Delphi Complete Works of Elizabeth Gaskell

by Elizabeth Gaskell

  Mrs. Gibson could hardly wait till her husband had finished his sentence before she testified against a part of it.

  ‘“Convinced of Cynthia’s intentions!” I should think she had made them pretty clear! What more does the man want?’

  ‘He is not as yet convinced that the letter was not written in a fit of temporary feeling. I have told him that this was true; although I did not feel it my place to explain to him the causes of that feeling. He believes that he can induce her to resume the former footing. I do not; and I have told him so; but of course he needs the full conviction that she alone can give him.’

  ‘Poor Cynthia! My poor child!’ said Mrs. Gibson, plaintively. ‘What she has exposed herself to by letting herself be over-persuaded by that man!’

  Mr. Gibson’s eyes flashed fire. But he kept his lips tight closed; and only said, ‘“That man,” indeed!’ quite below his breath.

  Molly, too, had been damped by an expression or two in her father’s speech. ‘Mere visits of ceremony!’ Was it so, indeed? A ‘mere visit of ceremony!’ Whatever it was, the call was paid before many days were over. That he felt all the awkwardness of his position towards Mrs. Gibson — that he was in reality suffering pain all the time — was but too evident to Molly; but of course Mrs. Gibson saw nothing of this in her gratification at the proper respect paid to her by one whose name was already in the newspapers that chronicled his return, and about whom already Lord Cumnor and the Towers family had been making inquiry.

  Molly was sitting in her pretty white invalid’s dress, half reading, half dreaming, for the June air was so clear and ambient, the garden so full of bloom, the trees so full of leaf, that reading by the open window was only a pretence at such a time; besides which Mrs Gibson continually interrupted her with remarks about the pattern of her worsted-work. It was after lunch — orthodox calling time, when Maria ushered in Mr. Roger Hamley. Molly started up; and then stood shyly and quietly in her place while a bronzed, bearded, grave man came into the room, in whom she at first had to seek for the merry boyish face she knew by heart only two years ago. But months in the climates in which Roger had been travelling age as much as years in more temperate districts. And constant thought and anxiety while in daily peril of life deepen the lines of character upon a face. Moreover, the circumstances that had of late affected him personally were not of a nature to make him either buoyant or cheerful. But his voice was the same; that was the first point of the old friend Molly caught, when he addressed her in a tone far softer than he used in speaking conventional politenesses to her stepmother.

  ‘I was so sorry to hear how ill you had been! You are looking but delicate!’ letting his eyes rest upon her face with affectionate examination. Molly felt herself colour all over with the consciousness of his regard. To do something to put an end to it, she looked up, and showed him her beautiful soft grey eyes, which he never remembered to have noticed before. She smiled at him as she blushed still deeper, and said, —

  ‘Oh! I am quite strong now to what I was. It would be a shame to be ill when everything is in its full summer beauty.’

  ‘I have heard how deeply we — I am indebted to you — my father can hardly praise you — ’

  ‘Please don’t,’ said Molly, the tears coming into her eyes in spite of herself. He seemed to understand her at once; he went on as if speaking to Mrs. Gibson, — ’Indeed my little sister-in-law is never weary of talking about Monsieur le Docteur, as she calls your husband!’

  ‘I have not had the pleasure of making Mrs. Osborne Hamley’s acquaintance yet,’ said Mrs. Gibson, suddenly aware of a duty which might have been expected from her, ‘and I must beg you to apologize to her for my remissness. But Molly has been such a care and anxiety to me — for, you know, I look upon her quite as my own child — that I really have not gone anywhere, excepting to the Towers perhaps I should say, which is just like another home to me. And then I understood that Mrs. Osborne Hamley was thinking of returning to France before long? Still it was very remiss.’

  The little trap thus set for news of what might be going on in the

  Hamley family was quite successful. Roger answered her thus, —

  ‘I am sure Mrs. Osborne Hamley will be very glad to see any friends of the family, as soon as she is a little stronger. I hope she will not go back to France at all. She is an orphan, and I trust we shall induce her to remain with my father. But at present nothing is arranged.’ Then, as if glad to have got over his ‘visit of ceremony,’ he got up and took leave. When he was at the door he looked back, having, as he thought, a word more to say; but he quite forgot what it was, for he surprised Molly’s intent gaze, and sudden confusion at discovery, and went away as soon as he could.

