CHAPTER X
A SLIGHT DISCREPANCY
Mrs. Woodgate paid the promised call a few days later, walking brisklyby herself along the woodland path that made it no distance from MarleyVicarage to Normanthorpe House, and cutting a very attractive figureamong the shimmering lights and shadows of the trees. She was rathertall, and very straight, with the pale brown skin and the dark browneye, which, more especially when associated with hair as light as MornaWoodgate's, go to make up one of the most charming and distinctive typesof English womanhood. Morna, moreover, took a healthy interest in herown appearance, and had not only the good taste to dress well, but thegood sense not to dress too well. Her new coat and skirt had just comehome, and, fawn-colored like herself, they fitted and suited her toequal perfection. Morna thought that she might even go to church in thecoat and skirt, now and again during the summer, and she had a brownstraw hat with fine feathers of the lighter shade which she madepeculiarly her own; but this she had discarded as too grand for aninformal call, for Hugh had been summoned to a sick-bed at the lastmoment, and might be detained too late to follow. But the Steels hadbeen back two days, and Morna could not wait another hour.
She was certainly consumed with curiosity; but that was not the onlyfeeling which Mrs. Woodgate entertained towards the lady who was to be anearer neighbor of her own sex and class than any she could count asyet. On the class question Morna had no misgivings; nevertheless, shewas prepared for a surprise. Both she and her husband had seen a gooddeal of Mr. Steel. Morna had perhaps seen the best of him, since she wasat once young and charming, and not even an unwilling and personallyinnocent candidate for his hand, like honest Sybil Venables. Yet Mornaherself was not more attracted than repelled by the inscrutablepersonality of this rich man dropped from the clouds, who had never aword to say about his former life, never an anecdote to tell, never anadventure to record, and of whom even Mrs. Venables had not the courageto ask questions. What sort of woman would such a man marry, and whatsort of woman would marry such a man? Morna asked herself the onequestion after the other, almost as often as she set her right foot infront of her left; but she was not merely inquisitive in the matter, shehad a secret and instinctive compassion for the woman who had done thisthing.
"She will not have a soul to call her own, poor thing!" thought Morna,as indignantly as though the imaginary evil was one of the worst thatcould befall; for the vicar's wife had her little weaknesses, not by anymeans regarded as such by herself; and this was one of the last thingsthat could have been said about her, or that she would have cared tohear.
The woodland path led at last into the long avenue, and there wasNormanthorpe House at the end of the vista; an Italian palacetransplanted into the north of England, radiantly white between thegreen trees and blue sky, with golden cupola burning in the sun; perhapsthe best specimen extant to mark a passing fashion in Georgianarchitecture, but as ill-suited to the Delverton district as anumbrella-tent to the North Pole. A cool grotto on a really hot day, thehouse was an ice-pit on any other; or so Mrs. Woodgate fancied, freshfrom the cosey Vicarage, and warm from her rapid walk, as she steppedinto another temperature, across polished marble that struck a chillthrough the soles of her natty brown shoes, and so into the loftydrawing-room with pilasters and elaborate architraves to the doors. Whata place for a sane man to build in bleak old Delverton, even beforethere was any Northborough to blacken and foul the north-east wind onits way from the sea! What a place for a sane man to buy; and yet, inits cool white smoothness, its glaring individuality, its alien air--howlike the buyer!
Though it was May, and warm enough for the month and place, Morna got upwhen the footman had left her, and thrust one brown shoe after the otheras near as she could to the wood fire that glimmered underneath thegreat, ornate, marble mantelpiece. Then she sat down again, and wonderedwhat to say; for Morna was at once above and below the conversationalaverage of her kind. Soon she was framing a self-conscious apology forpremature intrusion--Mrs. Steel was so long in coming. But at last therewas a rustle in the conservatory, and a slender figure in a big hatstood for an instant on the threshold.
That was Morna's first impression of the new mistress of Normanthorpe,and it was never erased from her mind; a slender silhouette in anenormous hat, the light all behind her, the pilastered doorway for aframe, a gay background of hothouse flowers, and in the figure itself anervous hesitancy which struck an immediate chord of sympathy in Morna.She also was shy; the touch of imperfect nature was mutually discernibleand discerned; and the two were kin from the meeting of their hands.
Morna began her apology, nevertheless; but Rachel cut it very short. "Mydear Mrs. Woodgate, I think it is so kind of you!" she exclaimed, herlow voice full of the frankest gratitude; and Morna was surprised at thetime; it was as though she were the rich man's wife, and Mrs. Steel thevicar's.
