'Your sister acted very sensibly,' said Mrs. Nesbit, with emphasis. 'Very good management; though Theodora was somewhat taken by surprise.'
'Yes, I know we used her very ill,' said Miss Gardner; 'but people have unaccountable fancies about publishing those matters. Mr. Finch was in haste, and we all felt that it was best to have it over, so it was talked of a very short time previously.'
'Speed is the best policy, as we all know,' said Mrs. Nesbit; and Violet felt as if there was a flash of those eyes upon her, and was vexed with herself for blushing. She thought Miss Gardner's answer good-naturedly unconscious:
'Oh, people always shake together best afterwards. There is not the least use in a prolonged courtship acquaintance. It is only a field for lovers' quarrels, and pastime for the spectators.'
'By the bye,' said Mrs. Nesbit, 'what is become of your cousin, Mrs. George Gardner's son?'
'Mark! Oh, he is abroad. Poor fellow, I wish we could find something for him to do. Lady Fotheringham asked her nephew, Percival, if he could not put him in the way of getting some appointment.'
'Failed, of course,' said Mrs. Nesbit.
'Yes; I never expected much. Those diplomats are apt to be afraid of having their heels trodden upon; but it is a great pity. He is so clever, and speaks so many languages. We hope now that Mr. Finch may suggest some employment in America.'
'Highly advisable.'
'I assure you poor Mark would be glad of anything. He is entirely steadied now; but there are so few openings for men of his age.'
An interruption here occurring, Miss Gardner drew off to the window. Theodora sat still, until her friend said, 'How lovely it is! Do you ever take a turn on the terrace after dinner?'
Theodora could not refuse. Violet wished they had asked her to join them; but they went out alone, and for some moments both were silent. Miss Gardner first spoke, remarking, 'A beautiful complexion.'
There was a cold, absent assent; and she presently tried again, 'Quite a lady,' but with the same brief reply. Presently, however, Theodora exclaimed, 'Jane, you want me to talk to you; I cannot, unless you unsay that about Percy Fotheringham. He is not to be accused of baseness.'
'I beg your pardon, Theodora, dear; I have no doubt his motives were quite conscientious, but naturally, you know, one takes one's own cousin's part, and it was disappointing that he would not help to give poor Mark another chance.'
'That is no reason he should be accused of petty jealousies.'
'Come, you must not be so very severe and dignified. Make some allowance for poor things who don't know how to answer Mrs. Nesbit, and say what first occurs. Indeed, I did not know you were so much interested in him.'
'I am interested in justice to the innocent.'
'There! don't annihilate me. I know he is a very superior person, the pride of Lady Fotheringham's heart. Of course he would have recommended Mark if he had thought it right; I only hope he will find that he was mistaken.'
'If he was, he will be the first to own it.'
'Then I am forgiven, am I? And I may ask after you after this long solitary winter. We thought a great deal of you.'
'I needed no pity, thank you. I was well off with my chemistry and the parish matters. I liked the quiet time.'
'I know you do not care for society.'
'My aunt is a very amusing companion. Her clear, shrewd observation is like a book of French memoirs.'
'And you are one of the few not afraid of her.'
'No. We understand each other, and it is better for all parties that she should know I am not to be interfered with. Positively I think she has been fonder of me since we measured our strength.'
'There is a mutual attachment in determined spirits,' said Miss Gardner.
'I think there must be. I fancy it is resolution that enables me to go further with her than any one else can without offending her.'
'She is so proud of you.'
'What is strange is, that she is prouder of me than of mamma, who is so much handsomer and more accomplished,--more tractable, too, and making a figure and sensation that I never shall.'
'Mrs. Nesbit knows better,' said Miss Gardner, laughing.
'Don't say so. If John's illness had not prevented my coming out last year, I might have gone into the world like other girls. Now I see the worth of a young lady's triumph--the disgusting speculation! I detest it.'
