Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER XLIV.

  MOLLY GIBSON TO THE RESCUE.

  It seemed curious enough, after the storms of the night, to meet insmooth tranquillity at breakfast. Cynthia was pale; but she talked asquietly as usual about all manner of indifferent things, while Mollysate silent, watching and wondering, and becoming convinced thatCynthia must have gone through a long experience of concealing herreal thoughts and secret troubles before she could have been able toput on such a semblance of composure. Among the letters that camein that morning was one from the London Kirkpatricks; but not fromHelen, Cynthia's own particular correspondent. Her sister wroteto apologize for Helen, who was not well, she said: had had theinfluenza, which had left her very weak and poorly.

  "Let her come down here for change of air," said Mr. Gibson. "Thecountry at this time of the year is better than London, except whenthe place is surrounded by trees. Now our house is well drained, highup, gravel-soil, and I'll undertake to doctor her for nothing."

  "It would be charming," said Mrs. Gibson, rapidly revolving inher mind the changes necessary in her household economy beforereceiving a young lady accustomed to such a household as Mr.Kirkpatrick's,--calculating the consequent inconveniences, andweighing them against the probable advantages, even while she spoke."Should not you like it, Cynthia? and Molly too? You then, dear,would become acquainted with one of the girls, and I have no doubtyou would be asked back again, which would be so very nice!"

  "And I shouldn't let her go," said Mr. Gibson, who had acquired anunfortunate facility of reading his wife's thoughts.

  "Dear Helen!" went on Mrs. Gibson, "I should so like to nurse her! Wewould make your consulting-room into her own private sitting-room,my dear."--(It is hardly necessary to say that the scales had beenweighed down by the inconveniences of having a person behind thescenes for several weeks). "For with an invalid so much depends ontranquillity. In the drawing-room, for instance, she might constantlybe disturbed by callers; and the dining-room is so--so what shall Icall it? so dinnery,--the smell of meals never seems to leave it; itwould have been different if dear papa had allowed me to throw outthat window--"

  "Why can't she have the dressing-room for her bedroom, and the littleroom opening out of the drawing-room for her sitting-room?" asked Mr.Gibson.

  "The library," for by this name Mrs. Gibson chose to dignify what hadformerly been called the book-closet--"why, it would hardly hold asofa, besides the books and the writing-table; and there are draughtseverywhere. No, my dear, we had better not ask her at all, her ownhome is comfortable at any rate!"

  "Well, well!" said Mr. Gibson, seeing that he was to be worsted, andnot caring enough about the matter to show fight. "Perhaps you'reright. It's a case of luxury _versus_ fresh air. Some people suffermore from want of the one than from want of the other. You know Ishall be glad to see her if she likes to come, and take us as we are,but I can't give up the consulting-room. It's a necessity; our dailybread!"

  "I'll write and tell them how kind Mr. Gibson is," said his wife inhigh contentment, as her husband left the room. "They'll be just asmuch obliged to him as if she had come!"

  Whether it was Helen's illness, or from some other cause, afterbreakfast Cynthia became very flat and absent, and this lasted allday long. Molly understood now why her moods had been so changeablefor many months, and was tender and forbearing with her accordingly.Towards evening, when the two girls were left alone, Cynthia came andstood over Molly, so that her face could not be seen.

  "Molly," said she, "will you do it? Will you do what you said lastnight? I've been thinking of it all day, and sometimes I believe hewould give you back the letters if you asked him; he might fancy--atany rate it's worth trying, if you don't very much dislike it."

  Now it so happened that with every thought she had given to it, Mollydisliked the idea of the proposed interview with Mr. Preston more andmore; but it was, after all, her own offer, and she neither could norwould draw back from it; it might do good; she did not see how itcould possibly do harm. So she gave her consent, and tried to concealher distaste, which grew upon her more and more as Cynthia hastilyarranged the details.

  "You shall meet him in the avenue leading from the park lodge up tothe Towers. He can come in one way from the Towers, where he hasoften business--he has pass-keys everywhere--you can go in as we haveoften done by the lodge--you need not go far."

  It did strike Molly that Cynthia must have had some experience inmaking all these arrangements; and she ventured to ask how he wasto be informed of all this. Cynthia only reddened and replied, "Oh!never mind! He will only be too glad to come; you heard him sayhe wished to discuss the affair more; it is the first time theappointment has come from my side. If I can but once be free--oh,Molly, I will love you, and be grateful to you all my life!"

  Molly thought of Roger, and that thought prompted her next speech.

  "It must be horrible--I think I'm very brave--but I don't think Icould have--could have accepted even Roger, with a half-cancelledengagement hanging over me." She blushed as she spoke.

