CHAPTER VII.
No Encouragement.
“YOU must not take any more trouble with me,” said Margaret, “my brother will come up for me; it will be quite pleasant to walk down in the gloaming—I mean—” she added, with a slight blush over her vernacular, “in the twilight, before it is quite dark.”
“Oh! pray don’t give up those pretty Scotch words,” said Lady Mary, “gloaming is sweeter than twilight. Do you know I am so fond of Scotch, the accent as well as the words.”
Margaret replied only by a dubious smile. She would rather have been complimented on her English; and as she could not make any reply to her patroness’ enthusiasm, she continued what she was saying:
“Charles wishes to call and tell you how much he is gratified by your kindness, and the walk will be pleasant. You must not let me give you more trouble.”
“No trouble,” said Lady Mary, “but you shall have the close carriage, which will be better for you than Harry and the ponies. I hope he did not frighten you in the morning. I don’t think I could give him a character as coachman; he all but upset me the other night, when we left your house—to be sure I had been aggravating—eh, Harry?” she said, looking wickedly at him. “It was very good of you to let me have my talk out with the Professor; ladies will so seldom understand that business goes before pleasure. And I hope you will do as he asked, and come to the lecture to-morrow.”
“I am not very understanding about lectures,” said Margaret.
“Are not you? you look very understanding about everything,” said Lady Mary. She too, as well as Harry, had fallen in love with the doctor’s sister. The effect was not perhaps so sudden; but Lady Mary was a woman of warm sympathies, and sudden likings, and after a few hours in Margaret’s society she had quite yielded to her charm. She found it pleasant to look at so pretty a creature, pleasant to meet her interested look, her intelligent attention. There could not be a better listener, or a more delightful disciple; she might not perhaps know a great deal herself, but then she was so willing to adopt your views, or at least to be enlightened by them. Lady Mary sat by, and looked at her after the promenade round the conservatories, with all a woman’s admiration for beauty of the kind which women love. This, as all the world knows, is not every type; but Margaret’s drooping shadowy figure, her pathetic eyes, her soft paleness, and gentle deferential manner, were all of the kind that women admire. Lady Mary “fell in love” with the stranger. They were all three seated in the conservatory in the warm soft atmosphere, under the palm tree, and the evening was beginning to fall. The great fire in the drawing-room shone out like a red star in the distance, through all the drooping greenness of the plants, and they began half to lose sight of each other, shadowed, as this favourite spot was, by the great fan branches of the palm.
“I think there never was such delightful luxury as this,” said Margaret, softly. “Italy must be like it, or some of the warm islands in the sea.”
“In the South Sea?” said Lady Mary, smiling, “perhaps; but both the South Seas and Italy are homes of indolence, and I try all I can to keep that at arm’s length. But I assure you Herr Hartstong was not so poetical; he gave me several hints about the management of the heat. Do come to-morrow and hear him, my dear Mrs. Smith. Botany is wonderfully interesting. Many people think it a dilettante young-lady-like science; but I believe in the hands of a competent professor it is something very different. Do let me interest you in my scheme. You know, I am sure, and must feel, how little means of education there are—and as little Sibby will soon be craving for instruction like my child—”
“I suppose there is no good school for little girls here?” said Margaret, timidly; her tact told her that schools for little girls were not in question; but she did not know what else to say.
“Oh!” said Lady Mary, with momentary annoyance; “for mere reading and writing, yes, I believe there is one; but it is the higher instruction I mean,” she added, recovering herself, “probably you have not had your attention directed to it; and to be sure in Scotland the standard is so much higher, and education so much more general.”
