MOLLY GIBSON'S NEW FRIENDS.
Time was speeding on; it was now the middle of August,--if anything
was to be done to the house, it must be done at once. Indeed, in
several ways Mr. Gibson's arrangements with Miss Browning had not
been made too soon. The squire had heard that Osborne might probably
return home for a few days before going abroad; and, though the
growing intimacy between Roger and Molly did not alarm him in the
least, yet he was possessed by a very hearty panic lest the heir
might take a fancy to the surgeon's daughter; and he was in such a
fidget for her to leave the house before Osborne came home, that his
wife lived in constant terror lest he should make it too obvious to
their visitor.
Every young girl of seventeen or so, who is at all thoughtful, is
very apt to make a Pope out of the first person who presents to
her a new or larger system of duty than that by which she has been
unconsciously guided hitherto. Such a Pope was Roger to Molly; she
looked to his opinion, to his authority on almost every subject, yet
he had only said one or two things in a terse manner which gave them
the force of precepts--stable guides to her conduct--and had shown
the natural superiority in wisdom and knowledge which is sure to
exist between a highly educated young man of no common intelligence,
and an ignorant girl of seventeen, who yet was well capable of
appreciation. Still, although they were drawn together in this very
pleasant relationship, each was imagining some one very different for
the future owner of their whole heart--their highest and completest
love. Roger looked to find a grand woman, his equal, and his empress;
beautiful in person, serene in wisdom, ready for counsel, as was
Egeria. Molly's little wavering maiden fancy dwelt on the unseen
Osborne, who was now a troubadour, and now a knight, such as he wrote
about in one of his own poems; some one like Osborne, perhaps, rather
than Osborne himself, for she shrank from giving a personal form
and name to the hero that was to be. The squire was not unwise in
wishing her well out of the house before Osborne came home, if he was
considering her peace of mind. Yet, when she went away from the hall
he missed her constantly; it had been so pleasant to have her there
fulfilling all the pretty offices of a daughter; cheering the meals,
so often tte--tte betwixt him and Roger, with her innocent wise
questions, her lively interest in their talk, her merry replies to
his banter.
And Roger missed her too. Sometimes her remarks had probed into his
mind, and excited him to the deep thought in which he delighted; at
other times he had felt himself of real help to her in her hours of
need, and in making her take an interest in books, which treated of
higher things than the continual fiction and poetry which she had
hitherto read. He felt something like an affectionate tutor suddenly
deprived of his most promising pupil; he wondered how she would go
on without him; whether she would be puzzled and disheartened by the
books he had lent her to read; how she and her stepmother would get
along together? She occupied his thoughts a good deal those first
few days after she left the hall. Mrs. Hamley regretted her more,
and longer than did the other two. She had given her the place of
a daughter in her heart; and now she missed the sweet feminine
companionship, the playful caresses, the never-ceasing attentions;
the very need of sympathy in her sorrows, that Molly had shown so
openly from time to time; all these things had extremely endeared her
to the tender-hearted Mrs. Hamley.
Molly, too, felt the change of atmosphere keenly; and she blamed
herself for so feeling even more keenly still. But she could not
help having a sense of refinement, which had made her appreciate the
whole manner of being at the Hall. By her dear old friends the Miss
Brownings she was petted and caressed so much that she became ashamed
of noticing the coarser and louder tones in which they spoke, the
provincialism of their pronunciation, the absence of interest in
things, and their greediness of details about persons. They asked her
questions which she was puzzled enough to answer about her future
stepmother; her loyalty to her father forbidding her to reply fully
and truthfully. She was always glad when they began to make inquiries
as to every possible affair at the Hall. She had been so happy there;
she had liked them all, down to the very dogs, so thoroughly, that it
was easy work replying: she did not mind telling them everything,
even to the style of Mrs. Hamley's invalid dress; nor what wine the
squire drank at dinner. Indeed, talking about these things helped
her to recall the happiest time in her life. But one evening, as
they were all sitting together after tea in the little upstairs
drawing-room, looking into the High Street--Molly discoursing away on
the various pleasures of Hamley Hall, and just then telling of all
Roger's wisdom in natural science, and some of the curiosities he had
shown her, she was suddenly pulled up by this little speech,--
"You seem to have seen a great deal of Mr. Roger, Molly!" said Miss
Browning, in a way intended to convey a great deal of meaning to her
sister and none at all to Molly. But--
The man recovered of the bite;
The dog it was that died.
