NEIGHBOURS AND RELATIONS.
In the morning, the inhabitants of the Vernonry were to be seen a little
before or after noon, according to the season, appearing and
disappearing in the immediate neighbourhood of their house. It was a
little community perfectly at leisure, called out by no work in the
morning, returning with no more punctuality than pleased them. As a
matter of fact they were exceedingly punctual, coming and going as by
clockwork, supporting their otherwise limp existence by a severe
mechanism of rule. Those who have least to do, are often most rigorous
in thus measuring themselves out; it gives a certain sense of something
real in their lives. It was a little after eleven when Mr. Mildmay
Vernon appeared. His residence was in the west wing, nearest to the pool
and the trees, and he thought it was probably owing to the proximity of
the water that his rheumatism troubled him so much in winter. It did not
trouble him at this fine season, but he had the habit of leaning on his
stick and talking in a querulous voice. He came out with his newspaper
to a little summer-house where the heat was tempered by the foliage of a
great lime. He had very good taste; he liked the flicker of the sunshine
which came through those green-silken leaves, and the shelter was very
grateful when the sun was hot. The worst of it was that the summer-house
was not in his portion of the common grounds, and the ladies, to whom it
ought to have belonged, and to whom it was so convenient to do their
work in, resented his constant presence. In winter, he seated himself
always on a sunny bench which was in front of the windows now belonging
to Mrs. John, but she was not as yet aware of this peculiarity. The Miss
Vernon-Ridgways occupied the space between Mr. Mildmay's house and Mrs.
John's. They were not in the direct line, and they felt that they were
treated accordingly, the best of everything being appropriated to those
whom Catherine Vernon, who was so proud of her name, considered nearest
to the family stock. These ladies were convinced that the blood of the
Ridgways had much enriched the liquid that meandered through the veins
of the Vernons; but in Catherine Vernon's presence they kept silence as
to this belief. The rooms in the wings were much the best, they thought,
and they had even proposed an exchange to Mr. Mildmay when he complained
of being so close to the pool. But he had only grinned and had not
accepted; he knew better. Of course he would have grumbled if he had
been lodged in Windsor Castle, the ladies said; but he knew very well in
his heart that he had been preferred to the best place. On the other
side of the house, towards the road, lived Mrs. Reginald Vernon, the
young widow of an officer, with her four children, of whom everybody
complained, and an old couple, in reality not Vernons at all, but
relations of Catherine's mother who were looked down upon by the entire
community, and had clearly no business in the Vernonry. The old
gentleman, Captain Morgan, had been in the navy, and therefore ought to
have been the equal of any one. But the people on the road side kept
themselves very much to themselves; the aristocracy lived on the garden
front. When Mrs. John Vernon made her appearance in her deep mourning,
there was a great deal of excitement about the place. Mr. Mildmay put
down his paper and came out, bowing, to the door of the summer-house.
"Between relations I do not know if any ceremony of introduction is
necessary," he said. "It gives me great pleasure to welcome you back to
England. Poor John and I were once great friends. I hope you will allow
me to consider myself at once an old acquaintance."
"Oh, how thankful I shall be for some one to speak to!" cried Mrs. John.
"Though my family were of this county, I seem to have lost sight of
every one that used to know me. A great many changes happen when one has
been thirty years away."
"Poor John! I suppose he never came back to this country again?" Mr.
Mildmay said, with sympathetic curiosity, and that air of knowing all
about it which is sometimes so offensive; but Mrs. John was
simple-minded. She was not even displeased by the undertone of
confidential understanding.
"Never! it would have broken his heart; what was left to him to come
for? He always said that when ladies meddle with business everything
goes wrong. But, dear me, I oughtn't to say so here," Mrs. John added,
with a little panic, looking round.
"Why?--you need not be afraid of expressing your sentiments, my dear
lady, before me. I have the greatest respect for the ladies--where would
we without them? 'Oh, woman, in our hours of ease,' &c.--you know. But I
think that mixed up with business they are entirely out of their place.
