There was, however, another point to be considered before Wednesday, and
that was the question of dress, which convulses a poor household when
unusual festivities are in progress. Mrs Drummond's black silk was, as
Mrs Dalton said, 'always nice.' It had lasted from Helen's prosperous
days till now; it had changed its form half-a-dozen times, and now,
thanks to the beneficent fashion which prevailed, short walking dresses
had 'come out quite fresh,' as Norah declared in triumph. But Norah did
not possess that _toilette fraîche_ which is indispensable for a young
lady at a picnic. Her gray frock was very pretty at home; but amid all
the shining garments of the great young ladies, their perfect ribbons,
and hats, and boots, and gloves, all those wonderful accessories which
poor people cannot hope for, how could she look anything but a poor
little Cinderella? 'My dress would do, mamma--it is not the dress,'
Norah said, looking at herself in dismay in the old-fashioned long glass
in its ebony frame, as they discussed this matter; 'and all that I have
is well enough; good enough, you know, very nice for common wear. Short
dresses are a blessing, but then they show one's boots; and the cuffs,
and the collars, and the ribbons! Perhaps we ought not to have said we
would go.'
'That is what I feared,' said Helen. 'It is hard you should not have a
little amusement when it comes in your way; and then there are other
things to think of; but to live among people who are richer, much richer
than one is one's self----'
'What are the other things that have to be thought of?' said Norah, with
that sudden fantastic jealousy of ulterior motives which affects the
young.
'My dear Norah, I am not mercenary. I would not sacrifice your happiness
for any worldly motive. I would not even suggest----But, my darling, you
must see people--you must have it in your power at least to meet those
whom--you must go into the world.'
Norah gazed at her mother with dilated eyes. They had come down into
the drawing-room after their inspection of the poor boots and gloves
that suggested Cinderella. And the child was standing against the light,
against the old brown-gray curtains, which threatened to crumble into
dust any day, and yet held out miraculously. The round mirror made a
little picture of her standing there alone, like an old miniature in dim
enamel. But Norah was not dim in herself at that moment--her brown eyes
were dilated and shining--her cheeks mantled with the overwhelming blush
of mingled indignation and shame. 'To meet--people!--oh! mamma, mamma,
how can you!--is it all true, then, what people say?'
'Yes,' said Helen, gravely, 'or at least it is half true. I am ashamed,
and yet I should not be ashamed. I want you to meet those who can
appreciate you, who may love you, Norah, and make your life happy. Why
should you look at me so indignantly? it is my duty. But I do not wish
to speak of it to you.'
'Then I am going--to be inspected--to be offered in the market--to
be--oh! mamma, I would rather die!'
'You are going for nothing of the kind. I shall have to put away my
companion and friend who was such a comfort to me; and send you back
into the place of a silly, impatient child.'
'So I am,' said Norah, throwing herself at her mother's feet, and hiding
her tears and burning cheeks in Helen's gown. 'So I am. Oh, mamma, can't
I work or do something? is there nothing, nothing in the world for a
girl, but _that_?'
'Hush, my darling, hush!' said Helen, and it was upon this group that
some one came in suddenly, whose indignation was prompt at the sight,
and unhesitating. It was Dr Maurice, who had come down from London, as
he did periodically to see the child, whom he considered as his ward;
and who instinctively, seeing tears, made up his mind that Norah had
been suffering cruelty, and that the mother was in fault.
'What is the matter?' he said. 'Norah crying! I have not seen her cry
before since she was a baby--there must be a good cause.'
'She is growing a woman,' said her mother, 'and learning something about
life, poor child; but fortunately this time the cause is not very
grave.'
Norah sprang to her feet and dried her tears. She had divined long ere
now that her old friend loved her a great deal better than he loved her
mother. And Norah was ready to take up arms for her mother, _à
outrance_, night or day.
'No, it was not very much,' she said, all glowing with tears, and
blushes, and excitement; 'it was something you will laugh at--you will
think it so like a silly woman. You know you hate us all, Dr Maurice,
and that is what you will say.'
