"Well, have it your own way. Seventeen, if you like to call her so!"said Miss Browning, impatiently. "The fact is still the same--she'sgot a lover; and it seems to me she was in long-clothes onlyyesterday."
"I'm sure I hope her course of true love will run smooth," said MissPhoebe.
Now Mr. Gibson came in; for his story was not half told, and hedid not want them to run away too far with the idea of Molly'slove-affair.
"Molly knows nothing about it. I haven't even named it to any onebut you two, and to one other friend. I trounced Coxe well, and didmy best to keep his attachment--as he calls it--in bounds. But Iwas sadly puzzled what to do about Molly. Miss Eyre was away, and Icouldn't leave them in the house together without any older woman."
"Oh, Mr. Gibson! why did you not send her to us?" broke in MissBrowning. "We would have done anything in our power for you; for yoursake, as well as her poor dear mother's."
"Thank you. I know you would, but it wouldn't have done to have hadher in Hollingford, just at the time of Coxe's effervescence. He'sbetter now. His appetite has come back with double force, after thefasting he thought it right to exhibit. He had three helpings ofblack-currant dumpling yesterday."
"I am sure you are most liberal, Mr. Gibson. Three helpings! And, Idaresay, butcher's meat in proportion?"
"Oh! I only named it because, with such very young men, it'sgenerally see-saw between appetite and love, and I thought the thirdhelping a very good sign. But still, you know, what has happenedonce, may happen again."
"I don't know. Phoebe had an offer of marriage once--" said MissBrowning.
"Hush! sister. It might hurt his feelings to have it spoken about."
"Nonsense, child! It's five-and-twenty years ago; and his eldestdaughter is married herself."
"I own he has not been constant," pleaded Miss Phoebe, inher tender, piping voice. "All men are not--like you, Mr.Gibson--faithful to the memory of their first-love."
Mr. Gibson winced. Jeannie was his first love; but her name had neverbeen breathed in Hollingford. His wife--good, pretty, sensible, andbeloved as she had been--was not his second; no, nor his third love.And now he was come to make a confidence about his second marriage.
"Well, well," said he; "at any rate, I thought I must do something toprotect Molly from such affairs while she was so young, and before Ihad given my sanction. Miss Eyre's little nephew fell ill of scarletfever--"
"Ah! by-the-by, how careless of me not to inquire. How is the poorlittle fellow?"
"Worse--better. It doesn't signify to what I've got to say now; thefact was, Miss Eyre couldn't come back to my house for some time, andI cannot leave Molly altogether at Hamley."
"Ah! I see now, why there was that sudden visit to Hamley. Upon myword, it's quite a romance."
"I do like hearing of a love-affair," murmured Miss Phoebe.
"Then if you'll let me get on with my story, you shall hear of mine,"said Mr. Gibson, quite beyond his patience with their constantinterruptions.
"Yours!" said Miss Phoebe, faintly.
"Bless us and save us!" said Miss Browning, with less sentiment inher tone; "what next?"
"My marriage, I hope," said Mr. Gibson, choosing to take herexpression of intense surprise literally. "And that's what I came tospeak to you about."
A little hope darted up in Miss Phoebe's breast. She had often saidto her sister, in the confidence of curling-time (ladies wore curlsin those days), "that the only man who could ever bring her to thinkof matrimony was Mr. Gibson but that if he ever proposed, sheshould feel bound to accept him, for poor dear Mary's sake;" neverexplaining what exact style of satisfaction she imagined she shouldgive to her dead friend by marrying her late husband. Phoebe playednervously with the strings of her black silk apron. Like the Caliphin the Eastern story, a whole lifetime of possibilities passedthrough her mind in an instant, of which possibilities the questionof questions was, Could she leave her sister? Attend, Phoebe, tothe present moment, and listen to what is being said before youdistress yourself with a perplexity which will never arise.
