CONSULTATION.
Janetta was rather surprised that Mr. Wyvis Brand did not offer to
accompany her for at least part of her way homewards, but she set down
his remissness to absorption in his own rather complicated affairs. In
this she was not mistaken. Wyvis was far more depressed, and far more
deeply buried in the contemplation of his difficulties, than anybody
knew, and it completely escaped his memory until afterwards that he
ought to have offered Miss Colwyn an escort. Janetta, however, was well
used to going about the world alone, and she proceeded briskly to the
spot where she had left Nora, and was much astonished to find that young
person deep in conversation with a strange young man.
But the young man had such an attractive face, such pleasant eyes, so
courteous a manner, that she melted towards him before he had got
through his first sentence. Nora, of course, ought to have introduced
him; but she was by no means well versed in the conventionalities of
society, and therefore left him to do what he pleased, and to introduce
himself.
"I find that I am richer than I thought," said Cuthbert Brand, "in
possessing a relative whom I never heard of before! Miss Colwyn, are we
not cousins? My name is Brand--Cuthbert Brand."
Janetta's face lighted up. "I have just seen Mrs. Brand and your
brother," she said, offering him her hand.
"And, oh, Janetta!" cried Nora at once, "do tell us what happened. Have
you left the little boy at Brand Hall? And is it really Mr. Brand's
little boy?"
"Yes, it is, and I have left him with his father," said Janetta,
gravely. "As it is getting late, Nora, we had better make the best of
our way home."
"You will let me accompany you?" said Cuthbert, eagerly, while Nora
looked a little bit inclined to pout at her sister's serious tone. "It
is, as you say, rather late; and you have a long walk before you."
"Thank you, but I could not think of troubling you. My sister and I are
quite accustomed to going about by ourselves. We escort each other,"
said Janetta, smiling, so that he should not set her down as utterly
ungracious.
"I am a good walker," said Cuthbert, coloring a little. He was half
afraid that they thought his lameness a disqualification for
accompanying them. "I do my twenty miles a day quite easily."
"Thank you," Janetta said again. "But I could not think of troubling
you. Besides, Nora and I are so well used to these woods, and to the
road between them and Beaminster, that we really do not require an
escort."
A compromise was finally effected. Cuthbert walked with them to the end
of the wood, and the girls were to be allowed to pursue their way
together along the Beaminster road. He made himself very agreeable in
their walk through the wood, and did not leave them, without a hope that
he might be allowed one day to call upon his newly-discovered cousins.
"He has adopted us, apparently, as well as yourself," said Nora, as the
two girls tramped briskly along the Beaminster road. "He seems to forget
that _we_ are not his relations."
"He is very pleasant and friendly," said Janetta.
"But why did you say he might call?" pursued Nora. "I thought that you
would say that we did not have visitors--or something of that sort."
"My dear Nora! But we do have visitors."
"Yes; but not of that kind."
"Don't you want him to come?" said Janetta, in some wonderment; for it
had struck her that Nora had shown an unusual amount of friendliness to
Mr. Cuthbert Brand.
"No, I don't," said Nora, almost passionately. "I _don't_ want to see
him down in our shabby, untidy little drawing-room, to hear mamma talk
about her expenses and papa's difficulties--to see all that tribe of
children in their old frocks--to see the muddle in which we live! I
don't want him there at all."
"Dear Nora, I don't think that the Brands have been accustomed to live
in any very grand way. I am sure the rooms I went into this evening were
quite shabby--nearly as shabby as ours, and much gloomier. What does it
matter?"
"It does not matter to you," said Nora; "because you are their relation.
It is different for us. You belong to them and we don't."
"I think you are quite wrong to talk in that way. It is nothing so very
great and grand to be related to the Brands."
"They are '_County_' people," said Nora, with a scornful little emphasis
on the word. "They are like your grand Adairs: they would look down on a
country doctor and his family, except just now and then when they could
make them useful."
"Look down on father? What are you thinking of?" cried Janetta, warmly.
"Nobody looks down on father, because he does good, honest work in the
world, and everybody respects him; but I am afraid that a good many
people look down on the Brands. You know that as well as I do, Nora; for
you have heard people talk about them. They are not at all well thought
of in this neighborhood. I don't suppose there is much honor and glory
to be gained by relationship to them."
In which Janetta was quite right, and showed her excellent sense. But
Nora was not inclined to be influenced by her more sagacious sister.
"You may say what you like," she observed; "but I know very well that it
is a great advantage to be related to 'the County.' Poor papa has no
connections worth speaking of, and mamma's friends are either
shopkeepers or farmers; but your mother was the Brands' cousin, and see
how the Adairs took you up! They would never have made a fuss over
_me_."