'Yes, I hate you all,' said the doctor, looking at her with eyes that
softened and brightened unconsciously, and a voice that sounded
caressing in spite of himself.
'I know it,' said Norah. 'Well, then, Dr Maurice, this is what I was
crying about. We are going to a picnic with the Burtons, and the
Marchioness of Upshire, and all kinds of fine people, and I was crying
because I have not got a pretty dress.'
Dr Maurice gave a short laugh, and then he turned away his head, and his
eyes glistened under their heavy brows. 'Poor child!' he said with a
tremble in his voice--if it had been any one else probably he would have
sneered, as Norah said, at the frivolity of woman's nature; but because
it was Norah his heart melted within him, and the water came to his
eyes.
'When is it going to come off?' he said.
'Oh, to-day--at one o'clock they were to call for us. Dear doctor,'
said Norah, looking up at him laughing, yet with the tears still on her
eyelashes, 'won't you say that, after all, I look very nice in my gray
frock?'
'Go away, child,' he said, almost angrily, 'go and dress yourself and
let me look at you after. I want to speak to your mamma.'
When she heard this, Helen was afraid. She believed in Dr Maurice
because he had been substantially kind, and because he was her husband's
friend; but she did not like him, and she had that fear of him which
came from the conviction that he disliked and distrusted her.
'Why is this?' he said, as Norah went away. 'Mrs Drummond, I thought you
knew that I look upon Norah as if she was my own. She should not want
anything if you would let me know--I think you ought for Norah's sake to
get over any feeling--and put pride aside.'
'It is not so easy,' said Helen, with a smile. 'Pride, if you call it
so, sticks very close. You are very, very kind----'
'I am not kind--I don't mean to be; but I look upon Norah as if she were
my own.'
'She is not your own, Dr Maurice,' said Helen with spirit. 'I cannot put
a feeling in the place of a right. Nothing in the world would make me
appeal to a stranger for finery for my child. We can live with what we
have of our own.'
'Pride, pride!' said the doctor hastily. 'I don't mean to give offence;
but I am not a stranger--I have known the child from her cradle. Why
shouldn't you be so yielding--so kind if you will--as to tell me when
she wants a dress? My little Norah! she has been a delight to me all my
life. If I had my will, she should rustle with the best.'
Helen was angry, but she was moved. A man who loved her child could
scarcely shut her heart even by disliking herself. She put out her hand
to the surly critic who had never trusted her--'Thanks,' she said, 'many
thanks. I accept your love for Norah; but I could not accept anything
else. Why, you must know that! My child, Robert's child, appealing to
your charity! Dr Maurice, I am not ungrateful, but surely Cinderella's
frock is better than that.'
The doctor was silent, he could not reply. 'Poor little Cinderella!' he
said; but just then there appeared a vision at the door, which took away
his breath. Men are poor creatures where a woman's dress is concerned.
To Dr Maurice, who knew no better, Norah's pretty rose-coloured ribbons,
the little end of rose-coloured feather, which relieved the black in her
hat, and the fresh little pair of gray gloves, which she had indulged
in, made Cinderella at once, without more ado, into the fairy princess.
'Why, good heavens, child, what would you have more?' he said, almost
with offence. He had been taken in, he thought, and betrayed into an
unnecessary warmth of sympathy. It is true that, after a little, even Dr
Maurice saw points which might be improved: but he could not look upon
Norah's toilette with the instructed eyes which Clara Burton and Lady
Florizel turned upon it; and it was the other girls, the Marchioness,
the ladies who knew, not a mere man, ignorant as a baby, whom Norah
feared.