'Ah! you have not pardoned poor Georgina.'
'Do you wish for my real opinion?'
'Pray let me hear it.'
'Georgina had a grand course open to her, and she has shrunk from it.'
'A grand course!' repeated Jane, bewildered.
'Yes, honest poverty, and independence. I looked to her to show the true meaning of that word. I call it dependence to be so unable to exist without this world's trash as to live in bondage for its sake. Independence is trusting for maintenance to our own head and hands.'
'So you really would have had us--do what? Teach music?--make lace?'
'If I had been lucky enough to have such a fate, I would have been a village school-mistress.'
'Not even a governess?'
'I should like the village children better; but, seriously, I would gladly get my own bread, and I did believe Georgina meant to wait to be of age and do the same.'
'But, Theodora, seriously! The loss of position.'
'I would ennoble the office.'
'With that head that looks as if it was born in the purple, you would ennoble anything, dear Theodora; but for ordinary--'
'All that is done in earnest towards Heaven and man ennobles and is ennobled.'
'True; but it needs a great soul and much indifference to creature comforts. Now, think of us, at our age, our relations' welcome worn out--'
'I thought you were desired to make Worthbourne your home.'
'Yes, there was no want of kindness there; but, my dear, if you could only imagine the dulness. It was as if the whole place had been potted and preserved in Sir Roger de Coverley's time. No neighbours, no club- books, no anything! One managed to vegetate through the morning by the help of being deputy to good Lady Bountiful; but oh! the evenings! Sir Antony always asleep after tea, and no one allowed to speak, lest he should be awakened, and the poor, imbecile son bringing out the draught-board, and playing with us all in turn. Fancy that, by way of enlivenment to poor Georgina after her nervous fever! I was quite alarmed about her,--her spirits seemed depressed for ever into apathy!'
'I should think them in more danger now.'
'Oh! her Finch is a manageable bird. Her life is in her own power, and she will have plenty of all that makes it agreeable. It is winning a home instead of working for it; that is the common sense view--'
'Winning it by the vow to love, honour, and obey, when she knows she cannot?'
'Oh, she may in the end. He is tame, and kind, and very much obliged. My dear Theodora, I could feel with you once; but one learns to see things in a different light as one lives on. After all, I have not done the thing.'
'If you did not promote it, you justify it.'
'May I not justify my sister to her friend?'
'I do no such thing. I do not justify Arthur. I own that he has acted wrongly; but-- No, I cannot compare the two cases. His was silly and bad enough, but it was a marriage, not a bargain.'
'Well, perhaps one may turn out as well as the other.'
'I am afraid so,' sighed Theodora.
'It has been a sad grief to you, so fond of your brother as you were.'
'Not that I see much harm in the girl,' continued Theodora; 'but--'
'But it is the loss of your brother! Do you know, I think it likely he may not be as much lost to you as if he had chosen a superior person. When the first fancy is over, such a young unformed thing as this cannot have by any means the influence that must belong to you. You will find him recurring to you as before.'
Meanwhile, Violet sat formal and forlorn in the drawing-room, and Lady Martindale tried to make conversation. Did
she play, or draw? Matilda played, Caroline drew, she had been learning; and in horror of a request for music, she turned her eyes from the grand piano. Was she fond of flowers? O, yes! Of botany? Caroline was. A beautifully illustrated magazine of horticulture was laid before her, and somewhat relieved her, whilst the elder ladies talked about their fernery, in scientific terms, that sounded like an unknown tongue.
Perceiving that a book was wanted, she sprang up, begging to be told where to find it; but the answer made her fear she had been officious. 'No, my dear, thank you, do not trouble yourself.'
The bell was rung, and a message sent to ask Miss Piper for the book. A small, pale, meek lady glided in, found the place, and departed; while Violet felt more discomposed than ever, under the sense of being a conceited little upstart, sitting among the grand ladies, while such a person was ordered about.