Molly was perfectly aware of Miss Browning's emphatic tone, though at
first she was perplexed as to its cause; while Miss Phoebe was just
then too much absorbed in knitting the heel of her stocking to be
fully alive to her sister's nods and winks.
"Yes; he was very kind to me," said Molly, slowly, pondering over
Miss Browning's manner, and unwilling to say more until she had
satisfied herself to what the question tended.
"I daresay you will soon be going to Hamley Hall again? He's not
the eldest son, you know, Phoebe! Don't make my head ache with your
eternal 'eighteen, nineteen,' but attend to the conversation. Molly
is telling us how much she saw of Mr. Roger, and how kind he was to
her. I've always heard he was a very nice young man, my dear. Tell
us some more about him! Now, Phoebe, attend! How was he kind to you,
Molly?"
"Oh, he told me what books to read; and one day he made me notice how
many bees I saw--"
"Bees, child! What do you mean? Either you or he must have been
crazy!"
"No, not at all. There are more than two hundred kinds of bees in
England, and he wanted me to notice the difference between them and
flies. Miss Browning, I can't help seeing what you fancy," said
Molly, as red as fire, "but it is very wrong; it is all a mistake. I
won't speak another word about Mr. Roger or Hamley at all, if it puts
such silly notions into your head."
"Highty-tighty! Here's a young lady to be lecturing her elders! Silly
notions indeed! They are in your head, it seems. And let me tell you,
Molly, you are too young to let your mind be running on lovers."
Molly had been once or twice called saucy and impertinent, and
certainly a little sauciness came out now.
"I never said what the 'silly notion' was, Miss Browning; did I now,
Miss Phoebe? Don't you see, dear Miss Phoebe, it is all her own
interpretation, and according to her own fancy, this foolish talk
about lovers?"
Molly was flaming with indignation; but she had appealed to the
wrong person for justice. Miss Phoebe tried to make peace after the
fashion of weak-minded people, who would cover over the unpleasant
sight of a sore, instead of trying to heal it.
"I'm sure I don't know anything about it, my dear. It seems to me
that what Dorothy was saying was very true--very true indeed; and I
think, love, you misunderstood her; or, perhaps, she misunderstood
you; or I may be misunderstanding it altogether; so we'd better not
talk any more about it. What price did you say you were going to give
for the drugget in Mr. Gibson's dining-room, sister?"
So Miss Browning and Molly went on till evening, each chafed and
angry with the other. They wished each other good-night, going
through the usual forms in the coolest manner possible. Molly went
up to her little bedroom, clean and neat as a bedroom could be, with
draperies of small delicate patchwork--bed-curtains, window-curtains,
and counterpane; a japanned toilette-table, full of little boxes,
with a small looking-glass affixed to it, that distorted every face
that was so unwise as to look in it. This room had been to the child
one of the most dainty and luxurious places ever seen, in comparison
with her own bare, white-dimity bedroom; and now she was sleeping in
it, as a guest, and all the quaint adornments she had once peeped at
as a great favour, as they were carefully wrapped up in cap-paper,
were set out for her use. And yet how little she had deserved this
hospitable care; how impertinent she had been; how cross she had felt
ever since! She was crying tears of penitence and youthful misery
when there came a low tap to the door. Molly opened it, and there
stood Miss Browning, in a wonderful erection of a nightcap, and
scantily attired in a coloured calico jacket over her scrimpy and
short white petticoat.
"I was afraid you were asleep, child," said she, coming in and
shutting the door. "But I wanted to say to you we've got wrong
to-day, somehow; and I think it was perhaps my doing. It's as well
Phoebe shouldn't know, for she thinks me perfect; and when there's
only two of us, we get along better if one of us thinks the other
can do no wrong. But I rather think I was a little cross. We'll not
say any more about it, Molly; only we'll go to sleep friends,--and
friends we'll always be, child, won't we? Now give me a kiss,
and don't cry and swell your eyes up;--and put out your candle
carefully."
"I was wrong--it was my fault," said Molly, kissing her.
"Fiddlestick-ends! Don't contradict me! I say it was my fault, and
I won't hear another word about it."
The next day Molly went with Miss Browning to see the changes going
on in her father's house. To her they were but dismal improvements.
The faint grey of the dining-room walls, which had harmonized well
enough with the deep crimson of the moreen curtains, and which
when well cleaned looked thinly coated rather than dirty, was now
exchanged for a pink salmon-colour of a very glowing hue; and the
new curtains were of that pale sea-green just coming into fashion.