However, it was grand to see the carriage glide up to the door, and the
ladies get into it. Mrs Ashurst and her niece were in it already, two
highly respectable persons with claims to belong to the county. The
Rectory people were not asked, and Katie stood at the window and watched
with somewhat wistful looks, waving her hand as they drove away. And Dr
Maurice put them into the carriage, and stood on the steps with his hat
off watching them too. There was a splendour about it certainly, whether
it was delightful or not. Norah thought of the donkey-chaise loaden with
children, and for a moment sighed; she had worn brown holland in those
days--but now brown holland all embroidered and decorated was a great
deal too expensive--far more costly than her gray--and she had not cared
what she wore then, which was far better; whilst now she felt that Miss
Ashurst was looking at her, and saw that her cuffs were rather coarse in
texture and her feather nothing but a tip. Neither was the drive very
lively in the society of these respectable ladies, the younger of whom
was older than Norah's mother. But when the carriage approached the end
of the pilgrimage, Norah's sky began to brighten. All the others had
already arrived, and on a green knoll in front of the old tower the
luncheon was being arranged. It was a prettier, gayer sight than the old
parties with the donkey chaise. Lady Florizel and her sister were
standing at one of the windows in the tower with Ned Burton, looking
down; but among the trees near the gate Cyril Rivers was waiting on the
outskirts of a group, looking round with evident anxiety, waiting to
open the carriage door and hand the ladies out. 'I am so glad you have
come,' he whispered into Norah's ear. His very face brightened up at the
sight of them. There is no girl living who could withstand such delicate
flattery, and that not from any nobody, not from an old friend and
faithful slave like Ned Burton, but from the hero, the prince of
romance. Norah's heart grew light in spite of herself; she might be
indifferently dressed, she might even look as she felt, a poor relation:
but this distinction all the same was hers--the prince had found
Cinderella out, and none of the others could get a word from him. He
took them to Mrs Burton, who was doing the honours of the old tower to
the Marchioness, and who received them very graciously, giving thanks to
some heathenish deity of her own for the success of her plans; and then
he found a shady spot for them where they could command everything. 'I
suppose you do not care to go over the tower,' he said. 'I know it as
well as my A B C,' said Norah; and then he placed them under the great
ash-tree and took up his own position by Mrs Drummond's side.
Mrs Burton gave thanks to her gods for her success. She looked up and
saw Ned's eyes peering out of the window above as if he were about to
swoop down upon her. 'What are you doing, Ned,' she said in momentary
alarm.
'Getting this for Lady Florizel,' he said, holding out a tuft of wild
flowers from the old wall. And Mrs Burton thanked that fetish, whoever
he was. But she did not see that between the line of Ned's hat and his
nose, were a pair of eyes glancing fiercely down upon the ash-tree. If
lightning could have come out of mortal eyes, that tree would have
shrivelled up and borne no more foliage. The spell was beginning to
work. Perhaps Cyril Rivers would not have so committed himself had he
not believed that the Burtons had made some scheme to detach him from
Norah's side, and to slight and scorn her. He thought they had attempted
to make him privy to a plot against her comfort and honour, and that she
had been asked here on purpose to be insulted by that impertinence of
society which women cannot struggle against. This was the conclusion he
came to, and all that was chivalrous and kind was stirred within him. If
everybody else neglected them, he at least would show that a man's
proper place was by the side of the weak. And then the weak who had to
be succoured was so pretty, so charming, so sweet! A man's generous
impulses are immensely strengthened in such cases. Miss Ashurst, who was
as well-born as anybody there, and as well dressed, was really neglected
by the whole company: but Mr Rivers did not feel himself impelled to her
side by his desire to succour those who were in need.
'Look there, papa,' said Clara Burton, going to her father and
thrusting her hand through his arm, 'only look there!'
'Rivers!' said Mr Burton, gazing through the branches, 'with that girl
again!'
'And whose fault is it? Mamma's! It is all mamma. I told you; she
actually sent him there--sent him to their house!'
'I will soon put a stop to all that; don't be disturbed, Clara,' said
her father, and he went off with great vehemence to where his wife was
standing. He put his hand on her arm and drew her away from the
Marchioness. 'One moment--a thousand pardons,' he said, bowing to the
great lady, and then turned to his wife with the air of a suppressed
volcano. 'Clara, what on earth do you mean? there's Rivers with those
Drummonds again!'
'He has been with them ever since they came, Mr Burton; probably he will
drive home with them. He seems to have made himself their attendant for
the day.'
'But, good Lord, Clara! what do you mean? Do you mean to drive your
daughter out of her senses--don't you intend to interfere?'