  ‘Poor Osborne was right!’ said he. ‘She had grown into delicate fragrant beauty just as he said she would: or is it the character which has formed the face? Now the next time I enter these doors it will be to learn my fate!’

  Mr. Gibson had told his wife of Roger’s desire to have a personal interview with Cynthia, rather with a view to her repeating what he said to her daughter. He did not see any exact necessity for this, it is true; but he thought that it might be advisable that she should know all the truth in which she was concerned, and he told his wife this. But she took the affair into her own management, and, although she apparently agreed with Mr. Gibson, she never named the affair to Cynthia; all that she said to her was, —

  ‘Your old admirer, Roger Hamley, has come home in a great hurry in consequence of poor dear Osborne’s unexpected decease. He must have been rather surprised to find the widow and her little boy established at the Hall. He came to call here the other day, and made himself really rather agreeable, although his manners are not improved by the society he has kept on his travels. Still I prophesy he will be considered as a fashionable “lion,” and perhaps the very uncouthness which jars against my sense of refinement, may even become admired in a scientific traveller, who has been into more desert places, and eaten more extraordinary food, than any other Englishman of the day. I suppose he has given up all chance of inheriting the estate, for I hear he talks of returning to Africa, and becoming a regular wanderer. Your name was not mentioned, but I believe he inquired about you from Mr. Gibson.’

  ‘There!’ said she to herself, as she folded up and directed this letter; ‘that can’t disturb her, or make her uncomfortable. And it’s all the truth too, or very near it. Of course he’ll want to see her when she comes back; but by that time I do hope Mr. Henderson will have proposed again, and that that affair will be all settled.’

  But Cynthia returned to Hollingford one Tuesday morning, and in answer to her mother’s anxious inquiries on the subject, would only say that Mr. Henderson had not offered again. ‘Why should he? She had refused him once,’ and he did not know the reason of her refusal, at least one of the reasons. She did not know if she should have taken him if there had been no such person as Roger Hamley in the world. No! Uncle and aunt Kirkpatrick had never heard anything about Roger’s offer, — nor had her cousins. She had always declared her wish to keep it a secret, and she had not mentioned it to any one, whatever other people might have done.’ Underneath this light and careless vein there were other feelings; but Mrs. Gibson was not one to probe beneath the surface. She had set her heart on Mr Henderson’s marrying Cynthia very early in their acquaintance: and to know, firstly, that the same wish had entered into his head, and that Roger’s attachment to Cynthia, with its consequences, had been the obstacle; and secondly, that Cynthia herself with all the opportunities of propinquity that she had lately had, had failed to provoke a repetition of the offer, — it was, as Mrs. Gibson said, ‘enough to provoke a saint.’ All the rest of the day she alluded to Cynthia as a disappointing and ungrateful daughter; Molly could not make out why, and resented it for Cynthia, until the latter said, bitterly, ‘Never mind, Molly. Mamma is only vexed because Mr — -because I have not come back an engaged young lady.’

  ‘Yes; and I am sure you
might have done, — there’s the ingratitude! I am not so unjust as to want you to do what you can’t do!’ said Mrs Gibson, querulously.

  ‘But where’s the ingratitude, mamma? I am very much tired, and perhaps that makes me stupid; but I cannot see the ingratitude.’ Cynthia spoke very wearily, leaning her head back on the sofa-cushions, as if she did not much care to have an answer.

  ‘Why, don’t you see we are doing all we can for you; dressing you well, and sending you to London; and when you might relieve us of the expense of all this, you don’t.’

  ‘No! Cynthia, I will speak,’ said Molly, all crimson with indignation, and pushing away Cynthia’s restraining hand. ‘I am sure papa does not feel, and does not mind, any expense he incurs about his daughters. And I know quite well that he does not wish us to marry, unless — ’ She faltered and stopped.

  ‘Unless what?’ said Mrs. Gibson, half-mocking.

  ‘Unless we love some one very dearly indeed,’ said Molly, in a low, firm tone.