It changes the natural relations--it creates a false position----"
"John always thought so. But then I was so silly--so dreadfully
silly--about business; and he thought that women should all be like me."
"That is certainly the kind of woman that is most attractive to men,"
said Mr. Mildmay, with a gallant bow; "and in my time ladies thought
much of that. I hope, however, that you will like this retirement, and
be happy here. It is very retired, you see--nothing to disturb us----"
"Oh, Mr. Mildmay, I dare say I shall do very well," said Mrs. John,
putting her handkerchief to her eyes; "but seeing _that_" (she waved her
hand towards the front of the White House in the distance) "from the
window, and knowing every day how things are going on at the bank, and
all the old associations, I cannot be expected to be very happy. That
was not thought of when I came here."
"My dear lady!" Mr. Mildmay said, soothingly; and then he saw his way to
inflicting another pin-prick upon this bleeding heart so easily laid
open to him. "I suppose you know that Catherine has put her nephew Harry
and his sister--he is no more her nephew than I am--one of Gilbert
Vernon's boys: but she took a fancy to him--in the White House? It
belongs to her now, like everything else in the neighbourhood. Almost
the whole of Redborough is in her hands."
"Her nephew?" said Mrs. John, faintly, "but she has no nephew--she was
an only child. My Hester is nearer to her than any one else." Then she
paused, and added with conscious magnanimity, "Since I cannot have it,
it doesn't matter to me who has got it. We must make ourselves as
contented as we can--Hester and I."
It was at this moment that the two ladies appeared who considered the
summer-house their special property. They were tall women with
pronounced features and a continual smile--in dresses which had a way of
looking scanty, and were exactly the same. Their necks were long and
their noses large, both which characteristics they held to be evidences
of family and condition. They followed each other, one always a step in
advance of the other with a certain pose of their long necks and turn of
their shoulders which made some people think of the flight of two
long-necked birds. Mr. Mildmay Vernon, who pretended to some
scholarship, called them the Cranes of Ibycus. They arrived thus at the
peaceful spot all chequered with morning light and shade, as with a
swoop of wings.
"Dear lady!" said Miss Matilda, "we should have waited till we could
make a formal call and requested the pleasure of making your
acquaintance as we ought; but when we saw you in our summer-house, we
felt sure that you did not understand the distribution of the place, and
we hurried out to say that we are delighted to see you in it, and
_quite_ glad that you should use it as much as ever you please."
"Oh!" cried Mrs. John, much disturbed, "I am so sorry if I have
intruded. I had not the least idea----"
"_That_ we were sure you had not--for everybody knows that Mrs. John
Vernon is a lady," said the other. "It is awkward to have no one to
introduce us, but we must just introduce each other. Miss Martha
Vernon-Ridgway, Mrs. Vernon; and I am Matilda," said the spokeswoman,
with a curtsey. "We are very glad to see you here."
At this Mrs. John made her curtsey too, but being unready, found nothing
to say: for she could not be supposed to be glad to see them, as
everybody knew the sad circumstances in which she had returned to her
former home: and she seated herself again after her curtsey, wishing
much that Hester was with her. Hester had a happy knack of either
knowing or suggesting something to say.
"We hope you will find yourself comfortable," said the two ladies, who
by dint of always beginning to speak together had the air of making
their remarks in common; but Miss Matilda had better wind and a firmer
disposition than her sister, and always carried the day. "You are lucky
in having the end house, which has all the fresh air. I am sure we do
not grudge you anything, but it always makes us feel how we are boxed
up; that is our house between the wings. It is monotonous to see nothing
but the garden--but we don't complain."
"I am sure I am very sorry," Mrs. John began to say.
"Your favourable opinion of the end houses is very complimentary," said
Mr. Mildmay. "I wish it were founded on fact. My windows look into the
pool and draw all the miasma out of it. When I have a fire I feel it
come in. But I say nothing. What would be the good of it? We are not
here only to please ourselves. Beggars should not be choosers."
