by Ellen Wood
“Strange,” murmured he, “that she should so long keep aloof from us. I should have thought she would have wished to heal up old quarrels.”
“You know her not,” was the reply. “I told you she would not come, and implored you, almost, not to ask me to write to her.”
“It was my fault you wrote, and I cannot help feeling sorry at her discourtsey; it is so different from what I should have thought she would have done. I liked the little I saw of Mrs. Elrington, she was a true Englishwoman. I wonder what she disliked me for. I suppose she did dislike me?” asked he.
“Yes, thoroughly. You supplanted her son.”
“But you never cared for him, Isabella?” and this time he waited for the eyes to be raised to his.
But they were not. Mrs. Linchmore bent lower still over her work, so that not only the eyes, but the face was almost hidden. She seemed to have made some mistake, for, with a slight hasty exclamation, she took the scissors and cut out, hurriedly, what a few moments before she had been so busy with.
Again he repeated the question, but not sternly, only sorrowfully and slowly, as if he almost feared the answer, or guessed what it would be.
“You never cared for him, Isabella?”
But the emotion or embarrassment had passed away, and although Mrs. Linchmore did not look up to meet his gaze, now so searchingly bent on her, she laid down her work and patted the head of the lap-dog lying at her feet.
“I liked him as I do Fido,” replied she, perhaps a little mockingly. “He was a pretty plaything.”
But the answer did not satisfy Mr. Linchmore. He withdrew his eyes from her face and sighed. Did he doubt her? Alas! a strange, sad thought had long filled his mind, and would not be chased away.
“I am glad you did not love him, Isabella,” was all he said.
And then he sat silent for some time. At length he spoke again, somewhat suddenly. “To revert to Miss Neville,” he said. “I feared her illness might be caused from dulness or ennui. She is so much alone — too much for one so young. Miss Tremlow, even, hinted at it to me the very first day she came downstairs; but I do not see what else is to be done, with these young men in the house.”
“I invited her down the other day, but she would not come.”
“I am glad she did not. Why did you ask her?”
“You told me to yourself, Mr. Linchmore. You surely cannot have forgotten it; and besides, we promised to treat her more as a young friend than as a governess.”
“True,” he replied. “I now regret we ever gave such a promise. It would be far better for Miss Neville, for although we treat her as a friend, who amongst our numerous acquaintances will? They do not know her as we do, and will simply treat her as a governess, nothing more. I neither like Miss Strickland’s apparent haughtiness, which amounts to rudeness, or Vavasour’s attentions, which almost amount to a flirtation with her.”
“The first is unaccountable to me; but the latter — what harm can there be in that?” replied Mrs. Linchmore.
“To Miss Neville there might be harm. She might lose her heart to him, for she is no flirt; he is,” said he, decidedly, and his wife could not attempt to contradict him, “and would as soon break her heart as not; perhaps be a little proud of it, and certainly think less about it than he would at breaking his horse’s neck in leaping a fence.”
“You are very uncharitable.”
“Not at all. My opinion is, Vavasour intends getting up a flirtation with Miss Neville, just to pass the time away; perhaps you had better see to it, Isabella, and try and give her a hint. You could easily do it, without appearing to have noticed his attentions to her.”
“The very way to make her fall desperately in love with him; women always do with those they hear abused — our hearts are so pitiful. Much better let her do as she likes, she has plenty of sense.”
“As you will, Isabella; but I must not see her feelings trifled with; there is nothing half so sad as to love without return — hopelessly.”
And again he turned his face, and looked sorrowfully at his wife, as if expecting or longing for some slight mark of affection; but she gave none, and rising slowly, he went out.
Mrs. Linchmore was once more alone.
The preceding conversation, at least the latter part of it, had been entirely to her satisfaction. It must not be supposed she had been a blind spectator to Vavasour’s attentions to Amy. She had heard of the first walk from Frances, she had seen the second, and imagined that, perhaps, having remarked the looks with which, once or twice, Mr. Linchmore had watched his attentions to herself, he had had recourse to a ruse-de-guerre, and now flirted with the governess, as the most harmless girl he could pick out, whilst all his looks, all his petits soins, were directed and given to her.