"What nonsense you talk, Nora!" said Janetta, in a disgusted tone.
"Nonsense or not, it is true," said Nora, doggedly; "and as long as
people look down upon us, I don't want any of your fine friends and
relations in Gwynne Street."
Janetta did not condescend to argue the point; she contented herself
with telling her sister of Wyvis Brand's desire that the story of his
wife's separation from him should not be known, and the two girls agreed
that it would be better to mention their evening's adventure only to
their father.
It was quite dark when they reached home, and they entered the house in
much trepidation, fearing a volley of angry words from Mrs. Colwyn. But
to their surprise and relief Mrs. Colwyn was not at home. The children
explained that an invitation to supper had come to her from a neighbor,
and that "after a great deal of fuss," as one of them expressed it, she
had accepted it and gone, leaving word that she should not be back until
eleven o'clock, and that the children were to go to bed at their usual
hour. It was past the younger children's hour already, and they of
course were jubilant.
The elder sisters set to work instantly to get the young ones into their
beds, but this was a matter of some difficulty. A general inclination to
uproariousness prevailed in Mrs. Colwyn's absence, and it must be
confessed that neither Janetta nor Nora tried very hard to repress the
little ones' noise. It was a comfort to be able, for once, to enjoy
themselves without fear of Mrs. Colwyn's perpetual snarl and grumble. A
most exciting pillow-fight was going on in the upstairs regions, and
here Janetta was holding her own as boldly as the boldest, when the
sound of an opening door made the combatants pause in their mad career.
"What's that? The front door? It's mamma!" cried Georgie, with
conviction.
"Get into bed, Tiny!" shouted Joey. Tiny began to cry.
"Nonsense, children," said Nora, with an air of authority. "You know
that it can't be mamma. It is papa, of course, coming in for his supper.
And one of us must go down."
"I'll go," said Janetta, hurriedly. "I want a little talk with him, you
know."
There was a general chorus of "Oh, don't go, Janetta!" "Do stay!" "It
will be no fun when you are gone!" which stimulated Nora to a retort.
"Well, I must say you are all very polite," she said. "One would think
that I was not here at all!"
"You are not half such good fun as Janetta," said Joey. "You don't throw
yourself into everything as she does."
"I must throw myself into giving father his supper, I'm afraid," said
Janetta, laughing, "so good-night, children, and do go to bed quietly
now, for I don't think father will like such a dreadful noise."
She was nearly choked by the fervent embraces they all bestowed upon her
before she went downstairs. Nora, who stood by, rolling up the ribbon
that she had taken from Tiny's hair, felt a little pang of jealousy. Why
was it that everyone loved Janetta and valued her so much? Not for what
she did, because her share of household duty was not greater than that
of Nora, but for the way in which she did it. It always seemed such a
pleasure to her to do anything for any one--to serve another: never a
toil, never a hardship, always a deep and lasting pleasure. To Nora it
was often a troublesome matter to help her sister or her schoolboy
brother, to attend on her mother, or to be thoughtful of her father's
requirements; but it was never troublesome to Janetta. And as Nora
thought of all this, the tears came involuntarily to her eyes. It seemed
so _easy_ to Janetta to be good, she thought! But perhaps it was no
easier to Janetta than to other people.
Janetta ran down to the dining-room, where she found her father
surveying with a rather dissatisfied air the cold and scanty repast
which was spread out for him. Mr. Colwyn was so much out that his meals
had to be irregular, and he ate them just when he had a spare half hour.
On this occasion he had been out since two o'clock in the afternoon, and
had not had time even for a cup of tea. He had been attending a hopeless
case, moreover, and one about which he had been anxious for some weeks.
Fagged, chilled, and dispirited, it was no wonder that he had returned
home in not the best of tempers, and that he was a little disposed to
find fault when Janetta made her appearance.
"Where is mamma?" he began. "Out, I suppose, or the children would not
be making such a racket overhead."
"They are going to be quiet now, dear father," said his daughter,
kissing him, "and mamma has gone out to supper at Mrs. Maitland's. I am
going to have mine with you if you will let me."
"And is this what you are going to have for your supper?" said Mr.
Colwyn, half ruefully, half jestingly, as he glanced again at the table,
where some crusts of bread reposed peacefully on one dish, and a scrag
of cold mutton on another. "After your sojourn at Miss Polehampton's and
among the Adairs, I suppose you don't know how to cook, Jenny?"
"Indeed I do, father, and I'm going to scramble some eggs, and make some
coffee this very minute. I am sorry the table is not better arranged,
but I have been out, and was just having a little game with the children
before they went to bed. If you will sit down by the fire, I shall be
ready in a very few minutes, and then I can tell you about a wonderful
adventure that Nora and I had this evening in the Beaminster wood."
