SETTLING DOWN.
These alarms, however, did not come to anything, and as the days passed
on Mrs. John accustomed herself to her new position and settled down to
it quietly. She got used to the little meetings in the summer-house or
on the bench in front of her own windows, and soon learned to remark
with the others upon the freedom with which Mr. Mildmay Vernon took the
best place, not taking any trouble to remark to whom it really belonged.
He was a great advantage to the ladies of the Vernonry in giving them a
subject upon which they could always be eloquent. Even when they could
not talk of it openly, they would give each other little looks aside,
with many nods of the head and an occasional biting innuendo; and this
amused the ladies wonderfully, and kept them perhaps now and then from
criticising each other, as such close neighbours could scarcely fail to
do. But even more interesting than Mr. Mildmay Vernon and his mannish
selfishness was Catherine, the universal subject on which they could
fraternise even with Mildmay Vernon himself. He was caustic, and
attacked her keenly; but the sisters never failed to profess a great
affection for their cousin, declaring that from Catherine one accepted
anything, since one felt that it was only her _gauche_ way of doing
things, or the fault of her education, but that she always meant well.
Dear Catherine! it was such a pity, they said. Mrs. John never quite
adopted either style of remark, but the subject was endless, and always
afforded something to say; and there was a little pleasure in hearing
Catherine set down from her superior place, even though a gentler
disposition and simpler mind prevented Mrs. John herself from adding to
the felicities of the discussion. Catherine had taken no notice of the
unlucky beginning which had given so much alarm to Mrs. John, and so
much amusement to the other members of the establishment. When she came
in state to call on the mourner, which she did a few days after, with
that amused toleration of the little weaknesses of her dependents which
was as natural in Catherine's position as the eager and somewhat
spiteful discussion of her was in theirs, Miss Vernon had tapped Hester
on the cheek, and said, "This is the good child who would not let me
disturb her mother." But when Mrs. John began to apologise and explain,
Catherine had stopped her, saying, "She was quite right," with a
decisive brevity, and turning to another subject. The magnanimity of
this would have touched Hester's heart, but for the half-mocking smile
and air of amusement with which it was said, and which made the girl
much angrier than before. It cannot be denied that this was to some
extent the tone unconsciously adopted by Catherine in her dealings with
the poor relations who were so largely indebted to her bounty. There was
a great deal that was ridiculous in their little affectations and
discontents, and the half-resentment, half-exaction with which they
received her benefits. These might have made her close her heart against
them, and turned her into a misanthrope; but though the effect produced
was different from this, it was not perhaps more desirable. Catherine,
though she did not become misanthropical, became cynical, in spite of
herself. She tolerated everything, and smiled at it; she became
indulgent and contemptuous. What did it matter what they said or felt?
If they learned to consider her gifts as their right, if they comforted
themselves in the humiliation of receiving by mocking at the giver, poor
things, that was their misfortune--it did not harm her upon her serene
heights. She laughed at Hester, tapping her cheek. Had she been perhaps
less tolerant, less easy to satisfy, she would not have excited that
burning sense of shame and resentment in the girl's heart.
But Catherine was very kind. She came in the afternoon in the carriage
and took them out with her for a drive, to the admiration of all
beholders. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways inspected this from behind their
curtains, and calculated how long it was since Catherine had shown such
a civility to themselves, and how soon Mrs. John would find out the
brief character of these attentions. And the drive was perhaps not quite
so successful as might have been expected. Mrs. John indeed gave her
relative all the entertainment she could have desired. She became
tearful, and fell away altogether into her pocket-handkerchief at almost
every turn of the road, saying, "Ah, how well I remember!" then emerged
from the cambric cloud, and cheered up again till the next turn came, in
a way which would have afforded Catherine great amusement but for the
two blazing, indignant, angry eyes of Hester fixed from the opposite
side upon her mother's foolish little pantomime and her patroness's
genial satisfaction, with equal fury, pain, and penetration. Hester
could not endure the constant repetition of that outburst of pathos, the
smiles that would follow, the sudden relapse as her mother was recalled
by a new recollection to a sense of what was necessary in her touching
position; but still less could she bear the lurking smile in Catherine
Vernon's eyes, and her inclination to draw the poor lady out, sometimes
even by a touch of what Hester felt to be mock-sympathy. The girl could
scarcely contain herself as she drove along facing these two ladies,
seeing, even against her will, a great deal which perhaps they
themselves were only half-conscious of. Oh, why would mother be so
silly! and Cousin Catherine, this rich woman who had them all in her
power, why had she not more respect for weakness? Hester turned with an
angry longing to her idea of putting her own small young figure between
her mother and all those spurns and scoffs, of carrying her away, and
working for her, and owing nothing to anybody.