"Very bright and pretty," Miss Browning called it; and in the first
renewing of their love Molly could not bear to contradict her. She
could only hope that the green and brown drugget would tone down the
brightness and prettiness. There was scaffolding here, scaffolding
there, and Betty scolding everywhere.
"Come up now, and see your papa's bedroom. He's sleeping upstairs in
yours, that everything may be done up afresh in his."
Molly could just remember, in faint clear lines of distinctness, the
being taken into this very room to bid farewell to her dying mother.
She could see the white linen, the white muslin, surrounding the
pale, wan wistful face, with the large, longing eyes, yearning for
one more touch of the little soft warm child, whom she was too feeble
to clasp in her arms, already growing numb in death. Many a time when
Molly had been in this room since that sad day, had she seen in vivid
fancy that same wan wistful face lying on the pillow, the outline
of the form beneath the clothes; and the girl had not shrunk from
such visions, but rather cherished them, as preserving to her the
remembrance of her mother's outward semblance. Her eyes were full of
tears, as she followed Miss Browning into this room to see it under
its new aspect. Nearly everything was changed--the position of the
bed and the colour of the furniture; there was a grand toilette-table
now, with a glass upon it, instead of the primitive substitute of the
top of a chest of drawers, with a mirror above upon the wall, sloping
downwards; these latter things had served her mother during her short
married life.
"You see, we must have all in order for a lady who has passed so
much of her time in the countess's mansion," said Miss Browning, who
was now quite reconciled to the marriage, thanks to the pleasant
employment of furnishing that had devolved upon her in consequence.
"Cromer, the upholsterer, wanted to persuade me to have a sofa and a
writing-table. These men will say anything is the fashion, if they
want to sell an article. I said, 'No, no, Cromer: bedrooms are for
sleeping in, and sitting-rooms are for sitting in. Keep everything to
its right purpose, and don't try and delude me into nonsense.' Why,
my mother would have given us a fine scolding if she had ever caught
us in our bedrooms in the daytime. We kept our out-door things in
a closet downstairs; and there was a very tidy place for washing
our hands, which is as much as one wants in the daytime. Stuffing
up a bedroom with sofas and tables! I never heard of such a thing.
Besides, a hundred pounds won't last for ever. I sha'n't be able to
do anything for your room, Molly!"
"I'm right down glad of it," said Molly. "Nearly everything in it was
what mamma had when she lived with my great-uncle. I wouldn't have
had it changed for the world; I am so fond of it."
"Well, there's no danger of it, now the money is run out. By the way,
Molly, who's to buy you a bridesmaid's dress?"
"I don't know," said Molly; "I suppose I am to be a bridesmaid; but
no one has spoken to me about my dress."
"Then I shall ask your papa."
"Please, don't. He must have to spend a great deal of money just now.
Besides, I would rather not be at the wedding, if they'll let me stay
away."
"Nonsense, child. Why, all the town would be talking of it. You must
go, and you must be well dressed, for your father's sake."
But Mr. Gibson had thought of Molly's dress, although he had said
nothing about it to her. He had commissioned his future wife to get
her what was requisite; and presently a very smart dressmaker came
over from the county-town to try on a dress, which was both so simple
and so elegant as at once to charm Molly. When it came home all ready
to put on, Molly had a private dressing-up for the Miss Brownings'
benefit; and she was almost startled when she looked into the glass,
and saw the improvement in her appearance. "I wonder if I'm pretty,"
thought she. "I almost think I am--in this kind of dress I mean, of
course. Betty would say, 'Fine feathers make fine birds.'"
When she went downstairs in her bridal attire, and with shy blushes
presented herself for inspection, she was greeted with a burst of
admiration.
"Well, upon my word! I shouldn't have known you." ("Fine feathers,"
thought Molly, and checked her rising vanity.)
"You are really beautiful--isn't she, sister?" said Miss Phoebe.
"Why, my dear, if you were always dressed, you would be prettier than
your dear mamma, whom we always reckoned so very personable."
"You're not a bit like her. You favour your father, and white always
sets off a brown complexion."
"But isn't she beautiful?" persevered Miss Phoebe.
"Well! and if she is, Providence made her, and not she herself.
Besides, the dressmaker must go shares. What a fine India muslin it
is! it'll have cost a pretty penny!"