  "You forget how I detest Mr. Preston!" said Cynthia. "It was that,more than any excess of love for Roger, that made me thankful to beat least as securely pledged to some one else. He did not want tocall it an engagement, but I did; because it gave me the feeling ofassurance that I was free from Mr. Preston. And so I am! all butthese letters. Oh! if you can but make him take back his abominablemoney, and get me my letters! Then we would bury it all in oblivion,and he could marry somebody else, and I would marry Roger, and no onewould be the wiser. After all, it was only what people call 'youthfulfolly.' And you may tell Mr. Preston that as soon as he makes myletters public, shows them to your father or anything, I'll go awayfrom Hollingford, and never come back."

  Loaded with many such messages, which she felt that she should neverdeliver, not really knowing what she should say, hating the errand,not satisfied with Cynthia's manner of speaking about her relationsto Roger, oppressed with shame and complicity in conduct whichappeared to her deceitful, yet willing to bear all and brave all,if she could once set Cynthia in a straight path--in a clear space,and almost more pitiful to her friend's great distress and possibledisgrace, than able to give her that love which involves perfectsympathy, Molly set out on her walk towards the appointed place. Itwas a cloudy, blustering day, and the noise of the blowing wind amongthe nearly leafless branches of the great trees filled her ears, asshe passed through the park-gates and entered the avenue. She walkedquickly, instinctively wishing to get her blood up, and have no timefor thought. But there was a bend in the avenue about a quarter of amile from the lodge; after that bend it was a straight line up to thegreat house, now emptied of its inhabitants. Molly did not like goingquite out of sight of the lodge, and she stood facing it, close bythe trunk of one of the trees. Presently she heard a step coming overthe grass. It was Mr. Preston. He saw a woman's figure, half-behindthe trunk of a tree, and made no doubt that it was Cynthia. Butwhen he came nearer, almost close, the figure turned round, and,instead of the brilliantly coloured face of Cynthia, he met the paleresolved look of Molly. She did not speak to greet him; but thoughhe felt sure from the general aspect of pallor and timidity thatshe was afraid of him, her steady gray eyes met his with courageousinnocence.

  "Is Cynthia unable to come?" asked he, perceiving that she expectedhim.

  "I did not know you thought that you should meet her," said Molly, alittle surprised. In her simplicity she had believed that Cynthia hadnamed that it was she, Molly Gibson, who would meet Mr. Preston at agiven time and place; but Cynthia had been too worldly-wise for that,and had decoyed him thither by a vaguely worded note, which, whileavoiding actual falsehood, had led him to believe that she herselfwould give him the meeting.

  "She said she should be here," said Mr. Preston, extremely annoyed atbeing entrapped, as he now felt that he had been, into an interviewwith Miss Gibson. Molly hesitated a little before she spoke. He wasdetermined not to break the silence; as she had intruded herself intothe affair, s
he should find her situation as awkward as possible.

  "At any rate she sent me here to meet you," said Molly. "She has toldme exactly how matters stand between you and her."

  "Has she?" sneered he. "She is not always the most open or reliableperson in the world!"

  Molly reddened. She perceived the impertinence of the tone; and hertemper was none of the coolest. But she mastered herself and gainedcourage by so doing.

  "You should not speak so of the person you profess to wish to havefor your wife. But putting all that aside, you have some letters ofhers that she wishes to have back again."

  "I daresay."

  "And that you have no right to keep."

  "No legal, or no moral right? which do you mean?"

  "I do not know; simply you have no right at all, as a gentleman, tokeep a girl's letters when she asks for them back again, much less tohold them over her as a threat."

  "I see you do know all, Miss Gibson," said he, changing his manner toone of more respect. "At least she has told you her story from herpoint of view, her side; now you must hear mine. She promised me assolemnly as ever woman--"

  "She was not a woman, she was only a girl, barely sixteen."

  "Old enough to know what she was doing; but I'll call her a girl ifyou like. She promised me solemnly to be my wife, making the onestipulation of secrecy, and a certain period of waiting; she wroteme letters repeating this promise, and confidential enough to provethat she considered herself bound to me by such an implied relation.I don't give in to humbug--I don't set myself up as a saint--and inmost ways I can look after my own interests pretty keenly; you knowenough of her position as a penniless girl, and at that time, withno influential connections to take the place of wealth, and help meon in the world, it was as sincere and unworldly a passion as everman felt; she must say so herself. I might have married two or threegirls with plenty of money; one of them was handsome enough, and notat all reluctant."

  Molly interrupted him: she was chafed at the conceit of his manner."I beg your pardon, but I do not want to hear accounts of youngladies whom you might have married; I come here simply on behalf ofCynthia, who does not like you, and who does not wish to marry you."

