Wives and Daughters

by Elizabeth Cleghorn Gaskell

  CHAPTER LII.

  SQUIRE HAMLEY'S SORROW.

  It seemed very long before Mr. Gibson came down. He went and stoodwith his back to the empty fireplace, and did not speak for a minuteor two.

  "He's gone to bed," said he at length. "Robinson and I have got himthere. But just as I was leaving him he called me back and askedme to let you stop. I'm sure I don't know--but one doesn't like torefuse at such a time."

  "I wish to stay," said Molly.

  "Do you? There's a good girl. But how will you manage?"

  "Oh, never mind that. I can manage. Papa,"--she paused--"what didOsborne die of?" She asked the question in a low, awe-stricken voice.

  "Something wrong about the heart. You wouldn't understand if I toldyou. I apprehended it for some time; but it's better not to talkof such things at home. When I saw him on Thursday week, he seemedbetter than I've seen him for a long time. I told Dr. Nicholls so.But one never can calculate in these complaints."

  "You saw him on Thursday week? Why, you never mentioned it!" saidMolly.

  "No. I don't talk of my patients at home. Besides, I didn't want himto consider me as his doctor, but as a friend. Any alarm about hisown health would only have hastened the catastrophe."

  "Then didn't he know that he was ill--ill of a dangerous complaint,I mean: one that might end as it has done?"

  "No; certainly not. He would only have been watching hissymptoms--accelerating matters, in fact."

  "Oh, papa!" said Molly, shocked.

  "I've no time to go into the question," Mr. Gibson continued. "Anduntil you know what has to be said on both sides and in everyinstance, you are not qualified to judge. We must keep our attentionon the duties in hand now. You sleep here for the remainder of thenight, which is more than half-gone already?"

  "Yes."

  "Promise me to go to bed just as usual. You may not think it, butmost likely you'll go to sleep at once. People do at your age."

  "Papa, I think I ought to tell you something. I know a great secretof Osborne's, which I promised solemnly not to tell; but the lasttime I saw him I think he must have been afraid of something likethis." A fit of sobbing came upon her, which her father was afraidwould end in hysterics. But suddenly she mastered herself, and lookedup into his anxious face, and smiled to reassure him.

  "I could not help it, papa!"

  "No. I know. Go on with what you were saying. You ought to be in bed;but if you've a secret on your mind you won't sleep."

  "Osborne was married," said she, fixing her eyes on her father. "Thatis the secret."

  "Married! Nonsense. What makes you think so?"

  "He told me. That's to say, I was in the library--was reading there,some time ago; and Roger came and spoke to Osborne about his wife.Roger did not see me, but Osborne did. They made me promise secrecy.I don't think I did wrong."

  "Don't worry yourself about right or wrong just now; tell me moreabout it, at once."

  "I knew no more till six months ago--last November, when you went upto Lady Cumnor. Then he called, and gave me his wife's address, butstill under promise of secrecy; and, except those two times, and oncewhen Roger just alluded to it, I have never heard any one mention thesubject. I think he would have told me more that last time, only MissPhoebe came in."

  "Where is this wife of his?"

  "Down in the south; near Winchester, I think. He said she was aFrenchwoman and a Roman Catholic; and I think he said she was aservant," added Molly.

  "Phew!" Her father made a long whistle of dismay.

  "And," continued Molly, "he spoke of a child. Now you know as much asI do, papa, except the address. I have it written down safe at home."

  Forgetting, apparently, what time of night it was, Mr. Gibson satedown, stretched out his legs before him, put his hands in hispockets, and began to think. Molly sate still without speaking, tootired to do more than wait.

  "Well!" said he at last, jumping up, "nothing can be done to-night;by to-morrow morning, perhaps, I may find out. Poor little paleface!"--taking it between both his hands and kissing it; "poor,sweet, little pale face!" Then he rang the bell, and told Robinson tosend some maid-servant to take Miss Gibson to her room.