"You should not roam about those woods so much by yourselves; they are
too lonely," said Mr. Colwyn; but he said it very mildly, and dropped
with an air of weariness into the arm-chair that Janetta had wheeled
forward for him. "Well, well! don't hurry yourself, child. I shall be
glad of a few minutes' rest before I begin my supper."
Janetta in a big white apron, Janetta flitting backwards and forwards
between kitchen and dining-room, with flushed cheeks and brightly
shining eyes, was a pretty sight--"a sight to make an old man young,"
thought Mr. Colwyn, as he watched her furtively from beneath his
half-closed eyelids. She looked so trim, so neat, so happy in her work,
that he would be hard to satisfy who did not admire her, even though she
was not what the world calls strictly beautiful. She succeeded so well
in her cooking operations, with which she would not allow the servant to
intermeddle, that in a very short time a couple of dainty dishes and
some coffee smoked upon the board; and Janetta bidding her father come
to the table, placed herself near him, and smilingly dispensed the
savory concoction.
She would not enter upon any account of her evening's work until she
felt sure that the wants of her father's inner man were satisfied; but
when supper was over, and his evening pipe--the one luxury in the day he
allowed himself--alight, she drew up a hassock beside his chair and
prepared for what she called "a good long chat."
Opportunities for such a chat with her father were rather rare in that
household, and Janetta meant to make the most of this one. Nora had
good-naturedly volunteered to stay away from the dining-room, so as to
give Janetta the chance that she wished for; and as it was now barely
ten o'clock, Janetta knew that she might perhaps have an hour of her
father's companionship--if, at least, he were not sent for before eleven
o'clock. At eleven he would probably go to Mrs. Maitland's to fetch his
wife home.
"Well, Janet, and what have you to tell me?" he said kindly, as he
stretched out his slippered feet to the blaze, and took down his pipe
from the mantel-piece. The lines had cleared away from his face as if by
magic; there was a look of rest and peace upon his face that his
daughter liked to see. She laid her hand on his knee and kept it there
while she told him of her experiences that evening at Brand Hall.
Mr. Colwyn's eyebrows went up as he listened. His face expressed
astonishment, and something very like perplexity. But he heard the whole
story out before he said a word.
"Well, you have put your head into the lion's den!" he said at last, in
a half-humorous tone.
"What I want to know is," said Janetta, "why it is thought to be a
lion's den! I don't mean that I have heard the expression before, but I
have gathered in different ways an impression that people avoid the
house----"
"The family, not the house, Janet!"
"Of course I _mean_ the family, father, dear. What have they done that
they should be shunned?"
"There is a good deal against them in the eyes of the world. Your poor
mother, Janetta, always stood up for them, and said that they were more
sinned against than sinning."
"_They?_ But these young men were not grown up then?"
"No; it was their father and----"
Mr. Colwyn stopped short and seemed as if he did not like to go on.
"Tell me, father," said Janetta, coaxingly.
"Well, child, I don't know that you ought to hear old scandals. But you
are too wise to let them harm you. Brand, the father of these two young
fellows, married a barmaid, the daughter of a low publican in the
neighborhood."
"What! The Mrs. Brand that I saw to-day? _She_ a barmaid--that quiet,
pale, subdued-looking woman?"
"She has had trouble enough to make her look subdued, poor soul! She was
a handsome girl then; and I daresay the world would have overlooked the
marriage in time if her character had been untarnished. But stories
which I need not repeat were afloat; and from what I have lately heard
they are not yet forgotten."
"After all these years! Oh, that does seem hard," said Janetta,
sympathetically.
"Well--there are some things that the world does not forgive, Janet. I
have no doubt that the poor woman is much more worthy of respect and
kindness than her wild sons; and yet the fact remains that if Wyvis
Brand had come here with his brother alone, he would have been received
everywhere, and entertained and visited and honored like any other young
man of property and tolerable repute; but as he has brought his mother
with him, I am very much afraid that many of the nicest people in the
county mean to 'cut' him."
"It is very unfair, surely."
"Yes, it is unfair; but it is the way of the world, Janetta. If a
woman's reputation is ever so slightly blackened, she can never get it
fair and white again. Hence, my dear, I am a little doubtful as to
whether you must go to Brand Hall again, as long as poor Mrs. Brand is
there."
"Oh, father, and I promised to go!"
"You must not make rash promises another time, my child."
"But she wants me, father--she is so lonely and so sad?"
"I am sorry, my Janet, but I don't know----"
"Oh, do let me, father. I shall not be harmed; and I don't mind what the
world says."
"But perhaps _I_ mind," said Mr. Colwyn, quaintly.