When they stopped at the door of Kaley's, the great shop of Redborough,
and half-a-dozen obsequious attendants started out to devote themselves
to the lightest suggestion of the great Miss Vernon, Mrs. John cleared
up, and enjoyed the reflected distinction to the bottom of her heart;
but Hester, pale and furious, compelled to sit there as part of the
pageant, could scarcely keep still, and was within an ace of jumping out
of the carriage and dragging her mother after her, so indignant was she,
so humiliated. Cousin Catherine threw a little _fichu_ of black lace
into the girl's lap, with a careless, liberal, "You want something for
your neck, Hester," which the girl would have thrown at her had she
dared; and it would not have taken much to wind her up to that point of
daring: but Mrs. John went home quite pleased with her outing. "It was a
melancholy pleasure, to be sure," she said. "All those places I used to
know so well before you were born, Hester--and Kaley's, where I used to
spend so much money. But, after all, it is a pleasure to come back among
the people that know you. Mr. Kaley was so very civil; did you notice? I
think he paid more attention to me even than to Catherine; of course he
remembered that as long as I was well off I always used to go there for
everything. It was very sad, but I am glad to have done it. And then
Catherine was so kind. Let me see that pretty lace thing she gave you?
It is exactly what you wanted. You must be sure to put it on when we go
there to-morrow to luncheon." Hester would have liked to tear it in
pieces and throw it in Miss Vernon's face; but her mother regarded
everything from a very different point of view.
Catherine Vernon, on her side, talked a great deal to Edward that
evening of the comical scene, and how she could not get the advantage of
poor Mrs. John's little _minauderies_ because of that child with her two
big eyes. "I was afraid to stir for her. I scarcely dared to say a word.
I expected every moment to be called to give an account of myself," she
said. It added very much to her enjoyment of all the humours of her life
that she had this companion to tell them to. He was her confidant, and
heard everything with the tenderest interest and a great many amusing
comments of his own. Certainly in this one particular at least her
desire to be of use to her relations had met with a rich reward. No son
was ever more attentive to his mother: and all his habits were so _nice_
and good. A young man who gets up to botanise in the morning, who will
sit at home at night, who has no evil inclinations--how delightful he is
to the female members of his family, and with what applause and
gratitude they repay him for his goodness! And Miss Vernon felt the
force of that additional family bond which arises from the fact that all
the interests of the household, different as their age and pursuits may
be, are the same. Nothing that concerned the one but must have an
interest for the other. Perhaps Edward did not speak so much about
himself, or even about the business, which was naturally of the first
interest to her, as he might have done, but she had scarcely as yet
found this out: and certainly he entered into all she told him on her
side with the most confidential fulness. "The Vernonry has always been
as good as a comedy," she said. "I have to be so cautious not to offend
them. And I must be on my ps and qs with this little girl. There is a
great deal of fun to be got out of her; but we must keep it strictly to
ourselves."
"Oh, strictly!" said Edward, with a curious little twist about the
corners of his mouth. He had not told the story of his own encounter
with the new subject of amusement, which was strange; but he was a young
man who kept his own counsel, having his own fortune to make, as had
been impressed upon him from his birth.
There were only two other members of the Vernon community with whom the
strangers had not yet made acquaintance (for as has been already said
Mrs. Reginald Vernon, the young widow who was altogether wrapped up in
her four children, and old Captain and Mrs. Morgan on the west side of
the Vernonry scarcely counted at all), and these were its gayest and
most brilliant members, the present dwellers in the White House, Harry
and Ellen Vernon, the most independent of all the little community.