  "He won't be up early," said he, in parting. "The shock has loweredhim too much to be energetic. Send breakfast up to him in his ownroom. I'll be here again before ten."

  Late as it was before he left, he kept his word.

  "Now, Molly," he said, "you and I must tell him the truth between us.I don't know how he will take it; it may comfort him, but I've verylittle hope: either way, he ought to know it at once."

  "Robinson says he has gone into the room again, and he is afraid hehas locked the door on the inside."

  "Never mind. I shall ring the bell, and send up Robinson to say thatI am here, and wish to speak to him."

  The message returned was, "The Squire's kind love, and could not seeMr. Gibson just then." Robinson added, "It was a long time beforehe'd answer at all, sir."

  "Go up again, and tell him I can wait his convenience. Now that's alie," Mr. Gibson said, turning round to Molly as soon as Robinson hadleft the room. "I ought to be far enough away at twelve; but, if I'mnot much mistaken, the innate habits of a gentleman will make himuneasy at the idea of keeping me waiting his pleasure, and will domore to bring him out of that room into this than any entreaties orreasoning." Mr. Gibson was growing impatient though, before theyheard the Squire's footstep on the stairs; he was evidently comingslowly and unwillingly. He came in almost like one blind, gropingalong, and taking hold of chair or table for support or guidance tillhe reached Mr. Gibson. He did not speak when he held the doctor bythe hand; he only hung down his head, and kept on a feeble shaking ofwelcome.

  "I'm brought very low, sir. I suppose it's God's doing; but it comeshard upon me. He was my firstborn child." He said this almost as ifspeaking to a stranger, and informing him of facts of which he wasignorant.

  "Here's Molly," said Mr. Gibson, choking a little himself, andpushing her forwards.

  "I beg your pardon I did not see you at first. My mind is a gooddeal occupied just now." He sate heavily down, and then seemed almostto forget they were there. Molly wondered what was to come next.Suddenly her father spoke,--

  "Where's Roger?" said he. "Is he not likely to be soon at the Cape?"He got up and looked at the directions of one or two unopened lettersbrought by that morning's post; among them was one in Cynthia'shandwriting. Both Molly and he saw it at the same time. How long itwas since yesterday! But the Squire took no notice of theirproceedings or their looks.

  "You will be glad to have Roger at home as soon as may be, I think,sir. Some months must elapse first; but I'm sure he will return asspeedily as possible."

  The Squire said something in a very low voice. Both father anddaughter strained their ears to hear what it was. They both believedit to be, "Roger isn't Osborne!" And Mr. Gibson spoke on that belief.He spoke more quietly than Molly had ever heard him do before.

  "No! we know that. I wish that anything that Roger could do, or thatI could do, or that any one could do, would comfort you; but it ispast human comfort."

  "I do try to say, God's will be done, sir," said the Squire, lookingup at Mr. Gibson for the first time, and speaking with more life inhis voice; "but it's harder to be resigned than happy people think."They were all silent for a while. The Squire himself was the firstto speak again,--"He was my first child, sir; my eldest son. Andof late years we weren't"--his voice broke down, but he controlledhimself--"we weren't quite as good friends as could be wished; andI'm not sure--not sure that he knew how I loved him." And now hecried aloud with an exceeding bitter cry.

  "Better so!" whispered Mr. Gibson to Molly. "When he's a littlecalmer, don't be afraid; tell him all you know, exactly as ithappened."

  Molly began. Her voice sounded high and unnatural to herself, as ifsome one else was speaking, but she made her words clear. The Squiredid not attempt to listen, at first, at any rate.

  "One day when I was here, at th
e time of Mrs. Hamley's last illness"(the Squire here checked his convulsive breathing), "I was in thelibrary, and Osborne came in. He said he had only come in for a book,and that I was not to mind him, so I went on reading. Presently,Roger came along the flagged garden-path just outside the window(which was open). He did not see me in the corner where I wassitting, and said to Osborne, 'Here's a letter from your wife!'"