Mr. Gibson and Molly drove over to Ashcombe, the night before the
wedding, in the one yellow post-chaise that Hollingford possessed.
They were to be Mr. Preston's, or, rather, my lord's guests at the
Manor-house. The Manor-house came up to its name, and delighted Molly
at first sight. It was built of stone, had many gables and mullioned
windows, and was covered over with Virginian creeper and late-blowing
roses. Molly did not know Mr. Preston, who stood in the doorway
to greet her father. She took standing with him as a young lady
at once, and it was the first time she had met with the kind of
behaviour--half complimentary, half flirting--which some men think
it necessary to assume with every woman under five-and-twenty. Mr.
Preston was very handsome, and knew it. He was a fair man, with
light-brown hair and whiskers; grey, roving, well-shaped eyes, with
lashes darker than his hair; and a figure rendered easy and supple by
the athletic exercises in which his excellence was famous, and which
had procured him admission into much higher society than he was
otherwise entitled to enter. He was a capital cricketer; was so good
a shot, that any house desirous of reputation for its bags on the
12th or the 1st, was glad to have him for a guest. He taught young
ladies to play billiards on a wet day, or went in for the game in
serious earnest when required. He knew half the private theatrical
plays off by heart, and was invaluable in arranging impromptu
charades and tableaux. He had his own private reasons for wishing
to get up a flirtation with Molly just at this time; he had amused
himself so much with the widow when she first came to Ashcombe, that
he fancied that the sight of him, standing by her less polished, less
handsome, middle-aged husband, might be too much of a contrast to be
agreeable. Besides, he had really a strong passion for some one else;
some one who would be absent; and that passion it was necessary for
him to conceal. So that, altogether, he had resolved, even had "the
little Gibson-girl" (as he called her) been less attractive than she
was, to devote himself to her for the next sixteen hours.
They were taken by their host into a wainscoted parlour, where a
wood fire crackled and burnt, and the crimson curtains shut out the
waning day and the outer chill. Here the table was laid for dinner;
snowy table-linen, bright silver, clear sparkling glass, wine and an
autumnal dessert on the sideboard. Yet Mr. Preston kept apologizing
to Molly for the rudeness of his bachelor home, for the smallness of
the room, the great dining-room being already appropriated by his
housekeeper, in preparation for the morrow's breakfast. And then he
rang for a servant to show Molly to her room. She was taken into a
most comfortable chamber; a wood fire on the hearth, candles lighted
on the toilette-table, dark woollen curtains surrounding a snow-white
bed, great vases of china standing here and there.
"This is my Lady Harriet's room when her ladyship comes to the
Manor-house with my lord the earl," said the housemaid, striking
out thousands of brilliant sparks by a well-directed blow at a
smouldering log. "Shall I help you to dress, miss? I always helps her
ladyship."
Molly, quite aware of the fact that she had but her white muslin gown
for the wedding besides that she had on, dismissed the good woman,
and was thankful to be left to herself.
"Dinner" was it called? Why, it was nearly eight o'clock; and
preparations for bed seemed a more natural employment than dressing
at this hour of night. All the dressing she could manage was the
placing of a red damask rose or two in the band of her grey stuff
gown, there being a great nosegay of choice autumnal flowers on the
toilette-table. She did try the effect of another crimson rose in
her black hair, just above her ear; it was very pretty, but too
coquettish, and so she put it back again. The dark-oak panels and
wainscoting of the whole house seemed to glow in warm light; there
were so many fires in different rooms, in the hall, and even one on
the landing of the staircase. Mr. Preston must have heard her step,
for he met her in the hall, and led her into a small drawing-room,
with closed folding-doors on one side, opening into the larger
drawing-room, as he told her. This room into which she entered
reminded her a little of Hamley--yellow-satin upholstery of seventy
or a hundred years ago, all delicately kept and scrupulously clean;
great Indian cabinets, and china jars, emitting spicy odours; a large
blazing fire, before which her father stood in his morning dress,
grave and thoughtful, as he had been all day.
"This room is that which Lady Harriet uses when she comes here with
her father for a day or two," said Mr. Preston. And Molly tried to
save her father by being ready to talk herself.
"Does she often come here?"
"Not often. But I fancy she likes being here when she does. Perhaps
she finds it an agreeable change after the more formal life she leads
at the Towers."
"I should think it was a very pleasant house to stay at," said Molly,
remembering the look of warm comfort that pervaded it. But a little
to her dismay Mr. Preston seemed to take it as a compliment to
himself.