"I hope, Mr. Mildmay Vernon, that you will speak for yourself," said the
sisters. "We do not consider that such an appellation applies to us. We
are not obliged, I beg to say," Miss Matilda added, "to live anywhere
that does not suit us. If we come here as a favour to Catherine Vernon,
who makes such a point of having all her relations about her, it is not
that we are beggars, or anything of the sort."
"Dear, dear me!" said Mrs. John, clasping her hands, "I hope nobody
thinks that is the case. For my poor dear husband's sake, and for
Hester's sake, I could never submit--; Catherine offered the house out
of kindness--nothing but that."
"Oh, nothing but that," said Mr. Mildmay Vernon, with a sneer.
"Nothing at all but that," said the Miss Vernon-Ridgways. "She said to
us, I am sure, that it would be a favour to herself--a personal favour.
Don't you remember, Martha? Nothing else would induce us, as you may
suppose, Mrs. John--my sister and me, who have many friends and
resources--to put up with a little poky place--the worst, quite the
worst, here. But dear Catherine is very lonely. She is not a person, you
know, that can do with everybody. You must understand her before you can
get on with her. Shouldn't you say so? And she is perhaps, you know, a
little too fond of her own way. People who can't make allowances as
relatives do, are apt not to--like her, in short. And it is such a great
stand-by for her--such a comfort, to have us here."
"I should have thought she was very--independent," said Mrs. John,
faltering a little. She did not even venture to risk an opinion; but
something she was obliged to say. "But I can scarcely say I know her,"
she added, anxiously, "for it is thirty years since I was at Redborough,
and people change so much. She was young then."
"Young! she must have been nearly forty. Her character must have been
what one may call formed by that time," said Mr. Mildmay; "but I know
what you mean. Our dear Catherine whom we are all so fond of----"
"You are quite right," said Miss Matilda, emphatically, "_quite_ right,
though perhaps you mean something different, for gentlemen are always so
strange. We _are_ very fond of dear Catherine. All the more that so many
people misunderstand her, and take wrong ideas. I think indeed that you
require to be a relation, to enter into the peculiarities of the case,
and take everything into consideration, before you can do dear Catherine
justice. She is so good, but under such a _brusque_ exterior. Though she
never _means_ to hurt any one's feelings--that I am certain of."
"Oh _never_!" cried Mr. Mildmay, with mock enthusiasm, lifting up his
hands and eyes.
Mrs. John looked, as each spoke, from one to the other with a great deal
of perplexity. It had seemed to her simple mind at first that it was
with a real enthusiasm that their general benefactress was being
discussed; but by this time she had begun to feel the influence of the
undertone. She was foolish, but there was no rancour in her mind. So
gentle a little shaft as that which she had herself shot, in
vindication, as she thought of her husband, rather than as assailing his
successor, she might be capable of; but systematic disparagement puzzled
the poor lady. She looked first at the Miss Vernon-Ridgways, and then at
Mr. Mildmay Vernon, with a bewildered look, trying to make out what they
meant. And then she was moved to make to the conversation a contribution
of her own--
"I am afraid my little girl made a sad mistake last night," she said.
"Catherine was so kind as to come to see me--without ceremony--and I had
gone to bed."
"That was so like Catherine!" the Miss Vernon-Ridgways cried. "Now
anybody else would have come next day at soonest to let you have time to
rest and get over your journey. But that is just what she would be sure
to do. Impatience is a great defect in her character, it must be
allowed. She wanted you to be delighted, and to tell her how beautiful
everything was. It must be confessed it is a little tiresome. You must
praise everything, and tell her you are _so_ comfortable. One wouldn't
like it in anybody else."
"But what I regret so much," continued poor Mrs. John, "is that Hester,
my little girl, who had never heard of Catherine--she is tall, but she
is only fourteen, and such a child! Don't you know she would not let her
in? I am afraid she was quite rude to her."
Here Mrs. John's artless story was interrupted by a series of little
cheers from Mr. Mildmay, and titters from the two sisters.