  Now the Squire was all attention for the first time his tear-swolleneyes met the eyes of another, and he looked at Molly with searchinganxiety, as he repeated, "His wife! Osborne married!" Molly went on:

  "Osborne was angry with Roger for speaking out before me, and theymade me promise never to mention it to any one; or to allude to it toeither of them again. I never named it to papa till last night."

  "Go on," said Mr. Gibson. "Tell the Squire about Osborne's call--whatyou told me!" Still the Squire hung on her lips, listening with openmouth and eyes.

  "Some months ago Osborne called. He was not well, and wanted to seepapa. Papa was away, and I was alone. I don't exactly remember howit came about, but he spoke to me of his wife for the first and onlytime since the affair in the library." She looked at her father, asif questioning him as to the desirableness of telling the few furtherparticulars that she knew. The Squire's mouth was dry and stiff, buthe tried to say, "Tell me all,--everything." And Molly understood thehalf-formed words.

  "He said his wife was a good woman, and that he loved her dearly;but she was a French Roman Catholic, and a"--another glance at herfather--"she had been a servant once. That was all; except that Ihave her address at home. He wrote it down and gave it me."

  "Well, well!" moaned the Squire. "It's all over now. All over. Allpast and gone. We'll not blame him,--no; but I wish he'd ha' toldme; he and I to live together with such a secret in one of us. It'sno wonder to me now--nothing can be a wonder again, for one nevercan tell what's in a man's heart. Married so long! and we sittingtogether at meals--and living together. Why, I told him everything!Too much, may be, for I showed him all my passions and ill-tempers!Married so long! Oh, Osborne, Osborne, you should have told me!"

  "Yes, he should!" said Mr. Gibson. "But I daresay he knew how muchyou would dislike such a choice as he had made. But he should havetold you!"

  "You know nothing about it, sir," said the Squire sharply. "You don'tknow the terms we were on. Not hearty or confidential. I was crossto him many a time; angry with him for being dull, poor lad--and hewith all this weight on his mind. I won't have people interfering andjudging between me and my sons. And Roger too! He could know it all,and keep it from me!"

  "Osborne evidently had bound him down to secrecy, just as he boundme," said Molly; "Roger could not help himself."

  "Osborne was such a fellow for persuading people, and winning themover," said the Squire, dreamily. "I remember--but what's the use ofremembering? It's all over, and Osborne's dead without opening hisheart to me. I could have been tender to him, I could. But he'llnever know it now!"

  "But we can guess what wish he had strongest in his mind at the last,from what we do know of his life," said Mr. Gibson.

  "What, sir?" said the Squire, with sharp suspicion of what wascoming.

  "His wife must have been his last thought, must she not?"

  "How do I know she was his wife? Do you think he'd go and marry aFrench baggage of a servant? It may be all a tale trumped up."

  "Stop, Squire. I don't care to defend my daughter's truth oraccuracy. But with the dead man's body lying upstairs--his soul withGod--think twice before you say more hasty words, impugning hischaracter; if she was not his wife, what was she?"

  "I beg your pardon. I hardly know what I'm saying. Did I accuseOsborne? Oh, my lad, my lad--thou might have trusted thy old dad! Heused to call me his 'old dad' when he was a little chap not biggerthan this," indicating a certain height with his hand. "I never meantto say he was not--not what one would wish to think him now--his soulwith God, as you say very justly--for I'm sure it is there--"

  "Well! but, Squire," said Mr. Gibson, trying to check the other'srambling, "to return to his wife--"

  "And the child," whispered Molly to her father. Low as the whisperwas, it struck on the Squire's ear.

  "What?" said he, turning round to her suddenly, "--child? You nevernamed that? Is there a child? Husband and father, and I neverknew! God bless Osborne's child! I say, God bless it!" He stood upreverently, and the other two instinctively rose. He closed his handsas if in momentary prayer. Then exhausted he sate down again, and putout his hand to Molly.