Margaret had the good sense to make no reply. She had herself received a solid education at the parish school of Loch Arroch, along with all the ploughboys and milkmaids of the district, and had been trained into English literature and the Shorter Catechism, in what was then considered a very satisfactory way. No doubt she was so much better instructed than her patroness that Lady Mary scarcely knew what the Shorter Catechism was. But Margaret was not proud of this training, though she was aware that the parochial system had long been a credit to Scotland—and would much rather have been able to say that she was educated at Miss So-and-So’s seminary for young ladies. As she could not claim any such Alma Mater, she held her tongue, and listened devoutly, and with every mark of interest while Lady Mary’s scheme was propounded to her. Though, however, she was extremely attentive, she did not commit herself by any promise, not knowing how far her Loch Arroch scholarship would carry her in comparison with the young ladies of Harbour Green. She consented only conditionally to become one of Lady Mary’s band of disciples.
“If I have time,” she said; and then Lady Mary, questioning, drew from her a programme of her occupations, which included the housekeeping, Sibby’s lessons, and constant attendance, when he wanted her, upon her brother. “I drive with him,” said Margaret, “for he thinks it is good for my health—and then there is always a good deal of sewing.”
“But,” said Lady Mary, “that is bad political economy. You neglect your mind for the sake of the sewing, when there are many poor creatures to whom, so to speak, the sewing belongs, who have to make their livelihood by working, and whom ladies’ amateur performances throw out of bread.”
Thus the great lady discoursed the poor doctor’s sister, who but for him would probably have been one of the said poor creatures; this, however, it did not enter into Lady Mary’s mind to conceive. Margaret was overawed by the grandeur of the thought. For the first moment, she could not even laugh covertly within herself at the thought of her own useful sewing being classified as a lady’s amateur performance. She was silent, not venturing to say anything for herself, and Lady Mary resumed.
“I really must have you among my students; think how much more use you would be to Sibby, if you kept up, or even extended, your own acquirements. Of course, I say all this with diffidence, because I know that in Scotland education is so much more thought of, and is made so much more important than it is with us.”
“Oh, no!” cried Margaret. She could not but laugh now, thinking of the Loch Arroch school. And after all, the Loch Arroch school is the point in which Scotland excels England, or did excel her richer neighbour; and the idea of poor Margaret being better educated than the daughter of an English earl, moved even her tranquil spirit to laughter. “Oh, no; you would not think that if you knew,” she said, controlling herself with an effort. If it had not been for a prudent sense that it was best not to commit herself, she would have been deeply tempted to have her laugh out, and confide the joke to her companions. As it was, however, this suppressed sense of ridicule was enough to make her uncomfortable. “I will try to go,” she said gently, changing the immediate theme, “after the trouble of the flitting is over, when we have got into our house.”
Lady Mary fell into the snare. She began to ask about the house, and whether they had brought furniture, or what they meant to do, and entered into all the details with a frank kindness which went to Margaret’s heart. During all this conversation, Harry Thornleigh kept coming and going softly, gliding among the plants, restless, but happy. He could not have her to himself any longer. He could not talk to her; but yet she was there, and making her way into the heart of at least one of his family. While these domestic subjects were discussed, and as the evening gradually darkened, Harry said to himself that he had always been very fond of his aunt, and that she was very nice and sympathetic, and that to secure her for a friend would be wise in any case. It was almost night before Dr. Murray made his appearance, and he was confounded by the darkness of the place into which he was ushered, where he could see nothing but shadows among the plants and against the pale lightness of the glass roofs. I am not sure, for the moment, that he was not half offended by being received in so unceremonious a way. He stood stiffly, looking about him, till Lady Mary half rose from her seat.
“Excuse me for having brought you here,” she said; “this is our favourite spot, where none but my friends ever come.”
Lady Mary felt persuaded that she saw, even in the dark, the puffing out of the chest with which this friendly speech was received.
“For such a pleasant reason one would excuse a much worse place,” he said, with an attempt at ease, to the amusement of the great lady who was condescending to him. Excuse his introduction to her conservatory! He should never have it in his power to do so again. Dr. Charles then turned to his sister, and said, “Margaret, we must be going. You and the child have troubled her Ladyship long enough.”