Stories were current in it that Harry in business matters had begun to
set himself in something like opposition to Catherine Vernon not long
after she had given up the conduct of the bank into his hands: while
Ellen detached herself openly from her Aunt Catherine's court, and had
set up a sort of Princess of Wales's drawing-room of her own. It was
some time before they appeared at the Vernonry, Harry driving his sister
in a phaeton with a pair of high-stepping horses which seemed scarcely
to touch the ground. The whole population of the place was stirred by
the appearance of this brilliant equipage. Mrs. Reginald Vernon's little
boy, though bound under solemn penalties never to enter the gardens,
came round and hung upon the gate to gaze. Even old Captain Morgan rose
from his window to take another look. Mr. Mildmay Vernon came out with
his newspaper in his hand, and if the sisters did not appear, it was not
from want of curiosity but because Ellen Vernon had not received their
civilities when she came to Redborough with the cordiality they had a
right to expect. Catherine Vernon's fine sleek horses made no such
impression as did this dashing pair. And the pair who descended from the
phaeton were as dashing as their steeds. Ellen was very fair, with hair
half flaxen half golden, in light little curls like a baby's upon her
forehead, which was not the fashion in those days and therefore much
more effective. She was dressed in a rich red-purple gown, charitably
supposed to be "second mourning" by the addition of a little lace and a
black ribbon, with yards of silken train sweeping after her, and
sweeping up too all the mats at the doors as she went in. Harry was in
the lightest of light clothes, but he had a tiny hat-band supposed to
answer all necessities in the way of "respect" to John Vernon deceased,
or to John's widow living. Hester standing shyly by, thought this new
cousin Ellen the most beautiful creature she had ever seen; her
daintiness and her fineness, her airy fairness of face, set off by the
rich colour of her dress, was dazzling as she came into the brown room,
with its two inhabitants in mourning, and the tall, light-coloured young
man after her. Mrs. John made them her little curtsey, shook hands with
them, gave her greeting and a smile or two, and then had recourse to her
handkerchief.
"Oh yes, thanks," she said, "I have quite settled down. I am very
comfortable, but everything is so changed. To go away from the White
House where I had everything I wished for, and then to come back--here;
it is a great difference."
"Oh, but this is so much nicer than the White House," cried Ellen; "this
is so delightfully old fashioned! I would give the world to have the
Vernonry. If Aunt Catherine had only given it to us when we came here
and taken the White House for the----" pensioners she was about to say,
but paused in time--"other relations! I should have liked it so much
better, and probably so would you."
Mrs. John shook her head.
"I never could have gone back to it in the same circumstances," she
said, "and therefore I would prefer not to go to it at all."
"But oh, you must come and see me!" said Ellen; "and you too," turning
to Hester. "I am so fond of getting among little girls and feeling
myself quite young again. Come and spend a long day with me, won't you?
I will show you all my things, and Harry shall drive us out, if you like
driving. May she come? We have always something going on. Aunt
Catherine's is the old set, and ours is the young set," she said with a
laugh. She spoke with a little accompaniment of chains and bracelets, a
soft jingle as of harness, about her, being very lively and full of
little gestures--pretty bridlings of her head and movements of her
hands.
Harry behind backed her up, as seemed to be his duty.
"She is dreadfully wild," he said; "she would like to be always on the
go."
"Oh, Harry, nothing of the sort; but if we don't enjoy ourselves when we
are young, when are we to do it? And then I say it is good policy, don't
you think so, Mrs. Vernon? You see we are just like shopkeepers, all the
people hereabouts are our customers. And Aunt Catherine gives big
dinners for the old fogeys, but we do just as much good, keeping the
young ones jolly; and we keep ourselves jolly too."
"Indeed, Miss Ellen," said Mrs. John, with some dignity, "I never heard
such an idea that bankers were like shopkeepers. Catherine must have
made great changes indeed if it is like that. It never was so in my
time."
"Oh," said Ellen, "you were too grand to allow it, that is all, but it
is the fashion now to speak plain." And she laughed, and Harry laughed
as if it had been the best joke in the world. "But we mustn't say so
before Aunt Catherine," cried the gay young woman. "She disapproves of
us both as it is. Perhaps not so much of Harry, for she likes the boys
best, you know; but oh, dreadfully of me! If you want to keep in favour
with Aunt Catherine--isn't your name Hester?"
"I don't," said Hester, abruptly, without further question.
"Oh, Harry, look here, here's another rebel! isn't it fun? I thought you
were nice from the very first look of you," and here Ellen rose with a
still greater jingle of all her trappings and touched with her own
delicate fair cheek the darker oval of Hester's, which coloured high
with shyness and pleasure. "I'll tell you what I'll do, I'll come for
you one of these days. Are you doing lessons now? What are you learning?
Oh, she may have a holiday for one day?"
"That is just what I ought to be inquiring about," said Mrs. John. "A
governess--I am afraid I am not able to carry her on myself. I have
taught her," the poor lady said with pride, "all she knows."