  ‘Well, after this tirade — really rather indelicate, I must say — I have done. I will neither help nor hinder any love-affairs of you two young ladies. In my days we were glad of the advice of our elders.’ And she left the room to put into fulfilment an idea which had just struck her: to write a confidential letter to Mrs Kirkpatrick, giving her her version of Cynthia’s ‘unfortunate entanglement’ and ‘delicate sense of honour,’ and hints of her entire indifference to all the masculine portion of the world, Mr Henderson being dexterously excluded from the category.

  ‘Oh, dear!’ said Molly, throwing herself back in a chair, with a sigh of relief, as Mrs. Gibson left the room; ‘how cross I do get since I have been ill. But I could not bear her to speak as if papa grudged you anything.’

  ‘I am sure he does not, Molly. You need not defend him on my account. But I am sorry mamma still looks upon me as “an encumbrance,” as the advertisements in The Times always call us unfortunate children. But I have been an encumbrance to her all my life. I am getting very much into despair about everything, Molly. I shall try my luck in Russia. I have heard of a situation as English governess at Moscow, in a family owning whole provinces of land, and serfs by the hundred. I put off writing my letter till I came home; I shall be as much out of the way there as if I was married. Oh, dear! travelling all night is not good for the spirits. How is Mr Preston?’

  ‘Oh, he has taken Cumnor Grange, three miles away, and he never comes in to the Hollingford tea-parties now. I saw him once in the street, but it’s a question which of us tried the hardest to get out of the other’s way.’

  ‘You’ve not said anything about Roger, yet.’

  ‘No; I did not know if you would care to hear. He is very much older- looking; quite a strong grown-up man. And papa says he is much graver. Ask me any questions, if you want to know, but I have only seen him once.’

  ‘I was in hopes he would have left the neighbourhood by this time.

  Mamma said he was going to travel again.’

  ‘I can’t tell,’ said Molly. ‘I suppose you know,’ she continued, but hesitating a little before she spoke, ‘that he wishes to see you.’

  ‘No! I never heard. I wish he would have been satisfied with my letter. It was as decided as I could make it. If I say I won’t see him, I wonder if his will or mine will be the strongest?’

  ‘His,’ said Molly. ‘But you must see him, you owe it to him. He will never be satisfied without it.’

  ‘Suppose he talks me round into resuming the engagement? I should only break it off again.’

  ‘Surely you can’t be “talked round” if your mind is made up. But perhaps it is not really, Cynthia?’ asked she, with a little wistful anxiety betraying itself in her face.

  ‘It is quite made up. I am going to teach little Russian girls; and am never going to marry nobody.’

  ‘You are not serious, Cynthia. And yet it is a very serious thing.’

  But Cynthia went into one of her wild moods, and no more reason or sensible meaning was to be got out of her at the time.

  CHAPTER LVI

  ‘OFF WITH THE OLD LOVE, AND ON WITH THE NEW.’

  The next morning saw Mrs. Gibson in a much more contented frame of mind. She had written and posted her letter, and the next thing was to keep Cynthia in what she called a reasonable state, or, in other words, to try and cajole her into docility. But it was so much labour lost. Cynthia had already received a letter from Mr. Henderson before she came down to breakfast, — a declaration of love, a proposal of marriage as clear as words could make it; together with an intimation that, unable to wait for the slow delays of the post, he was going to follow her down to Hollingford, and would arrive at the same time that she had done herself on the previous day. Cynthia said nothing about this letter to any one. She came late into the breakfast-room, after Mr. and Mrs. Gibson had finished the actual business of the meal; but her unpunctuality was quite accounted for by the fact that she had been travelling all the night before. Molly was not as yet strong enough to get up so early. Cynthia hardly spoke, and did not touch her food. Mr. Gibson went about his daily business, and Cynthia and her mother were left alone.

  ‘My dear,’ said Mrs. Gibson, ‘you are not eating your breakfast as you should do. I am afraid our meals seem very plain and homely to you after those in Hyde Park Street?’

  ‘No,’ said Cynthia; ‘I am not hungry, that’s all.’

