CHAPTER XXXI
DRESSING FOR DINNER
AND, whilst poor Jenny was pursuing her lonely way through the darkness, one whom she deemed her enemy was in a very different case—Miss Tina Gillan, at that moment dressing for the evening, in an apartment of Mr Lee’s house at the top of Lindum Hill. It was a large room that had been prepared for her, the darkness and lights of the valley were hidden by closed blinds, there was a blazing fire which made cheerful, dancing radiance, and her dress for the evening was laid out upon the bed. After the cold, dark drive in an open carriage from the village, this seemed a haven of warmth, and rest, and peace. Only Tina was not quite pleased that no maid had been provided—it would have been so luxurious to have a lady’s maid!
She stood now in the centre of the large, lighted room, with a crimson wrapper beneath her rippling hair, and surveyed all the place with her bright, glancing eyes, and then threw herself in the armchair to make trial of it. Everything was complete, and of the best and softest—armchair, bed, sofa—there was no fault to be found. And she had been admitted to her uncle’s house at last, and this was the beginning of luxury. Only she was glad that the closed blinds shut out the valley, its lights and its blackness displeased her, though she did not know why they should.
And yet—oh! was it not natural that she should wish to turn from the wide-reaching blackness pierced by many points of light, now that she was at last in the shelter she had longed for, far removed from old hardships and wanderings? Every glance at the room told of comfort and riches—and comfort and riches meant everything else as well—they meant ease, safety, soft living, daintiness, rich dresses, fine lovers, theatres, music, all the rest! All sorts of possibilities were between her hands. It would be at length of some use to be beautiful! The old life of shabbiness, hardships, shifts, and recklessness might be cast on one side—it could be discarded now.
Who was that woman who had asked to see her brother, as they started, and for the sake of whom James had left her with the carriage, and had gone back into the yard, returning to her with a face so dark and terrible that she had not dared even to speak to him until they reached the town. It could not be that one, because he had already seen her, and had come to some understanding with her—so he said—but it might be some relation, indignant and suspicious, some reptile who knew they were going and who wished to have a bribe! James always made a pretence of being soft and kind, but she did not believe he could be outwitted easily; in all that she knew of his dealings, especially with women, she had found him to be still more unscrupulous than herself. He had indulged himself from his childhood onwards, and it is impossible to do so without being unscrupulous. This most recent, most wretched entanglement might have been easily avoided, if during their time of probation he had possessed the slightest self-restraint.
Indeed the habitual recklessness of the brother and the sister had never been more displayed than during those few months of village life—that short time of waiting upon the pleasure of their uncle, during which they had every inducement to be cautious and self-restrained. Ah, bah! that was true, thought Tina; but those village months were over, they had left that ‘detestable hamlet, that pest-house of the Fens’—and now that they found themselves in the midst of pleasures it would be more natural to be self-controlled. At length they were really in the house of Mr Lee; it would not be easy for them to be removed; every day would make it more difficult as each day would make less anxious the dangers that their imprudence had gathered round their feet. Mr Lee once charmed! that was the whole brunt of the matter, and Tina had never been without skill in charming men!
She rose to her feet, and stood upright, pretty Tina! her arms clasped behind her back, and her face very slightly raised, whilst her eyes appeared to be flooded with eager light and hope, in which there was only the least trace of terror left. Upon the bed lay her new black evening dress, her black silk slippers, and her great, embroidered fan—her cheeks were so brilliant and burning that they would need no touch of rouge, nor her dark eyes the slightest assistance to make them bright enough. Was that the drawing-room door? there were sounds of footsteps, voices!—how strange that the least noise was enough to make her start! She would be quick, and dress, and go downstairs for the evening, it would be better for her brother to have her woman’s wit by his side. This evening once over, this dear, nervous, terrible evening, their position would be more certain, and they could feel secure.
So she thought, but whilst she hastened to get ready, and whilst downstairs James Gillan sat by Mr Lee, and whilst he was making apologies for the lateness of their arrival the door of the drawing-room opened unexpectedly. It was the servant who entered, but before she could make any explanation, she was preceded by an intruder who had followed behind her unperceived—a poor woman, poorly dressed, quiet, and shabby, who stood in the midst of the room and courtseyed there. Mr Lee rose to receive her with annoyance on his face; and behind him, unperceived by him, James Gillan also rose—with a pang at his heart that smote, that stabbed his breath, and for the moment took away the power of speech. The sword had fallen!—he felt that it had fallen—he had not time to consider how ruin might be averted even then.