Hester listened with a gasp of astonishment. What Mrs. John meant was
all she knew herself, which was not much. And how about her teaching and
her independence and the _cours_ she felt herself ready to open? She was
obliged to overcome her shyness and explain herself.
"I don't want to learn," she said, "I want to teach. I can speak French,
and Italian, and German. I want to open a _cours_; don't you think I
might open a _cours_? I know that I could teach, for I am so fond of it,
and I want something to do." Having got all this out like a sudden shot
from a gun, Hester stopped short, got behind her mother, and was heard
no more.
"Oh!" cried Ellen, "teach! that little thing!" and then she turned to
her brother, "Isn't it fine?" she said; "it would be a shame to stop her
when she wishes it. French and Italian and German, only fancy. I don't
know what a _cours_ is, but whatever it is you shall have it, dear. I
promise you. Certainly you shall have it. I will not have you kept back
for the want of that."
Hester was a great deal too much excited to laugh, and here Mrs. John
interfered. "You must excuse me," she said, nervously. "Do not think I
don't feel the kindness. Oh, you must excuse me! I could not let her
teach. My poor husband would never have suffered it for a moment. And
what would Catherine say?--a Vernon! Oh, no, no! it is impossible; there
is nothing I would not rather do. She has spoken of it before: but I
thought it only childish nonsense. Oh, no, no! thank Heaven, though we
are poor," cried the poor lady, "and fallen from what we were--we are
not fallen so far as that."
"Oh, but it isn't falling at all," said Ellen; "you see you are
old-fashioned. Don't be angry. I don't mean any harm. But don't you know
it is the fashion now for girls to do something? Oh, but it is though!
the best girls do it; they paint, and they do needlework, and they sing,
and they write little books, and everybody is proud to be able to earn
money. It is only when they are clever that they can teach; and then
they are so proud! Oh, I assure you, Mrs. Vernon! I would not say so if
it were not quite the right thing. You know, Harry, people do it in town
constantly. Lady Mannion's daughter mends old lace, and Mrs. Markham
paints things for the shops. It is the fashion; the very best families
do it. It will be quite aristocratic to have a Vernon teaching. I shall
take lessons myself."
"That's the thing," said the good-natured Harry. "Nell, that's the best
thing. She shall teach you and me."
"Oh, he wants to make a hole-and-corner thing of it," said Ellen, "to
hide it up! How silly boys are! when it is the very height of the
fashion and will bring us into notice directly! There is old Lady
Freeling will take her up at once: and the Duchess. You may do whatever
you please, but I will stand by her. You may count upon me, Hester, I
will stand by you through thick and thin. You will be quite a heroine:
everybody will take you up."
Mrs. John looked from one to the other aghast. "Oh, no, no, pardon me;
but Hester--I cannot sanction it, I cannot sanction it; your poor
papa--" faltered Mrs. John.
It was characteristic that in the very midst of this discussion Ellen
Vernon got up with all the ringing of her caparison, and took her leave,
declaring that she had forgotten that she had to go somewhere at four
o'clock, "and you know the horses will not stand, Harry," she said, "but
whenever we are happy anywhere, we forget all our engagements--we are
two such sillies, Harry and I." She put her arm round Hester's waist as
they went through the passage, and kissed her again at the door. "Mind,
you are to come and spend a long, long day with me," she said. Mrs. John
interrupted in the midst of her remonstrances, and not sure that this
dazzling creature would not drive off straight somewhere or other to
establish Hester in her _cours_, followed after them trying to put in
another word. But Ellen had been placed in her seat, and her dust-cloak
arranged round her, before the poor lady could say anything. And she too
stood spell-bound like all the rest, to see the beautiful young couple
in their grandeur, so fair, so handsome, so perfectly got up. The only
fault that their severest critic could find with them was that they were
too fair; their very eyelashes were flaxen, there were no contrasts in
their smooth fair faces; but this in conjunction with so much youth and
daintiness had a charm of its own. Mr. Mildmay Vernon had been watching
for them at the window, losing all the good of his book, which was from
the circulating library and cost twopence a night; consequently he threw
away at least the half of a farthing waiting for the young people to
come out. When they appeared again he went to his door, taking off the
soft old felt hat which he wore habitually out of doors and in, and
kissing his hand--not it is to be feared very much to his advantage, for
these two fine young folks paid little attention to their poor
relations. The Miss Vernon-Ridgways looked out behind their curtains
watching closely. How fine it is to be young and rich and beautiful and
on the top of the wave! With what admiration all your dependents look
upon you. Every one in the Vernonry was breathless with excitement when
Harry took the reins and the groom left the horses' heads, and the