They sat a little, talking of the time of year; and it was some minutesbefore Morna really saw her new neighbor's face, what with her great hatand the position of the chair which Mrs. Steel selected. And for thesefew minutes, after that first frank speech, the greater constraint wason the part of the hostess; then all at once she seemed to throw it off,rising impulsively, as though the great high room, with the Italiantiles and the garish gilt furniture, struck the same chill to her as toMorna before her.
"Come round the garden," said Rachel, quickly. "I am delighted with thegarden, and I think it's really warmer than the house."
Delightful it certainly was, or rather they, for the Normanthorpegardens were never spoken of in the singular number by those familiarwith their fame; they had been reconstructed and enlarged by a dead dukewith a fad for botany, and kept up by successors who could not endurethe cold, uncomfortable house. It was said to have been a similar tastein Mr. Steel which had first attracted him to the place; but as he neverconfirmed or contradicted anything that was said of him, and would onlysmile when a rumor reached his ears, there was no real foundation forthe report.
The ducal botanist had left behind him the rarest collection of plantsand trees, and a tradition in scientific gardening which had not beenallowed to die; it was neglected Normanthorpe that had loaded the tablesand replenished the greenhouses of seats more favored by the family; andall this was the more wonderful as a triumph of art over some naturaldisadvantages in the way of soil and climate. The Normanthorpe roses,famous throughout the north of England, were as yet barely budding inthe kindless wind; the blaze of early bulbs was over; but there were thecurious alien trees, and the ornamental waters haunted by outlandishwildfowl, bred there on the same principle of acclimatization.
"I expect you know the way quite well," said Rachel, as they followed awinding path over a bank of rhododendrons near the lake; "to me everystroll is still a voyage of exploration, and I shall be rather sorrywhen I begin to know exactly what I am going to see next. Now, I havenever been this way before, and have no idea what is coming, so you musttell me, if you know. What a funny scent! I seem to know it, too. Why,what have they got here?"
On the further side of the bank of rhododendrons the path had descendedinto a sheltered hollow, screened altogether from the colder winds, and,even in this temperate month of May, a very trap for the afternoon sun.And in this hollow was a clump of attenuated trees, with drooping leavesof a lacklustre hue, and a white bark peeling from the trunk; a pungentaroma, more medicinal than sylvan, hung rather heavily over thesequestered spot.
Rachel stood a moment with wide nostrils and round eyes; the look hardlylasted longer, and she said no more, but she was aware that Morna hadmade some answer to her question.
"What did you say?" inquired Rachel, turning politely to her visitor.
"I said they were blue gums from Australia."
Rachel made no immediate comment; secretive she might have to be, butto a deliberate pretence she would not stoop. So she did not even say,"Indeed!" but merely, after a pause, "You are something of a botanistyourself, then, Mrs. Woodgate?" For they had been talking of the gardensand of their
history as they walked.
"I?" laughed Morna. "I only wish I was; but I happen to remember Mr.Steel telling me that one day when we were here last summer."
Rachel opened her eyes again, and her lips with them; but instead ofspeaking she went to the nearest gum-tree and picked a spray of thelacklustre leaves. "I like the smell of them," she said, as they wenton; and the little incident left no impression upon Morna's mind.
Yet presently she perceived that Mrs. Steel had some color after all--atthe moment Rachel happened to be smelling her gum-leaves--and that shewas altogether prettier than Morna had fancied hitherto. The fact wasthat it was her first good look at Rachel, who had kept her back to thelight indoors, and had literally led the way along the narrow paths,while her large hat had supplied a perpetual shadow of its own. It was apathetic habit, which had become second nature with Rachel during thelast six months; but now, for once, it was forgotten, and her faceraised unguardedly to the sun, which painted it in its true and sweetcolors, to Morna's surprise and real delight. The vicar's wife was oneof those healthy-hearted young women who are the first to admire theirown sex; she had very many friends among women, for whom marriage hadnot damped an enthusiasm which she hid from no one but themselves; andshe was to be sufficiently enthusiastic about the thin but perfect ovalof Rachel's face, the soft, sweet hazel of her eyes, the impetuous upperlip and the brave lower one, as she saw them now for an instant in theafternoon sun.
Moreover, she was already interested in Rachel on her own account, andnot only as the wife of the mysterious Mr. Steel. There was an undoubtedair of mystery about her also; but that might only be derived from him,and with all her reserve she could not conceal a sweet and sympatheticself from one as like her in that essential as they were different inall others. Not that the reserve was all on one side. Morna Woodgate hadher own secrets too. One of them, however, was extracted during theirstroll.
"May I make a personal remark?" asked Rachel, who had been admiring thepale brown face of Morna in her turn, as they came slowly back to thehouse across the lawns.
"You frighten me," said Morna, laughing. "But let me hear the worst."