  "Well, then, I must make her 'like' me, as you call it. She did'like' me once, and made promises which she will find it requires theconsent of two people to break. I don't despair of making her love meas much as ever she did, according to her letters, at least, when weare married."

  "She will never marry you," said Molly, firmly.

  "Then if she ever honours any one else with her preference, he shallbe allowed the perusal of her letters to me."

  Molly almost could have laughed, she was so secure and certainthat Roger would never read letters offered to him under thesecircumstances; but then she thought that he would feel such pain atthe whole affair, and at the contact with Mr. Preston, especially ifhe had not heard of it from Cynthia first, and if she, Molly, couldsave him pain she would. Before she could settle what to say, Mr.Preston spoke again.

  "You said the other day that Cynthia was engaged. May I ask whom to?"

  "No," said Molly, "you may not. You heard her say it was not anengagement. It is not exactly; and if it were a full engagement, doyou think, after what you last said, I should tell you to whom? Butyou may be sure of this, he would never read a line of your letters.He is too-- No! I won't speak of him before you. You could neverunderstand him."

  "It seems to me that this mysterious 'he' is a very fortunate personto have such a warm defender in Miss Gibson, to whom he is not atall engaged," said Mr. Preston, with so disagreeable a look on hisface that Molly suddenly found herself on the point of bursting intotears. But she rallied herself, and worked on--for Cynthia first, andfor Roger as well.

  "No honourable man or woman will read your letters, and if any peopledo read them, they will be so much ashamed of it that they won't dareto speak of them. What use can they be of to you?"

  "They contain Cynthia's reiterated promises of marriage," replied he.

  "She says she would rather leave Hollingford for ever, and go out toearn her bread, than marry you."

  His face fell a little. He looked so bitterly mortified, that Mollywas almost sorry for him.

  "Does she say that to you in cold blood? Do you know you are tellingme very hard truths, Miss Gibson? If they are truths, that is tosay," he continued, recovering himself a little. "Young ladies arevery fond of the words 'hate' and 'detest.' I've known many who haveapplied them to men whom they were all the time hoping to marry."

  "I cannot tell about other people," said Molly; "I only know thatCynthia does--" Here she hesitated for a moment; she felt for hispain, and so she hesitated; but then she brought it out--"does asnearly hate you as anybody like her ever does hate."

  "Like her?" said he, repeating the words almost unconsciously,seizing on anything to try and hide his mortification.

  "I mean, I should hate worse," said Molly in a low voice.

  But he did not attend much to her answer. He was working the point ofhis stick into the turf, and his eyes were bent on it.

  "So now would you mind sending her back the letters by me? I doassure you that you cannot make her marry you."

  "You are very simple, Miss Gibson," said he, suddenly lifting uphis head. "I suppose you don't know that there is any other feelingthat can be gratified, except love. Have you never heard of revenge?Cynthia has cajoled me with promises, and little as you or she maybelieve me--well, it's no use speaking of that. I don't mean to lether go unpunished. You may tell her that. I shall keep the letters,and make use of them as I see fit when the occasion arises."

  Molly was miserably angry with herself for her mismanagement of theaffair. She had hoped to succeed: she had only made matters worse.What new argument could she use? Meanwhile he went on, lashinghimself up as he thought how the two girls must have talked him over,bringing in wounded vanity to add to the rage of disappointed love.

  "Mr. Osborne Hamley may hear of their contents, though he may be toohonourable to read them. Nay, even your father may hear whispers;and if I remember them rightly, Miss Cynthia Kirkpatrick does notalways speak in the most respectful terms of the lady who is now Mrs.Gibson. There are--"

  "Stop," said Molly. "I won't hear anything out of these letters,written, when she was almost without friends, to you, whom she lookedupon as a friend! But I have thought of what I will do next. I giveyou fair warning. If I had not been foolish, I should have told myfather, but Cynthia made me promise that I would not. So I will tellit all, from beginning to end, to Lady Harriet, and ask her to speakto her father. I feel sure that she will do it; and I don't think youwill dare to refuse Lord Cumnor."

  He felt at once that he should not dare; that, clever land-agent ashe was, and high up in the earl's favour on that account, yet thatthe conduct of which he had been guilty in regard to the letters, andthe threats which he had held out respecting them, were just whatno gentleman, no honourable man, no manly man, could put up with inany one about him. He knew that much, and he wondered how she, thegirl standing before him, had been clever enough to find it out. Heforgot himself for an instant in admiration of her. There she stood,frightened, yet brave, not letting go her hold on what she meant todo, even when things seemed most against her; and besides, there wassomething that struck him most of all perhaps, and which shows thekind of man he was--he perceived that Molly was as unconscious thathe was a young man, and she a young woman, as if she had been a pureangel of heaven. Though he felt that he would have to yield, and giveup the letters, he was not going to do it at once; and while he wasthinking what to say, so as still to evade making any concession tillhe had had time to think over it, he, with his quick senses all abouthim, heard the trotting of a horse cranching quickly along over thegravel of the drive. A moment afterwards, Molly's perception overtookhis. He could see the startled look overspread her face; and in aninstant she would have run away, but before the first rush was made,Mr. Preston laid his hand firmly on her arm. />
  "Keep quiet. You must be seen. You, at any rate, have done nothing tobe ashamed of."