  "You're a good girl. Thank you.--Tell me what I ought to do, and I'lldo it." This to Mr. Gibson.

  "I'm almost as much puzzled as you are, Squire," replied he. "I fullybelieve the whole story; but I think there must be some writtenconfirmation of it, which perhaps ought to be found at once, beforewe act. Most probably this is to be discovered among Osborne'spapers. Will you look over them at once? Molly shall return with me,and find the address that Osborne gave her, while you are busy--"

  "She'll come back again?" said the Squire eagerly. "You--she won'tleave me to myself?"

  "No! She shall come back this evening. I'll manage to send hersomehow. But she has no clothes but the habit she came in, and I wantmy horse that she rode away upon."

  "Take the carriage," said the Squire. "Take anything. I'll giveorders. You'll come back again, too?"

  "No! I'm afraid not, to-day. I'll come to-morrow, early. Molly shallreturn this evening, whenever it suits you to send for her."

  "This afternoon the carriage shall be at your house at three. I darenot look at Osborne's--at the papers without one of you with me; andyet I shall never rest till I know more."

  "I'll send the desk in by Robinson before I leave. And--can you giveme some lunch before I go?"

  Little by little he led the Squire to eat a morsel or so of food;and so, strengthening him physically, and encouraging him mentally,Mr. Gibson hoped that he would begin his researches during Molly'sabsence.

  There was something touching in the Squire's wistful looks afterMolly as she moved about. A stranger might have imagined her tobe his daughter instead of Mr. Gibson's. The meek, broken-down,considerate ways of the bereaved father never showed themselves morestrongly than when he called them back to his chair, out of whichhe seemed too languid to rise, and said, as if by an after-thought:"Give my love to Miss Kirkpatrick; tell her I look upon her as quiteone of the family. I shall be glad to see her after--after thefuneral. I don't think I can before."

  "He knows nothing of Cynthia's resolution to give up Roger," said Mr.Gibson as they rode away. "I had a long talk with her last night, butshe was as resolute as ever. From what your mamma tells me, there isa third lover in London, whom she's already refused. I'm thankfulthat you've no lover at all, Molly, unless that abortive attempt ofMr. Coxe's at an offer, long ago, can be called a lover."

  "I never heard of it, papa!" said Molly.

  "Oh, no; I forgot. What a fool I was! Why, don't you remember thehurry I was in to get you off to Hamley Hall, the very first time youever went? It was all because I got hold of a desperate love-letterfrom Coxe, addressed to you."

  But Molly was too tired to be amused, or even interested. She couldnot get over the sight of the straight body covered with a sheet,which yet let the outlines be seen,--all that remained of Osborne.Her father had trusted too much to the motion of the ride, and thechange of scene from the darkened house. He saw his mistake.

  "Some one must write to Mrs. Osborne Hamley," said he. "I believe herto have a legal right to the name; but whether or no, she must betold that the father of her child is dead. Shall you do it, or I?"

  "Oh, you, please, papa!"

  "I will, if you wish. But she may have heard of you as a friend ofher dead husband's; while of me--a mere country doctor--it's veryprobable she has never heard the name."

  "If I ought, I will do it." Mr. Gibson did not like this readyacquiescence, given in so few words, too.

  "There's Hollingford church-spire,"
said she presently, as they drewnear the town, and caught a glimpse of the church through the trees."I think I never wish to go out of sight of it again."

  "Nonsense!" said he. "Why, you've all your travelling to do yet;and if these new-fangled railways spread, as they say they will, weshall all be spinning about the world; 'sitting on tea-kettles,' asPhoebe Browning calls it. Miss Browning wrote such a capital letterof advice to Miss Hornblower. I heard of it at the Millers'. MissHornblower was going to travel by railroad for the first time; andDorothy was very anxious, and sent her directions for her conduct;one piece of advice was not to sit on the boiler."