  ‘If we were as rich as your uncle, I should feel it to be both a duty and a pleasure to keep an elegant table; but limited means are a sad clog to one’s wishes. I don’t suppose that, work as he will, Mr. Gibson can earn more than he does at present; while the capabilities of the law are boundless. Lord Chancellor! Titles as well as fortune!’

  Cynthia was almost too much absorbed in her own reflections to reply, but she did say, —

  ‘Hundreds of briefless barristers. Take the other side, mamma.’

  ‘Well; but I have noticed that many of these have private fortunes.’

  ‘Perhaps. Mamma, I expect Mr. Henderson will come and call this morning.’

  ‘Oh, my precious child! But how do you know? My darling Cynthia, am I to congratulate you?’

  ‘No! I suppose I must tell you. I have had a letter this morning from him, and he is coming down by the “Umpire” to-day.’

  ‘But he has offered? He surely must mean to offer, at any rate?’

  Cynthia played with her teaspoon before she replied; then she looked up, like one startled from a dream, and caught the echo of her mother’s question.

  ‘Offered! yes, I suppose he has.’

  ‘And you accept him? Say yes, Cynthia, and make me happy!’

  ‘I shan’t say “yes” to make any one happy except myself, and the Russian scheme has great charms for me.’ She said this to plague her mother, and lessen Mrs. Gibson’s exuberance of joy, it must be confessed; for her mind was pretty well made up. But it did not affect Mrs. Gibson, who affixed even less truth to it than there really was. The idea of a residence in a new, strange country, among new, strange people, was not without allurement to Cynthia.

  ‘You always look nice, dear; but don’t you think you had better put on that pretty lilac silk?’

  ‘I shall not vary a thread or a shred from what I have got on now.’

  ‘You dear wilful creature! you know you always look lovely in whatever you put on.’ So, kissing her daughter, Mrs. Gibson left the room, intent on the lunch which should impress Mr. Henderson at once with an idea of family refinement.

  Cynthia went upstairs to Molly; She was inclined to tell her about Mr. Henderson, but she found it impossible to introduce the subject naturally, so she left it to time to reveal the future as gradually as it might. Molly was tired with a bad night; and her father, in his flying visit to his darling before going out, had advised her to stay upstairs for the greater part of the morning, and to keep quiet in her own room till after her early dinner, so Time had not a fair chance of telling her what he had in store in his
budget. Mrs. Gibson sent an apology to Molly for not paying her her usual morning visit, and told Cynthia to give Mr. Henderson’s probable coming as a reason for her occupation downstairs. But Cynthia did no such thing. She kissed Molly, and sate silently by her, holding her hand; till at length she jumped up, and said, ‘You shall be left alone now, little one. I want you to be very well and very bright this afternoon: so rest now.’ And Cynthia left her, and went to her own room, locked the door, and began to think.

  Some one was thinking about her at the same time, and it was not Mr Henderson. Roger had heard from Mr. Gibson that Cynthia had come home, and he was resolving to go to her at once, and have one strong, manly attempt to overcome the obstacles, whatever they might be — and of their nature he was not fully aware — that she had conjured up against the continuance of their relation to each other. He left his father — he left them all — and went off into the woods, to be alone until the time came when he might mount his horse and ride over to put his fate to the touch. He was as careful as ever not to interfere with the morning hours that were tabooed to him of old; but waiting was very hard work when he knew that she was so near, and the time so near at hand.

  Yet he rode slowly, compelling himself to quietness and patience when he was once really on the way to her.

  ‘Mrs. Gibson at home? Miss Kirkpatrick?’ he asked of the servant,

  Maria, who opened the door. She was confused, but he did not notice it.

  ‘I think so; I am not sure! Will you walk up into the drawing-room, sir? Miss Gibson is there, I know.’

  So he went upstairs, all his nerves on one strain for the coming interview with Cynthia. It was either a relief or a disappointment, he was not sure which, to find only Molly in the room. Molly, half lying on the couch in the bow-window which commanded the garden; draped in soft white drapery, very white herself, and a laced half-handkerchief tied over her head to save her from any ill effects of the air that blew in through the open window. He was so ready to speak to Cynthia that he hardly knew what to say to any one else.