  As he spoke, Mr. Sheepshanks came round the bend of the road and wasclose upon them. Mr. Preston saw, if Molly did not, the sudden lookof intelligence that dawned upon the shrewd ruddy face of the oldgentleman--saw, but did not much heed. He went forwards and spoke toMr. Sheepshanks, who made a halt right before them.

  "Miss Gibson! your servant. Rather a blustering day for a young ladyto be out,--and cold, I should say, for standing still too long; eh,Preston?" poking his whip at the latter in a knowing manner.

  "Yes," said Mr. Preston "and I'm afraid I have kept Miss Gibson toolong standing."

  Molly did not know what to say or do; so she only bowed a silentfarewell, and turned away to go home, feeling very heavy at heart atthe non-success of her undertaking. For she did not know how she hadconquered, in fact, although Mr. Preston might not as yet acknowledgeit even to himself. Before she was out of hearing, she heard Mr.Sheepshanks say,--

  "Sorry to have disturbed your tete-a-tete, Preston," but though sheheard the words, their implied sense did not sink into her mind; shewas only feeling how she had gone out glorious and confident, and wascoming back to Cynthia defeated.

  Cynthia was on the watch for her return, and, rushing downstairs,dragged Molly into the dining-room.

  "Well, Molly? Oh! I see you haven't got them. After all, Inever expected it." She sate down, as if she could get over herdisappointment better in that position, and Molly stood like a guiltyperson before her.

  "I am so sorry; I did all I could; we were interrupted at last--Mr.Sheepshanks rode up."

  "Provoking old man! Do you think you should have persuaded him togive up the letters if you had had more time?"

  "I don't know. I wish Mr. Sheepshanks hadn't come up just then. Ididn't like his finding me standing talking to Mr. Preston."

  "Oh! I daresay he'd never think anything about it. What did he--Mr.Preston--say?"

  "He seemed to think you were fully engaged to him, and that theseletters were the only proof he had. I think he loves you in his way."

  "His way, indeed!" said Cynthia, scornfully.

  "The more I think of it, the more I see it would be better for papato speak to him. I did say I would tell it all to Lady Harriet, andget Lord Cumnor to make him give up the letters. But it would be veryawkward."

  "Very!" said Cynthia, gloomily. "But he would see it was only athreat."

  "But I will do it in a moment, if you like. I meant what I said; onlyI feel that papa would manage it best of all, and more privately."

  "I'll tell you what, Molly--you're bound by a promise, you know, andcannot tell Mr. Gibson without breaking your solemn word--but it'sjust this: I'll leave Hollingford and never come back again, if everyour father hears of this affair; there!" Cynthia stood up now, andbegan to fold up Molly's shawl, in her nervous excitement.

  "Oh, Cynthia--Roger!" was all that Molly said.

  "Yes, I know! you need not remind me of him. But I'm not goingto live in the house with any one who may be always casting upin his mind the things he had heard against me--things--faults,perhaps--which sound so much worse than they really are. I was sohappy when I first came here; you all liked me, and admired me, andthought well of me, and now-- Why, Molly, I can see the differencein you already. You carry your thoughts in your face--I have readthem there these two days--you've been thinking, 'How Cynthia musthave deceived me; keeping up a correspondence all this time--havinghalf-engagements to two men!' You've been more full of that thanof pity for me as a girl who has always been obliged to manage forherself, without any friend to help her and protect her."

  Molly was silent. There was a great deal of truth in what Cynthia wassaying: and yet a great deal of falsehood. For, through all this longforty-eight hours, Molly had loved Cynthia dearly; and had been moreweighed down by the position the latter was in than Cynthia herself.She also knew--but this was a second thought following on theother--that she had suffered much pain in trying to do her bestin this interview with Mr. Preston. She had been tried beyond herstrength: and the great tears welled up into her eyes, and fellslowly down her cheeks.

  "Oh! what a brute I am!" said Cynthia, kissing them away. "I see--Iknow it is the truth, and I deserve it--but I need not reproach you."

  "You did not reproach me!" said Molly, trying to smile. "I havethought something of what you said--but I do love you dearly--dearly,Cynthia--I should have done just the same as you did."

  "No, you would not. Your grain is different, somehow."