'I am acting for the best,' said Mrs Burton, 'and it will be at your
peril if you meddle. Take it in hand if you please; but if the work is
to be mine I must do it my own way.'
'But, Clara, for heaven's sake----'
'I have no time for any more, Mr Burton. I must be allowed to work, if I
work at all, in my own way.'
And with this poor satisfaction Mr Burton had to be content. He went
away fuming and secretly smarting with indignation, through the groups
of people who were his own guests, gathered together to make him merry.
A mixture of rage and bewilderment filled his bosom. He could no more
bear to have his Clara crossed than Mrs Drummond could bear to cross
Norah; and his wife's silence was far beyond his comprehension. Clara
met him as he came up, with a fluctuating colour, now pale, now crimson,
and her white low forehead almost lost under the fringe of hair. She
clasped his arm energetically with both hands. 'Tell me, papa! what has
she got to say?'
'Well, Clary, we must not interfere. Your mother has her own way of
acting; she says it is all right. There are dozens more that would be
glad of a look from you, Clary. For to-day we are not to interfere.'
Clara, who was not in the habit of disguising her feelings, tossed his
arm from her, pulling away her hands; she was half wild with injured
pride and self-will. She went up to the group under the tree with anger
in her step and in her eye.
'Oh Norah!' she said, 'I did not know you were coming. Good morning, Mrs
Drummond. Mr Rivers, I thought you were altogether lost. You disappeared
the moment we set you down. I suppose you had something more agreeable
in hand.'
'I had nothing in hand, Miss Burton, except like everybody else--to
amuse myself, I suppose.'
'And you have found a charming way of doing that, I am sure,' said poor
jealous, foolish Clara; her face was flushed, her voice slightly
elevated. She could not bear it; if it had been one of the Ladies
Merewether, or even one of the Daltons from the Rectory--but Norah! It
was more than she could put up with. Mrs Drummond, who was decorous, the
very soul of good order and propriety, rose up instinctively to cover
this little outbreak. 'Let us walk about a little,' she said. Let us
hide this unwomanly self-betrayal, was what she meant.
Norah, too, was wounded and ashamed, though without feeling herself
involved. Clara was 'in a temper,' Norah thought. They all knew that
Clara in a temper was to be avoided. She was sorry Mr Rivers should see
it. 'Oh Clara! isn't it strange to be here with everything so
different,' she said. 'Don't you remember our pranks on the grass when
we were children? and your pony which we all envied so much? How odd it
is in some ways to be grown up!'
Clara took no notice of this conciliatory speech, but Mr Rivers did. 'I
hope it is not less pleasant,' he said.
'I don't know--we walk about now, instead of running races and playing
games. Do you remember, Clara----'
'I have not time to talk over all that old nonsense,' said Clara. 'The
Marchioness is calling me;' and she turned sharply off and joined her
mother, who was with that great lady. She was quite pale with anger and
dismay. She walked up to Mrs Burton and looked her in the face. It was
_her_ doing! and then she drew back a step, and stood behind, doing all
she could to make her vexation visible. She wanted to punish her mother.
The others had all dispersed into groups; but Clara stood alone,
determined to be unhappy. Mrs Burton, however, was not punished at all;
her scheme had succeeded. Her daughter's temper could not last above an
hour or two; and her son was safe. He was walking about with Lady
Florizel, 'paying her,' as Miss Ashurst said, 'every attention,' under
her satisfied eyes.