  Molly laughed a little, as she was expected to do. "Here we are athome, at last."

  Mrs. Gibson gave Molly a warm welcome. For one thing, Cynthia wasin disgrace; for another, Molly came from the centre of news; for athird, Mrs. Gibson was really fond of the girl, in her way, and sorryto see her pale heavy looks.

  "To think of it all being so sudden at last! Not but what I alwaysexpected it! And so provoking! Just when Cynthia had given up Roger!If she had only waited a day! What does the Squire say to it all?"

  "He is beaten down with grief," replied Molly.

  "Indeed! I should not have fancied he had liked the engagement somuch."

  "What engagement?"

  "Why, Roger to Cynthia, to be sure. I asked you how the Squire tookher letter, announcing the breaking of it off?"

  "Oh--I made a mistake. He hasn't opened his letters to-day. I sawCynthia's among them."

  "Now that I call positive disrespect."

  "I don't know. He did not mean it for such. Where is Cynthia?"

  "Gone out into the meadow-garden. She'll be in directly. I wantedher to do some errands for me, but she flatly refused to go into thetown. I am afraid she mismanages her affairs badly. But she won'tallow me to interfere. I hate to look at such things in a mercenaryspirit, but it is provoking to see her throw over two such goodmatches. First Mr. Henderson, and now Roger Hamley. When does theSquire expect Roger? Does he think he will come back sooner for poordear Osborne's death?"

  "I don't know. He hardly seems to think of anything but Osborne. Heappears to me to have almost forgotten every one else. But perhapsthe news of Osborne's being married, and of the child, may rouse himup."

  Molly had no doubt that Osborne was really and truly married, norhad she any idea that her father had never breathed the facts ofwhich she had told him on the previous night, to his wife or Cynthia.But Mr. Gibson had been slightly dubious of the full legality ofthe marriage, and had not felt inclined to speak of it to his wifeuntil that had been ascertained one way or another. So Mrs. Gibsonexclaimed, "What _do_ you mean, child? Married! Osborne married! Whosays so?"

  "Oh, dear! I suppose I ought not to have named it. I'm very stupidto-day. Yes! Osborne has been married a long time; but the Squire didnot know of it until this morning. I think it has done him good. ButI don't know."

  "Who is the lady? Why, I call it a shame to go about as a single man,and be married all the time! If there is one thing that revolts me,it is duplicity. Who is the lady? Do tell me all you know about it,there's a dear."

  "She is French, and a Roman Catholic," said Molly.

  "French! They are such beguiling women; and he was so much abroad!You said there was a child,--is it a boy or a girl?"

  "I did not hear. I did not ask."

  Molly did not think it necessary to do more than answer questions;indeed, she was vexed enough to have told anything of what her fatherevidently considered it desirable to keep secret. Just then Cynthiacame wandering into the room with a careless, hopeless look in herface, which Molly noticed at once. She had not heard of Molly'sarrival, and had no idea that she was returned until she saw hersitting there.

  "Molly, darling! Is that you? You're as welcome as the flowers inMay, though you've not been gone twenty-four hours. But the houseisn't the same when you are away!"

  "And she brings us such news too!" said Mrs. Gibson. "I'm reallyalmost glad you wrote to the Squire yesterday, for if you had waitedtill to-day--I thought you were in too great a hurry at the time--hemight have thought you had some interested reason for giving up yourengagement. Osborne Hamley was married all this time unknown toeverybody, and has got a child too."

  "Osborne married!" exclaimed Cynthia. "If ever a man looked abachelor, he did. Poor Osborne! with his fair delicate elegance,--helooked so young and boyish!"

  "Yes! it was a great piece of deceit, and I can't easily forgivehim for it. Only think! If he had paid either of you any particularattention, and you had fallen in love with him! Why, he might havebroken your heart, or Molly's either. I can't forgive him, eventhough he is dead, poor fellow!"