phaeton wheeled round. The little boys at the gate scattered as it
wheeled out, the small Vernons vindicating their gentility and
relationship by standing straight in the way of the horses. And with
what a whirl and dash they turned round the sweep of the road, and
disappeared from the longing view! Mildmay Vernon who had taken such
trouble to get a glance from them crossed over to the door of the
verandah where Mrs. John, with the streamers of her cap blowing about
her, and her mind as much disturbed as her capstrings, stood still
breathless watching the departure. "Well," he said, "so you've had the
Prince and Princess in all their grandeur." Mrs. John had to take a
moment to collect herself before she could even make out what he had
said. As for Hester, she was so dazzled by this visit, her head and her
heart so beating and throbbing, that she was incapable of putting up
with the conversation which always made her wicked. She ran away,
leaving her mother at the door, and flew to her own room to recollect
all that had passed, and to go over it again and again as lovers do. She
put her hands over her eyes and lived over again that moment, and every
detail of Cousin Ellen's appearance and every word she had said. The
jingle of her chains and trinkets seemed to Hester like silver bells, a
pretty individualism and sign of her presence. If she went into a dark
room or if you were blind, Hester thought, you would know by that that
it was she. And the regal colour of her dress, and the black lace of her
bonnet all puffed about those wonderful light locks, and her dainty
shoes and her delicate gloves, and everything about her! "A long, long
day," and "You may count upon me, Hester." Was it possible that a
creature so dazzling, so triumphant, had spoken such words to her? Her
heart was more elated than it had ever been before in her life. And as
for the work which she had made up her mind to do, for the first time it
seemed possible and feasible. Cousin Ellen would arrange it for her. She
was far too much excited and awed to be able to laugh at the mistake
Cousin Ellen had made in her haste about buying a _cours_ for Hester,
not knowing in the least what it meant. In this way with all sincerity
the dazzled worshippers of greatness lose their perception of the
ridiculous in the persons of those who have seized upon their
imaginations. Hester would have been revolted and angered had any one
noted this ludicrous particular in the conversation. Through the open
window the girl heard the voices of her mother and the neighbours, now
including the sharp voice of Miss Vernon-Ridgway, and the sound made her
heart rise with a kind of indignant fury. They would discuss her as if
they had any understanding of such a creature, as if they knew what they
were speaking about! they, old, poor, spiteful as they were, and she so
beautiful, so young, so splendid, and so kind. "The kindness was the
chief thing," Hester said to herself, putting her fingers in her ears
not to hear the ill-nature down stairs. Oh, of course, they would be
taking her to pieces, pouring their gall upon her! Hester felt that
youth and happiness were on her own side as against the envious and old
and poor.
For days after she looked in vain for the reappearance of that heavenly
vision, every morning getting up with the conviction that by noon at
least it would appear, every afternoon making up her mind that the
dulness of the lingering hours would be brightened by the sound, the
flash, the wind of rapid movement, the same delightful voice, the
perfumed fair cheek, the jingle of the golden caparisons. Every day Mrs.
John said, first cheerfully, then querulously, "I wonder if they will
come for you to-day." When it began to dawn upon Hester at last that
they were not coming, the sense of deception which came over her was, in
some sort, like the pangs of death. She stood still, in her very being
astounded, unable to understand what had happened. They _were not coming
again_. Her very heart stood still, and all the wheels of her existence
in a blank pause like death. When they began to move again reluctantly,
hoarsely, Hester felt too sick and faint for any conscious comment upon
what had happened. She could not bear the commentary which she was
almost forced to hear, and which she thought would kill her--the "Poor
child! so you've been expecting Ellen Vernon?" which Miss Matilda next
door said to her with an insulting laugh, almost drove her frantic. And
not much less aggravating to the sensitive girl were her mother's
frequent wonderings what could have become of them, whether Ellen could
be ill, what had happened. "They said they would come and fetch you to
spend a day with them, didn't they? Then why don't they come,
Hester?--why don't they come?" the poor lady said. Hester's anger and
wretchedness and nervous irritation were such that she could almost have
struck her mother. Was it right, in addition to her own disappointment,
that she should have this question thrust upon her, and that all the
pangs of her first disenchantment should be discussed by contemptuous
spectators? This terrible experience, which seemed to Hester to be
branded upon her as by red-hot irons, made a woman of her all at once.
To her own consciousness, at least, she was a child no more.