The picnic ran its course like other picnics. It was very delightful to
some, and very wretched--a day to date from, as the unhappiest ever
known--to others. Cyril Rivers did not, as Mrs Burton had predicted,
leave the Drummonds all day. Had he suspected that this was the very
result she aimed at, and that Ned's lowering brows and unhappy looks
were the very things the party had been given for, the chances are that
he would have resisted the temptation which was stealing over him; but
he did not know this, and he did not resist. He thought they were laying
vulgar visible claim to him, before he had made up his mind one way or
another; and this was a thing his pride refused to allow; while at the
same time Norah was very sweet. She was a 'rosebud set about with wilful
thorns;' she would not agree with him, nor yield in argument; she was
not a shadowless beauty all in broad blaze of sunshine and complacency,
like Clara; there were clouds and shadows about her, and a veil of soft
mystery, spontaneous movements of fancy, wayward digression out of one
thing into another. Mrs Drummond, who was the spectator at the banquet,
grew alarmed. She tried to separate them, to lead Norah away among the
other people. But she was balked in that by every means. The other
people were chiefly county people, too grand for the Drummonds, who were
civil to the handsome mother and pretty daughter, but not anxious for
their further acquaintance. Wherever they turned Mr Rivers met them. He
was not cold, nor slow to see when Helen wanted to seat herself, when
she wanted to move about. At last, when the afternoon was beginning to
wane, and the elder ladies to think of their shawls, some of the younger
ones proposed a dance on the green. Mrs Drummond was left sitting by
herself, while Norah went to dance with Mr Rivers, and it was then for
the first time that Mr Burton came up to her. She could not but suppose
that he had been taking too much wine.
'Well, Helen,' he said, in his loud voice, 'this is an unusual sort of
scene for you--like it? I don't suppose you know many people, though;
but that little girl of yours is going too fast; mind my word, she is
going too fast.'
'I think, Mr Burton, you mistake----'
'No, I don't mistake;--going too fast--trying to lead Cyril Rivers off
his feet as she did my Ned. What am I talking of? No, not Ned; Ned has
more sense--some other of the lads. But Cyril Rivers, mind you, ain't
such a fool as he looks.'
He went on, but Helen did not hear him. Suddenly the whole situation
glanced upon her. If a flash of lightning had illuminated everything it
could not have been more clear. It was not a good light or a friendly
that blazed over that scene, which was confused by so many shades of
good and evil feeling. Helen's whole spirit had been moved in her by the
tone and words of her cousin in respect to her child. He had touched her
daughter--and a woman is as a tigress when a finger is laid upon her
cub, people say.
I don't know if this was any excuse for her; but certainly, all in a
moment, something appeared within her reach which made her heart beat.
Revenge! Whatever his degree of guilt had been, this man had been her
husband's evil angel; he had put him in the way which had led him to his
destruction--with how much or how little guilt who could say? And Helen
looked over the bright scene--the dancers on the grass, the groups
standing round, the autumn trees dressed out in all their beauty, like
their human brethren--and suddenly saw, or thought she saw, that she had
the happiness of her adversary's home in her hand. Little Norah, all
unaware of her tragic task, was the Nemesis who was to accomplish their
overthrow. There was Ned, heart-broken, but defiant--Ned whom she had
seen watching all day, miserable as youth only is; and Clara, furious,
making a show of herself in her passion. Was it the sin of the father
that was being visited on the children? Helen's heart gave one loud,
angry throb; the time of her temptation had come. She did not use the
word revenge; all that was brought before her in the sudden tumult of
her thoughts was punishment--retribution for sin.
While this terrible suggestion flashed into Helen's mind and took sudden
possession of it, another idea had begun to germinate in another bosom,
which was to bear fruit also. Dr Maurice went to see the Haldanes, and
had a great deal of conversation with them. This conversation ran
chiefly upon the one subject on which they were both so much
interested--'the child.' From them he learnt that Norah had 'come out,'
that she had made a great _succès_, that everybody (to wit the Daltons)
were raving of her prettiness and sprightliness, and how much admired
she was; and that since the ball Cyril Rivers had 'never been out of the
house.'
'Find out what sort of fellow he is, Maurice,' said Stephen Haldane; 'it
would be hard to see our little Norah throw herself away. I thought it
would have been Ned.'
'Ned! Ned? Burton's son--a mere City fellow! Good heavens! has it come
to that?' said Dr Maurice.
He left the Gatehouse, and walked slowly to the station, and went home
just about the time when the dance began on the green. 'The child wants
some one to take care of her,' he said over and over again to himself.
When he got home he went over all his house, and looked at it with a
half comic, half puzzled look. The idea perhaps had gleamed across his
mind before; it was an idea he did not half like. It would be a trouble
to him--more trouble than anybody could imagine. But still if such a
sacrifice should be necessary--for Norah's sake.