“I am delighted with Mrs. Smith’s society, and Sibby has been a godsend to the children,” said Lady Mary. “Let us go into the drawing-room, where there are lights, and where we can at least see each other. I like the gloaming, your pretty Scotch word; but I daresay Dr. Murray thinks us all rather foolish, sitting like crows in the dark.”
She led the way in, taking Margaret’s arm, while Margaret, with a little thrill of annoyance, tried through the imperfect light to throw a warning look at her brother. Why did he speak so crossly, he who was never really cross; and why should he say ladyship? Margaret knew no better than he did, and yet instinct kept her from going wrong.
Dr. Murray entered the drawing-room, looking at the lady who had preceded him, to see what she thought of him, with furtive, suspicious looks. He was very anxious to please Lady Mary, and still more anxious to show himself an accomplished man of the world; but he could not so much as enter a room without this subtle sense of inferiority betraying itself. Harry, coming after him, thought the man a cad, and writhed at the thought; but he was not at all a cad. He hesitated between the most luxurious chair he could find, and the hardest, not feeling sure whether it was best to show confidence or humility. When he did decide at last, he looked round with what seemed a defiant look. “Who can say I have no right to be here?” poor fellow, was written all over his face.
“You have been making acquaintance with your patients? I hope there are no severe cases,” said Lady Mary.
“No, none at all, luckily for them—or I should not have long answered for their lives,” he said, with an unsteady smile.
“Ah! you do not like Dr. Franks’ mode of treatment? Neither do I. I have disapproved of him most highly sometimes; and I assure you,” said Lady Mary, in her most gracious tone, “I am so very glad to know that there is now some one on the spot who may be trusted, whatever happens. With one’s nursery full of children, that question becomes of the greatest importance. Many an anxious moment I have had.”
And then there was a pause. Dr. Murray was unbending, less afraid of how people looked at him.
“My cousin Mr. Earnshaw has not yet come back?” he said.
“He is occupied with some business in town. I am only waiting, as I told your sister, till he comes. As soon as he does so, I hope we may see more of you here; but in the meantime, Mrs. Smith must come to me. I hope I shall see a great deal of her; and you must spare her for my lectures, Dr. Murray. You must not let her give herself up too much to her housekeeping, and all her thrifty occupations.”
“Margaret has no occasion to be overthrifty,” he said, looking at her. “I have always begged her to go into society. We have not come to that, that my sister should be a slave to her housekeeping. Margaret, remember, I hope you will not neglect what her Ladyship says.”
“After the flitting,” said Margaret, softly.
“Ah, yes; after our removal. We shall then have a room more fit to receive you in,” he said. “I hear on all hands that it is a very good house.”
At this moment some one came in to announce the carriage, which Lady Mary had ordered to take her visitor home; and here there arose another conflict in Dr. Murray’s mind. Which was best, most like what a man of the world would do? to drive down with his sister or to walk? He was tired, and the drive would certainly be the easier; but what if they should think it odd? The doctor was saved from this dilemma by Harry, who came unwittingly to the rescue, and proposed to walk down the avenue with him. Harry had not fallen in love with him as with his sister; but still he was at that stage when a man is anxious to conciliate everybody belonging to the woman whom he loves. And then little Sibby was brought down from the nursery, clasping closely a doll which had been presented to her by the children in a body, with eyes blazing like two stars, and red roses of excitement upon her little cheeks. Never in all her life before had Sibby spent so happy a day. And when she and her mother had been placed in the warm delicious carriage, is it wonderful that various dreams floated into Margaret’s mind as she leant back in her corner, and was whirled past those long lines of trees. Harry had been ready to give her his arm downstairs, to put her into the carriage. He had whispered, with a thrill in his voice:
“May I bring those books to-morrow?”
He had all but brushed her dress with his face, bowing over her in his solicitude. Ah, how comfortable it would be, how delightful to have a house like that, a carriage like this, admiring, soft-mannered people about her all day long, and nothing to do but what she pleased to do! Had she begun to cherish a wish that Harry’s fancy might not be a temporary one, that he might persevere in it, and overcome opposition? It would be hard to expect from Margaret such perfection of goodness as never to allow such a train of thought to enter her mind; but at the same time her practical virtue stood all assaults. She would never encourage him; this she vowed over again, though with a sensation almost of hope, and a wish unexpressed in her heart.