Ease seemed to come back with the gentlemen. Lord Martindale took her into the great drawing-room, to show her Arthur's portrait, and the show of the house--Lady Martindale's likeness, in the character of Lalla Rookh--and John began to turn over prints for her, while Arthur devoted himself to his aunt, talking in the way that, in his schoolboy days, would have beguiled from her sovereigns and bank-notes. However, his civilities were less amiably received, and he met with nothing but hits in return. He hoped that her winter had not been dull.
Not with a person of so much resource as his sister. Solitude with her was a pleasure--it showed the value of a cultivated mind.
'She never used to be famous for that sort of thing,' said Arthur.
'Not as a child, but the best years for study come later. Education is scarcely begun at seventeen.'
'Young ladies would not thank you for that maxim.'
'Experience confirms me in it. A woman is nothing without a few years of grown-up girlhood before her marriage; and, what is more, no one can judge of her when she is fresh from the school-room. Raw material!'
Arthur laughed uneasily.
'There is Mrs. Hitchcock--you know her?'
'What, the lady that goes out with the hounds, and rides steeple- chases? I saw her ride through Whitford to-day, and she stared so hard into the carriage, that poor Violet pulled down her veil till we were out of the town.'
'Well, she was married out of a boarding-school, came here the meekest, shyest, little shrinking creature, always keeping her eyelids cast down, and colouring at a word.'
Arthur thought there was a vicious look at his bride's bending head, but he endured by the help of twisting the tassel of the sofa cushion, and with another laugh observed, 'that all the lady's shyness had been used up before he knew her.'
'Then there was Lord George Wilmot, who ran away with a farmer's daughter. She made quite a sensation; she was quite presentable, and very pretty and well-mannered--but such a temper! They used to be called George and the Dragon. Poor man! he had the most subdued air--'
'There was a son of his in the Light Dragoons--' began Arthur, hoping to lead away the conversation, 'a great heavy fellow.'
'Exactly so; it was the case with all of them. The Yorkshire farmer showed in all their ways, and poor Lord George was so ashamed of it, that it was positively painful to see him in company with his daughters. And yet the mother was thought ladylike.'
Arthur made a sudden observation on John's improved looks.
'Yes. Now that unhappy affair is over, we shall see him begin life afresh, and form new attachments. It is peculiarly important that he should be well married. Indeed, we see every reason to hope that--' And she looked significant and triumphant.
'Much obliged!' thought Arthur. 'Well! there's no use in letting oneself be a target for her, while she is in this temper. I'll go and see what I can make of her ladyship. What new scheme have they for John? Rickworth, eh?'
He was soon at his mother's side, congratulating her on John's recovery, and her looks were of real satisfaction. 'I am glad you think him better! He is much stronger, and we hope this may be the period when there is a change of constitution, and that we may yet see him a healthy man.'
'Has he been going out, or seeing more people of late?'
'No--still keeping in his rooms all the morning. He did drive one day to Rickworth with your father, otherwise he has been nowhere, only taking his solitary ride.'
'I never was more surprised than to see him at Winchester!'
'It was entirely his own proposal. You could not be more surprised than we were; but it has been of much benefit to him by giving his thoughts a new channel.'
'He likes her, too,' said Arthur.
'I assure you he speaks most favourably of her.'
'What did he say?' cried Arthur, eagerly.
'He said she was a lady in mind and manners, and of excellent principles, but he declared he would not tell us all he thought of her, lest we should be disappointed.'
'Are you?' said Arthur, with a bright, confident smile.
'By no means. He had not prepared me for so much beauty, and such peculiarly graceful movements. My drawing days are nearly past, or I should be making a study of her.'
'That's right, mother!' cried Arthur. 'What a picture she would make. Look at her now! The worst of it is, she has so many pretty ways, one does not know which to catch her in!'