  "Well, as he never did pay either of us any particular attention, andas we neither of us did fall in love with him, I think I only feelsorry that he had all the trouble and worry of concealment." Cynthiaspoke with a pretty keen recollection of how much trouble and worryher concealment had cost her.

  "And now of course it is a son, and will be the heir, and Roger willjust be as poorly off as ever. I hope you'll take care and let theSquire know Cynthia was quite ignorant of these new facts that havecome out when she wrote those letters, Molly? I should not like asuspicion of worldliness to rest upon any one with whom I had anyconcern."

  "He hasn't read Cynthia's letter yet. Oh, do let me bring it homeunopened," said Molly. "Send another letter to Roger--now--at once;it will reach him at the same time; he will get both when he arrivesat the Cape, and make him understand which is the last--the real one.Think! he will hear of Osborne's death at the same time--two such sadthings! Do, Cynthia!"

  "No, my dear," said Mrs. Gibson. "I could not allow that, even ifCynthia felt inclined for it. Asking to be re-engaged to him! Atany rate, she must wait now until he proposes again, and we see howthings turn out."

  But Molly kept her pleading eyes fixed on Cynthia.

  "No!" said Cynthia firmly, but not without consideration. "It cannotbe. I've felt more content this last night than I've done for weekspast. I'm glad to be free. I dreaded Roger's goodness, and learning,and all that. It was not in my way, and I don't believe I shouldhave ever married him, even without knowing of all these ill-naturedstories that are circulating about me, and which he would hear of,and expect me to explain, and be sorry for, and penitent and humble.I know he could not have made me happy, and I don't believe he wouldhave been happy with me. It must stay as it is. I would rather be agoverness than married to him. I should get weary of him every day ofmy life."

  "Weary of Roger!" said Molly to herself. "It is best as it is, Isee," she answered aloud. "Only I'm very sorry for him, very. He didlove you so. You will never get any one to love you like him!"

  "Very well. I must take my chance. And too much love is ratheroppressive to me, I believe. I like a great deal, widely spreadabout; not all confined to one individual lover."

  "I don't believe you," said Molly. "But don't let us talk any moreabout it. It is best as it is. I thought--I almost felt sure youwould be sorry this morning. But we will leave it alone now." Shesate silently looking out of the window, her heart sorely stirred,she scarcely knew how or why. But she could not have spoken. Mostlikely she would have begun to cry if she had spoken. Cynthia stolesoftly up to her after a while.

  "You are vexed with me, Molly," she began in a low voice. But Mollyturned sharply round:

  "I! I have no business at all in the affair. It is for you to judge.Do what you think right. I believe you have done right. Only I don'twant to discuss it, and paw it over with talk. I'm very much tired,dear"--gently now she spoke--"and I hardly know what I say. If Ispeak crossly, don't mind it." Cynthia did not reply at once. Thenshe said,--

  "Do you think I might go with you, and help you? I might have doneyesterday; and you say he hasn't opened my letter, so he has notheard as yet. And I was always fond of poor Osborne, in my way, youknow."

  "I cannot tell; I have no right to say," replied Molly, scarcelyunderstanding Cynthia's motiv
es, which, after all, were only impulsesin this case. "Papa would be able to judge; I think, perhaps, you hadbetter not. But don't go by my opinion I can only tell what I shouldwish to do in your place."

  "It was as much for your sake as any one's, Molly," said Cynthia.

  "Oh, then, don't! I am tired to-day with sitting up; but to-morrowI shall be all right; and I should not like it, if, for my sake, youcame into the house at so solemn a time."

  "Very well!" said Cynthia, half-glad that her impulsive offer wasdeclined; for, as she said, thinking to herself, "It would havebeen awkward after all." So Molly went back in the carriage alone,wondering how she should find the Squire; wondering what discoverieshe had made among Osborne's papers, and at what conviction he wouldhave arrived.