For ah! what a difference there is between being poor and being rich—between Lady Mary in the great house, and Margaret Murray, or Smith, in Mrs. Sims’ lodging!—and if you went to the root of the matter, the one woman was as good as the other, as well adapted to “ornament her station,” as old-fashioned people used to say. I think, on the whole, it was greatly to Margaret’s credit, seeing that so much was at stake, that she never wavered in her determination to give Harry no encouragement. But she meant to put no barrier definitively in his way, no obstacle insuperable. She was willing enough to be the reward of his exertions, should he be successful in the lists; and Lady Mary’s kindness, nay, affectionateness towards her seemed to point to a successful issue of the struggle, if Harry went into it with perseverance and vigour. She could not help being a little excited by the thought.
Lady Mary, on her side, was charmed with her new friend. “The brother may be a cad, as you say, but she is perfection,” she said incautiously to Harry, when he came in with a glowing countenance from his walk. “What good breeding, what grace, what charming graceful ways she has! and yet always the simplicity of that pretty Scotch accent, and of the words which slip out now and then. The children are all in raptures with little Sibby. Fancy making a graceful name like Sybil into such a hideous diminutive! But that is Scotch all over. They seem to take a pleasure in keeping their real refinement in the background, and showing a rough countenance to the world. They are all like that,” said Lady Mary, who was fond of generalizations.
Harry did not say much, but he drew a chair close to the fire, and sat and mused over it with sparkling eyes, when his aunt went to dress for dinner. He did not feel capable of coherent thought at all; he was lost in a rapture of feeling which would not go into words. He felt that he could sit there all night long not wishing to budge, to be still, not even thinking, existing in the mere atmosphere of the wonderful day which was now over. Would it come back again? would it prolong itself? would his life grow into a lengthened sweet repetition of this day? He sat there with his knees into the fire, gazing into the red depths till his eyes grew red in sympathy, until the bell for dinner began to peal through the silent winter air. Mr. Tottenham had come home, and was visible at the door in evening costume, refreshed and warmed after his drive, when Harry, half-blind, rushed out to make a hasty toilette. His distracted looks made his host wonder.
“I hope you are not letting that boy get into mischief,” he said to his wife.
“Mischief! what mischief could he get into here?” Lady Mary replied, with a smile; and then they began to talk on very much more important matters—on Herr Hartstong’s visit, and the preparations at the Shop, which were now complete.
“I expect you to show a good example, and to treat my people like friends,” said Mr. Tottenham.
“Oh, friends!—am not I the head shopwoman?” asked Lady Mary, laughing. “You may be sure I intend to appear so.”
The entertainment was to take place on the next evening, after the botanical lecture at Harbour Green. It was, indeed, likely to be an exciting day, with so much going on.
And when the people at Tottenham’s went to dinner, the Murrays had tea, for which they were all quite ready after the sharp evening air. “You were wrong to speak about your housekeeping, and all that,” the doctor said, in the mildest of accents, and with no appearance of suspicion, for in the bosom of his family he feared no criticism. “Remember always, Margaret, that people take you at your own estimate. It does not do to let yourself down.”
“And it does not do to set yourself up, beyond what you can support,” said Margaret. “We are not rich folk, and we must not give ourselves airs. And oh, Charles, one thing I wanted to say. If you wouldn’t say ladyship—at least, not often. No one else seems to do it, except the servants. Don’t be angry. I watch always to see what people say.”
“I hope I know what to say as well as anyone,” said the doctor, with momentary offence; but, nevertheless, he made a private note of it, having confidence in his sister’s keen observation. Altogether, the start at Harbour Green had been very successful, and it was not wonderful if both Dr. Charles and his sister felt an inward exhilaration in such a prosperous commencement of their new life.