Perhaps Lady Martindale caught her aunt's eye, for she began to qualify her praise. 'But, Arthur, excuse me, if I tell you all. There is nothing amiss in her manners, but they are quite unformed, and I should dread any contact with her family.'
'I never mean her to come near them,' said Arthur. 'Though, after all, they are better than you suppose. She has nothing to unlearn, and will pick up tone and ease fast enough.'
'And for education? Is she cultivated, accomplished?'
'Every man to his taste. You never could get learning to stick on me, and I did not look for it. She knows what other folks do, and likes nothing better than a book. She is good enough for me; and you must take to her, mother, even if she is not quite up to your mark in the ologies. Won't you? Indeed, she is a good little Violet!'
Arthur had never spoken so warmly to his mother, and the calm, inanimate dignity of her face relaxed into a kind response, something was faltered of 'every wish to show kindness;' and he had risen to lead his wife to her side, when he perceived his aunt's bead-like eyes fixed on them, and she called out to ask Lady Martindale if Lady Elizabeth Brandon had returned.
The young ladies came in late; and Arthur in vain tried to win a look from his sister, who kept eyes and tongue solely for Miss Gardner's service.
At night, as, after a conversation with his brother, he was crossing the gallery to his own room, he met her.
'Teaching my wife to gossip?' said he, well pleased.
'No, I have been with Jane.'
'The eternal friendship!' exclaimed he, in a changed tone.
'Good night!' and she passed on.
He stood still, then stepping after her, overtook her.
'Theodora!' he said, almost pleadingly.
'Well!'
He paused, tried to laugh, and at last said, rather awkwardly, 'I want to know what you think of her?'
'I see she is very pretty.'
'Good night!' and his receding footsteps echoed mortification.
Theodora looked after him. 'Jane is right,' she said to herself, 'he cares most for me. Poor Arthur! I must stand alone, ready to support him when his toy fails him.'
CHAPTER 4
They read botanic treatises And works of gardeners through there, And methods of transplanting trees To look as if they grew there.--A. TENNYSON
Theodora awoke to sensations of acute grief. Her nature had an almost tropical fervour of disposition; and her education having given her few to love, her ardent affections had fastened upon Arthur with a vehemence that would have made the loss of the first place in his love painful, even had his wife been a person she respected and esteemed, but when she saw him, as she thought, deluded and thrown away on this mere beauty, the suffering was intense.
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The hope Jane Gardner had given her, of his return to her, when he should have discovered his error, was her first approach to comfort, and seemed to invigorate her to undergo the many vexations of the day, in the sense of neglect, and the sight of his devotion to his bride.
She found that, much as she had dreaded it, she had by no means realized the discomposure she secretly endured when they met at breakfast, and he, remembering her repulse, was cold--she was colder; and Violet, who, in the morning freshness, was growing less timid, shrank back into awe of her formal civility.
In past days it had been a complaint that Arthur left her no time to herself. Now she saw the slight girlish figure clinging to his arm as they crossed the lawn, and she knew they were about to make the tour of their favourite haunts, she could hardly keep from scolding Skylark back when even he deserted her to run after them; and only by a very strong effort could she prevent her mind from pursuing their steps, while she was inflicting a course of Liebig on Miss Gardner, at the especial instance of that lady, who, whatever hobby her friends were riding, always mounted behind.
Luncheon was half over, when the young pair came in, flushed with exercise and animation; Arthur talking fast about the covers and the game, and Violet in such high spirits, that she volunteered a history of their trouble with Skylark, and 'some dear little partridges that could not get out of a cart rut.'
In the afternoon Miss Gardner, 'always so interested in schools and village children,' begged to be shown 'Theodora's little scholars,' and walked with her to Brogden, the village nearly a mile off. They set off just as the old pony was coming to the door for Violet to have a riding lesson; and on their return, at the end of two hours, found Arthur still leading, letting go, running by the side, laughing and encouraging.
Heartsease or Brother's Wife Page 5