"It's the ribbon on your hat," went on Rachel. "What pretty colors! Arethey your husband's school or college?"
"No," said Morna, blushing as she laughed again. "No, they're my owncollege colors."
Rachel stood still on the grass.
"Have you really been at college?" said she; but her tone was soobviously one of envy that Morna, who was delightfully sensitive abouther learning, did not even think of the short answer which she sometimesreturned to the astonished queries of the intellectually vulgar, butadmitted the impeachment with another laugh.
"Now, don't say you wouldn't have thought it of me," she added, "anddon't say you would!"
"I am far too jealous to say anything at all," Rachel answered with aflattering stare. "And do you mean to tell me that you took a degree?"
"Of sorts," admitted Morna, whose spoken English was by no meansundefiled. But it turned out to have been a mathematical degree; andwhen, under sympathetic pressure, Morna vouchsafed particulars, evenRachel knew enough to appreciate the honors which the vicar's wife hadwon. What was more difficult to understand was how so young a woman ofsuch distinguished attainments could be content to hide her light underthe bushel of a country vicarage; and Rachel could not resist someexpression of her wonderment on that point.
"Did you do nothing with it all," she asked, "before you married?"
"No," said Morna; "you see, I got engaged in the middle of it, and theweek after the lists came out we were married."
"What a career to have given up!"
"I would give it up again," said Morna, with a warmer blush; and Rachelwas left with a deeper envy.
"I am afraid we shall have nothing in common," sighed Mrs. Steel, asthey neared the house. "I have no education worthy the name."
Morna waxed all but indignant at the implication; she had a morbidhorror of being considered a "blue-stocking," which she revealed withmuch girlish naivete and unconscious simplicity of sentiment and praise.She was not so narrow as all that; she had had enough of learning; shehad forgotten all that she had learnt; any dolt could be crammed to passexaminations. On the contrary, she was quite sure they would have heapsin common; for example, she was longing for some one to bicycle with;her husband seldom had the time, and he did not care for her to go quitealone in the country roads.
"But I don't bicycle," said Mrs. Steel, shaking her head rather sadly.
"Ah, I forgot! People who ride and drive never do." And it was Morna'sturn to sigh.
"No, I should like it; but I have never tried."
"I'll teach you!" cried Morna at once. "What fun it will be!"
"I should enjoy it, I know. But--"
The sentence was abandoned--as was often the case in the subsequentintercourse between Rachel Steel and Morna Woodgate. From the beginning,Rachel was apt to be more off her guard with Morna than with any onewhom she had met during the last six months; and, from the beginning,she was continually remembering and stopping herself in a manner thatwould have irritated Morna in anybody else. But then--yet again, fromthe beginning--these two were natural and immediate friends.
"You must learn," urged Morna, when she had waited some time for thesentence which had but begun. "There are people who scorn it--orpretend to--but I am sure you are not one. It may not be the finestform of exercise, but wait till you fly down these hills with your feeton the rests! And then you are so independent; no horses to consider, nocoachman to consult; only your own bones and your own self! Theindependence alone--"
"May be the very thing for you, Mrs. Woodgate, but it wouldn't do for mywife!"
Mr. Steel had stolen a silent march upon them, on the soft, smoothgrass; and now he was taking off his straw hat to Morna, and smilingwith all urbanity as he held out his hand. But Morna had seen how hiswife started at the sound of his voice, and her greeting was a littlecool.
"I meant the bicycling," he was quick enough to add; "not theindependence, of course!"
But there was something sinister in his smile, something quite sinisterand yet not unkindly, that vexed and puzzled Morna during the remainderof her visit, which she cut somewhat short on perceiving that Mr. Steelhad apparently no intention of leaving them to their own devices aftertea. Morna, however, would have been still more puzzled, and her spiritnot less vexed, had she heard the first words between the newly marriedcouple after she had gone.
"What's that you have got?" asked Steel, as they turned back up thedrive, after seeing Morna to her woodland path. Rachel was stillcarrying her spray of gum-leaves; he must have noticed it before, butthis was the first sign that he had done so. She said at once what itwas, and why she had pulled it from the tree.
"It took me back to Victoria; and, you know, I was born there."
Steel looked narrowly at his wife, a hard gleam in his inscrutable eyes,and yet a lurking sympathy too, nor was there anything but the latter inthe tone and tenor of his reply.
"I don't forget," he said, "and I think I can understand; but neithermust you forget that I offered to take you back there. So that's a sprigof gum-tree, is it?"
Rachel gave him a sudden glance, which for once he missed, beingabsorbed in a curious examination of the leaves.
"Did you never see one before?" she asked.
"A gum-tree?" said Steel, without looking up, as he sniffed andscrutinized. "Never in all my life--to my knowledge!"
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