"Brava!" he said. "Well done!" taking away Mrs. John's breath; while the
two ladies uttered little laughs and titterings, and exchanged glances
of pleasure.
"Oh, how very funny!" they cried. "Oh, what an amusing thing to happen!
Dear Catherine, what a snub for her! How I wish we had been there to
see."
"I should like to make acquaintance with your little Hester, my dear
lady," said Mr. Mildmay. "She must have a fine spirit. Our respected
Cousin Catherine is only human, and we all feel that to be opposed now
and then would be for her moral advantage. We flatter her ourselves,
being grown-up persons: but we like to know that she encounters
something now and then that will be for her good."
"I must again ask you to speak for yourself, Mr. Mildmay," said the
sisters; "flattery is not an art I am acquainted with. Dear, dear, what
a sad thing for a beginning. How nervous it must have made you! and
knowing that dear Catherine, though she is so generous, _cannot_ forgive
a jest. She has no sense of humour; it is a great pity. She will not, I
fear, see the fun of it as we do."
"Do you think," said Mrs. John, with a little tremor, "that she will be
dreadfully angry? Hester is such a child--and then, she didn't know."
The sisters both shook their heads upon their long necks. They wished no
particular harm to Mrs. John; but they would not have been sorry so to
frighten her, as that she should go away as she came. And they sincerely
believed Catherine to be as they represented her. Few people are capable
of misrepresenting goodness in the barefaced way of saying one thing
while they believe another. Most commonly they have made out of shreds
and patches of observation and dislike, a fictitious figure meriting all
their anger and contempt, to which they attach the unloved name.
Catherine Vernon, according to their picture of her, was a woman who,
being richer than they, helped them all with an ostentatious
benevolence, which was her justification for humiliating them whenever
she had a chance, and treating them at all times as her inferiors and
pensioners. Perhaps they would themselves have done so in Catherine
Vernon's place. This at all events was the way in which they had painted
her to themselves. They had grown to believe that she was all this, and
to expect her to act in accordance with the character they had given
her. When the sun shone into the summer-house, and routed the little
company, which happened just about the time when the meal which they
called luncheon, but which to most of them was dinner, was ready, Mrs.
John carried back with her to her new home a tremulous conviction that
any sort of vengeance was possible. She might be turned out of this
shelter, or she might be made to feel that her life was a burden. And
yet when she got back to the low cool room in which Hester, doubtful of
Betsey's powers, was superintending the laying out of the table, it
seemed to her, in the prospect of losing it, more desirable than it had
been before. There were three windows in deep recesses, one of them with
a cheerful outlook along the road that skirted the Common, in which was
placed a soft, luxurious chair, which was exactly what Mrs. John liked.
Nothing could have been more grateful, coming out of the sunshine, than
the coolness of this brown room, with all the little glimmers of light
in the polished wainscot, and the pretty old-fashioned furniture. Mrs.
John sighed as she placed herself in the chair at the window. And the
smell of the dish which Betsey soon after put upon the table was very
appetising. It turned out to be nicely cooked, and the table was laid
with fine linen and pretty crystal and old-fashioned silver--everything
complete. The poor lady in her wandering and unsettled life had lost
almost all this needful garniture which makes life so much more seemly
and smooth. She had been used to lodging-houses, to _pensions_, greasy
and public, to the vulgarity of inns; and all this daintiness and
freshness charmed her with a sense of repose and personal property. She
could have cried to think that it might be put in jeopardy by Hester's
childish petulance.
"Oh, why did I let you persuade me to go to bed? Why didn't I stay up--I
could have done it quite well--and seen Catherine Vernon? Why are you so
self-willed, child? I think I could be happy here, at least as happy as
I can ever be now; and what if I must give it all up again for you?"
"Mother, if we have to give it up, we will do better," said Hester, a
little pale; "we shall get pretty lodgings like Ruth Pinch, and I will
give lessons; and it will not matter about Cousin Catherine."
"Oh, child, child, what do you know about it!" Mrs. John said.