"Of course it has been an anxious thing for me to decide who I shouldask to be the mistress of my family, the mother of my girl; but Ithink I've decided rightly at last. The lady I have chosen--"
"Tell us at once who she is, there's a good man," saidstraight-forward Miss Browning.
"Mrs. Kirkpatrick," said the bridegroom elect.
"What! the governess at the Towers, that the countess makes so muchof?"
"Yes; she is much valued by them--and deservedly so. She keeps aschool now at Ashcombe, and is accustomed to housekeeping. She hasbrought up the young ladies at the Towers, and has a daughter of herown, therefore it is probable she will have a kind, motherly feelingtowards Molly."
"She's a very elegant-looking woman," said Miss Phoebe, feeling itincumbent upon her to say something laudatory, by way of concealingthe thoughts that had just been passing through her mind. "I've seenher in the carriage, riding backwards with the countess: a verypretty woman, I should say."
"Nonsense, sister," said Miss Browning. "What has her elegance orprettiness to do with the affair? Did you ever know a widower marryagain for such trifles as those? It's always from a sense of duty ofone kind or another--isn't it, Mr. Gibson? They want a housekeeper;or they want a mother for their children; or they think their lastwife would have liked it."
Perhaps the thought had passed through the elder sister's mind thatPhoebe might have been chosen, for there was a sharp acrimony inher tone; not unfamiliar to Mr. Gibson, but with which he did notchoose to cope at this present moment.
"You must have it your own way, Miss Browning. Settle my motives forme. I don't pretend to be quite clear about them myself. But I amclear in wishing heartily to keep my old friends, and for them tolove my future wife for my sake. I don't know any two women in theworld, except Molly and Mrs. Kirkpatrick, I regard as much as I doyou. Besides, I want to ask you if you will let Molly come and staywith you till after my marriage?"
"You might have asked us before you asked Madam Hamley," said MissBrowning, only half mollified. "We are your old friends; and we wereher mother's fr
iends, too; though we are not county folk."
"That's unjust," said Mr. Gibson. "And you know it is."
"I don't know. You are always with Lord Hollingford, when you canget at him, much more than you ever are with Mr. Goodenough, or Mr.Smith. And you are always going over to Hamley."
Miss Browning was not one to give in all at once.
"I seek Lord Hollingford as I should seek such a man, whatever hisrank or position might be: usher to a school, carpenter, shoemaker,if it were possible for them to have had a similar character of minddeveloped by similar advantages. Mr. Goodenough is a very cleverattorney, with strong local interests and not a thought beyond."
"Well, well, don't go on arguing, it always gives me a headache, asPhoebe knows. I didn't mean what I said, that's enough, isn't it?I'll retract anything sooner than be reasoned with. Where were webefore you began your arguments?"
"About dear little Molly coming to pay us a visit," said MissPhoebe.
"I should have asked you at first, only Coxe was so rampant with hislove. I didn't know what he might do, or how troublesome he might beboth to Molly and you. But he has cooled down now. Absence has hada very tranquillizing effect, and I think Molly may be in the sametown with him, without any consequences beyond a few sighs every timeshe's brought to his mind by meeting her. And I've got another favourto ask of you, so you see it would never do for me to argue with you,Miss Browning, when I ought to be a humble suppliant. Something mustbe done to the house to make it all ready for the future Mrs. Gibson.It wants painting and papering shamefully, and I should think somenew furniture, but I'm sure I don't know what. Would you be so verykind as to look over the place, and see how far a hundred poundswill go? The dining-room walls must be painted; we'll keep thedrawing-room paper for her choice, and I've a little spare money forthat room for her to lay out; but all the rest of the house I'llleave to you, if you'll only be kind enough to help an old friend."
This was a commission which exactly gratified Miss Browning's loveof power. The disposal of money involved patronage of trades people,such as she had exercised in her father's lifetime, but had had verylittle chance of showing since his death. Her usual good-humour wasquite restored by this proof of confidence in her taste and economy,while Miss Phoebe's imagination dwelt rather on the pleasure of avisit from Molly.
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