"I was afraid a young lady like you might perceive all the
incongruities of a bachelor's home. I'm very much obliged to you,
Miss Gibson. In general I live pretty much in the room in which we
shall dine; and I've a sort of agent's office in which I keep books
and papers, and receive callers on business."
Then they went in to dinner. Molly thought everything that was served
was delicious, and cooked to the point of perfection; but they
did not seem to satisfy Mr. Preston, who apologized to his guests
several times for the bad cooking of this dish, or the omission
of a particular sauce to that; always referring to bachelor's
housekeeping, bachelor's this and bachelor's that, till Molly grew
quite impatient at the word. Her father's depression, which was still
continuing and rendering him very silent, made her uneasy; yet she
wished to conceal it from Mr. Preston; and so she talked away, trying
to obviate the sort of personal bearing which their host would give
to everything. She did not know when to leave the gentlemen, but her
father made a sign to her; and she was conducted back to the yellow
drawing-room by Mr. Preston, who made many apologies for leaving
her there alone. She enjoyed herself extremely, however, feeling at
liberty to prowl about, and examine all the curiosities the room
contained. Among other things was a Louis Quinze cabinet with lovely
miniatures in enamel let into the fine woodwork. She carried a candle
to it, and was looking intently at these faces when her father and
Mr. Preston came in. Her father still looked care-worn and anxious;
he came up and patted her on the back, looked at what she was looking
at, and then went off to silence and the fire. Mr. Preston took the
candle out of her hand, and threw himself into her interests with an
air of ready gallantry.
"That is said to be Mademoiselle de St. Quentin, a great beauty at
the French Court. This is Madame du Barri. Do you see any likeness in
Mademoiselle de St. Quentin to any one you know?" He had lowered his
voice a little as he asked this question.
"No!" said Molly, looking at it again. "I never saw any one half so
beautiful."
"But don't you see a likeness--in the eyes particularly?" he asked
again, with some impatience.
Molly tried hard to find out a resemblance, and was again
unsuccessful.
"It constantly reminds me of--of Miss Kirkpatrick."
"Does it?" said Molly, eagerly. "Oh! I am so glad--I've never seen
her, so of course I couldn't find out the likeness. You know her,
then, do you? Please tell me all about her."
He hesitated a moment before speaking. He smiled a little before
replying.
"She's very beautiful; that of course is understood when I say that
this miniature does not come up to her for beauty."
"And besides?--Go on, please."
"What do you mean by 'besides'?"
"Oh! I suppose she's very clever and accomplished?"
That was not in the least what Molly wanted to ask; but it was
difficult to word the vague vastness of her unspoken inquiry.
"She is clever naturally; she has picked up accomplishments. But she
has such a charm about her, one forgets what she herself is in the
halo that surrounds her. You ask me all this, Miss Gibson, and I
answer truthfully; or else I should not entertain one young lady with
my enthusiastic praises of another."
"I don't see why not," said Molly. "Besides, if you wouldn't do it
in general, I think you ought to do it in my case; for you, perhaps,
don't know, but she is coming to live with us when she leaves school,
and we are very nearly the same age; so it will be almost like having
a sister."
"She is to live with you, is she?" said Mr. Preston, to whom this
intelligence was news. "And when is she to leave school? I thought
she would surely have been at this wedding; but I was told she was
not to come. When is she to leave school?"
"I think it is to be at Easter. You know she's at Boulogne, and it's
a long journey for her to come alone; or else papa wished for her to
be at the marriage very much indeed."
"And her mother prevented it?--I understand."
"No, it wasn't her mother; it was the French schoolmistress, who
didn't think it desirable."
"It comes to pretty much the same thing. And she's to return and live
with you after Easter?"
"I believe so. Is she a grave or a merry person?"
"Never very grave, as far as I have seen of her. Sparkling would
be the word for her, I think. Do you ever write to her? If you do,
pray remember me to her, and tell her how we have been talking about
her--you and I."
"I never write to her," said Molly, rather shortly.
Tea came in; and after that they all went to bed. Molly heard her
father exclaim at the fire in his bedroom, and Mr. Preston's reply--
"I pique myself on my keen relish for all creature comforts, and also
on my power of doing without them, if need be. My lord's woods are
ample, and I indulge myself with a fire in my bedroom for nine months
in the year; yet I could travel in Iceland without wincing from the
cold."