She laughed at the idea of outwitting her husband; not that she cared for Vavasour, but the flirting spirit was strong and powerful within. Old memories and associations, instead of softening had only hardened her present life, and made her look back more regretfully to the past, more hopelessly and bitterly to the future.
“Miss Neville is certainly very beautiful,” mused she, “but so quiet, so meek; no animation about her, nothing to charm such a man as Mr. Vavasour with.” Then she wondered if she herself possessed that power.
She rose up, and again stood before the glass, which reflected back her proud, beautiful face, with the conscious haughty look, that if beauty had the power to charm it was hers, she need fear no rival.
Then she re-arranged the flower which she had previously pinned in her hair, and a smile, sparkling with pleasure, showed that she was satisfied.
Mr. Linchmore judged Robert Vavasour’s character more justly than his wife, although neither quite understood it. The mystery of his birth was the shadow continually haunting Vavasour’s path, and making him thoughtless and trifling towards women. If his mother, as he believed, still lived, where was her gentle, tender love? Why had he never felt it? Why had she so cruelly deserted him, and left him to fight his own way in the world, with no name but a false one? His heart hardened against womankind. If a mother could be false to her child, what woman could be true? What woman worth living or caring for? They were triflers all, and to be trifled with; so he held no reverence in his heart for them, but flirted with his hostess thoughtlessly, and admired her as he would have admired any other beautiful woman; as he admired Amy, and would have flirted with her also if she would have let him.
Would his heart ever be touched by love? ever see reason to regret or recall the rash vow he had made that no woman should ever hold a place in his heart, seeing that in loving her he would have to plead, not only his love, but his nameless birth.
CHAPTER IV.
THE INTERVIEW.
— — “Earthly things Are but the transient pageants of an hour; And earthly pride is like the passing flower, That springs to fall, and blossoms but to die.” Henry Kirke White.
“Whoever looks on life will see How strangely mortals disagree.” Cawthorne.
It was almost dusk as Frances Strickland, who had been sitting for the last hour before the glass trying the effect of a wreath of fuschias she intended wearing at some forthcoming party, laid the flowers on the dressing table with a dissatisfied sigh as her maid entered the room with candles.
“At last!” exclaimed she, impatiently, “what have you been about, Jane? I thought you would never come; make haste and dress me for dinner, as I wish to try the effect of these flowers in my hair.”
Proud and haughty as Frances was to her equals, she seldom or ever showed much pride to her maid, or if it did occasionally peep out, it was instantly checked and controlled.
Jane was useful to her young mistress in more ways than the mere dressing her, and brushing her hair. She was an incessant talker, and found a willing listener in Frances, who silently encouraged her in repeating all the gossip and tittle-tattle of the servants’ hall: as in this way Frances flattered herself she found out with little trouble the character as well a
s the sayings and doings of those around her.
Jane was perfectly well aware of Frances’ failing, consequently indulged her propensity of talking to the utmost, and when she had nothing to relate, drew somehow from her own fertile brain and lively imagination, or added many wonderful improvements to the story already at her fingers’ ends. Sometimes Jane was cross, or as she expressed it— “had a bad head-ache,” and then it required all Frances’ tact and ingenuity to get her to utter a syllable; and cunningly as she thought she cross-questioned her on these occasions, Jane’s cunning equalled if not surpassed her mistress’s, as she generally contrived to guess at what she was aiming, and either added fuel to the fire already kindled there, or quenched it altogether.
On the present occasion, Jane was especially communicative, and as she smoothed the raven tresses of her hair, talked away to her heart’s content, now of this thing, now of that, until at length she approached the subject nearest her own heart and that of her mistress’, namely, Miss Neville.
The loss of the piece of embroidery, and the search that had been made for it, had annoyed and irritated many of the servants, and especially Mason, who had long had a dislike of the governess, though she had not openly expressed it; then, Mr. Linchmore’s apparent partiality for her? Why should Miss Neville come into the room just as she pleased when Madam was dressing, and give her opinion as to how she looked, and what she wore, even sometimes to the very ornaments themselves, throwing the lady’s maid completely into the shade, where before she had reigned paramount, with no one’s opinion or taste asked but her own. So Mason grew jealous, and took in the end a dislike to her, as servants often foolishly do to governesses; and only waited her time to manifest it.
Mrs. Hopkins’ decided tone and speech in Miss Neville’s favour, and the ‘setdown’ she gave Mason, only rooted her dislike the more firmly; if it had not been for the governess she would not have had that; and as birds of a feather flock together, so she had impressed upon Jane, during their many friendly chats, her opinion of Miss Neville: that she was a nobody, who gave herself airs, and interfered where she had no business to, and as to the lost piece of work, there was no doubt whatever that she suspected some of the servants, and most likely meanly accused them of taking it; otherwise, why was such a fuss made, and why had they been questioned as to whether they had seen it?
Jane readily believed all that was told her, and determined on shewing Miss Neville on the very first opportunity she had, that she thought her in no way better than herself, so meeting her one day accidentally in the corridor coming upstairs, she tossed her head and pushed rudely past her, allowing the baize door to slam to, without so much as offering to hold it open for her to pass through.
Amy gently and indignantly remonstrated with her on her rudeness, which she saw at once was intended, and silenced the second impertinent action, namely the answer hovering on Jane’s lips; but though silenced, Jane went away more firmly impressed and convinced that Mason was right, and that Miss Neville was an upstart and a nobody.
“The idea,” said she, as she recounted the adventure to Mason. “The idea of Miss Neville’s teaching me manners, and ordering me to bridle my tongue; I’d like to see her as could make me do it, that’s all; I’ll teach my lady to bridle her tongue, and keep her sauce to herself.”
Mason’s temper was not a passionate one; Jane’s was, and vindictive too; she felt convinced, judging from what she should do were she in Miss Neville’s place, that the latter would immediately repeat all that had taken place to her young mistress, so she determined to be beforehand with her, and have, as she called it, the first say; whereas Amy had almost forgotten the circumstance, and certainly had no wish to recall it.
“Did you give my message to Mrs. Linchmore?” asked Frances, “I almost hope you did not, as I am so much better. I intend after all going down to dinner.”
There had been a long silence, uninterrupted save by the noise the brush made as it passed through the soft dark hair.
“Yes Miss, I did, and they all said they were sorry to hear you had such a bad head-ache.”
“All!” exclaimed Frances, “I desired you to give the message to Mrs. Linchmore. Why did you disobey me?”
“Well, Miss, I’m sure it was no fault of mine that Miss Neville happened to be in the room.”
“Miss Neville!” exclaimed Frances.
“Yes, Miss Frances, I thought it would surprise you, but I know it was her, because I saw her through a chink of the door as Mason held it open; besides Mason says she is always there, trying to butter her bread, as the saying is; and after I’d given the message, which I should not have given if I’d known she had been there, I heard her and Mrs. Linchmore say they thought you was a very perverse and disagreeable girl; of course they didn’t know I was so near, or they wouldn’t have spoke so loud.”
“And how dare Miss Neville have a word to say in the matter concerning any affairs of mine!” said Frances, thrown off her guard by the suddenness of Jane’s announcement, and drawing her head up proudly, so as to almost drag her hair through Jane’s fingers, and totally disarrange the long silken plait she had just completed.
“Law! Miss! I’m sure I can’t say,” replied Jane somewhat surprised in her turn at the extraordinary emotion she witnessed, and delighted that so far she had succeeded beyond her hopes.
“Then you ought to know; I don’t believe one word of it.”
“It’s true all the same, Miss, whether you believe it or no, and I’m sure there’s some people as is always picking other people to pieces, and more especially those as is much above them in station; and if I don’t mistake Miss Neville thinks herself a mighty fine lady, and as Mason says tries — though she doesn’t say she manages it — to turn Mrs. Linchmore round her thumb.”
A gentle tap at the door here interrupted Jane, and she hastened to open it, but before she could do so the imperious “come in,” of Frances was answered by the door softly opening and shutting; a light footstep crossed the room, and Amy Neville herself stood by the table.
Frances looked surprised.
“This is a most extraordinary intrusion, Miss Neville,” said she rising. Then added sarcastically, “to what fortunate circumstance am I to ascribe the pleasure of your company?”
“No fortunate circumstance,” replied Amy, almost as proudly, “has induced me to come here.”
“Perhaps unfortunate, then,” suggested Frances, in the same tone, still standing, and never asking her visitor to sit down.
“You are right,” said Amy, quietly.
But this quietness enraged Frances, predisposed as she was to quarrel with her, and inwardly hating her, as she did; so she answered, angrily —
“And do you suppose I have nothing better to do than to listen to unfortunate circumstances, related by unfortunate people; for I suppose you are come with some absurd story. I care nothing for you or yours, and have no wish to listen to anything you have to say,” and turning away, as rudely as she had spoken, Frances once more seated herself at the table, and desired Jane, who had been looking on in astonishment, to go on with her hair.
“But you must listen,” replied Amy firmly, her eyes flashing at Frances’ insulting tones and speech. “I have something to tell you, — an explanation to give, — a circumstance to explain; indeed you must listen.”
Frances mused.
“Must listen,” she repeated presently. “If that is all, pray talk on; as to whether I answer or no remains to be seen. No one ever yet compelled me to do aught against my will; therefore I advise Miss Neville, — determined as she seems, — to think twice before she puts me to the test. I must also state I am rather hurried, the dressing bell having rung long since.”
And Frances carelessly wound the two long plaits Jane had plaited round her head.
“I have little to say; I shall not detain you long.”
“Pray begin,” said Frances. “Jane be more careful, that hair-pin hurts me. Well, Miss Neville?”
> But Amy answered —
“What I have to say is for your ear alone; Jane cannot be present.”
“I have no secrets from Jane; you need have no fear of her repeating anything she hears.”
“Still, what I have to say, Miss Strickland, cannot be said before her.”
“Really, Miss Neville, your conduct is most extraordinary, not to say presuming and impertinent. Jane is necessary to me, I cannot dress without her assistance. I am late as it is, and cannot send her away.”
“If you will allow me, I will assist you.”
“Well, I’m sure!” exclaimed Jane, who had been listening in secret wonderment to the fore-going conversation, and anticipating the dismissal she was now about to receive. “Well, I’m sure! I’m the last woman in the world to wish to pry into other people’s secrets. Thank God, I’ve none of my own to trouble me, and don’t care who hears what I say; and thank you, Miss Neville, for your good opinion of me,” said she, with a slight bend, and, throwing the dress she held in her hand across the back of a chair, she marched indignantly from the room, taking care not to close the door behind her.
But Amy followed, and shut it, a proceeding that still more incensed her, as she had fully intended hearing something, if not all, of what passed, and learning, if possible, what secret enmity there was, or ill feeling between the two; as, with all her cunning and quickness, for once Jane was at fault. “Never mind,” thought she, as she proceeded in search of Mason, to whom to unburden her ill-treatment. “I’ve been beforehand with you, with all your caution, Miss Neville, and I’m much mistaken if Miss Frances likes you one whit better than I do, and that’s a precious deal, I can tell you,” and Jane laughed; “though I’m puzzled to know why she got on her proud horse so soon. Yes, I’m fairly puzzled; but I’ll find out yet. All those airs and graces didn’t come from what I told her. No, no; I must be awake, and keep my eyes open. I’m not so easily deceived. Shut the door as tight and close as you will — say your say, whisper your secret, yet, for all that, Jane will be up to it, and fathom it out.”