Breakfast was always half an hour later on Sundays. Margaret had spent
the early hours in writing to her father, telling him of the
impossibility of remaining any longer at Woodside Farm unless the
relations between Mr. Garratt and Hannah were definitely settled.
Something would have to be done, and immediately, but he was not to be
distressed about her. She meant to go to Miss Hunstan and to take her
advice. Perhaps if she could gather courage she would consult Sir George
Stringer, but it was Miss Hunstan on whom she relied, she even asked her
father to direct his next letter to her care just on the chance. The
morning was sultry, the notes of the birds were languid, there was not a
stir among the branches though the scent of flowers came stealing
upwards from the bed against the house. She went to the window and
leaned forward to catch any passing breeze that might chance to wander
by. Suddenly Mrs. Vincent and Hannah came out of the porch and stood
just a few yards below her. Hannah was evidently continuing a
conversation.
"Well, I've no patience with them, mother, fine folks giving themselves
airs and ashamed to say who they are and what they've done; lord, or no
lord, he shall see that I don't care for his ways, nor for Margaret's
either." All the same there was in Hannah's heart an odd feeling of
curiosity. What would happen to her when her step-father was Lord
Eastleigh? What would the country people say to her, the people who now
and then, most politely, it is true, asked her to accept a present for
herself when they paid a quarter's account. And Mr. Garratt, what would
he say? He would surely know that Margaret, with her stuck-up ways,
would not look at him now. Most likely he would think himself lucky to
get Hannah, since she would gain a reflected importance. But she wasn't
sure, on the whole, if she wanted him any longer, and yet it would be
something to make sure of a man. She couldn't bear going over to
Petersfield and seeing women younger than herself, whom she remembered
as girls, walking out with their husbands, or nursing their children,
while she remained a spinster. "I do wonder what Mr. Garratt will have
to say to it all," she said, aloud, without meaning it.
"He'll see it's no good caring for Margaret," Mrs. Vincent said.
"Why should he? Not that he does care," Hannah answered, quickly. "She
isn't any better than she was yesterday, nor than I am. For my part, I
think this title business will make us the laughing-stock of the place."
"There is no occasion to speak of it; it's no one's business but our
own."
"I never was one for secrets."
"Neither was I," said Mrs. Vincent. "But I have always found that there
was more in silence than in talk. I hope you and Mr. Garratt will settle
up soon, Hannah, for these quarrels make me miserable."
"It's Margaret's fault, not mine," Hannah answered, doggedly. "After
all, mother, whatever's said, you know that I'm fond of you. If there
had been no strangers about all these years, and I'd had the taking care
of you by myself, I could have been content enough without any thought
of marrying."
"Jealousy is such a poor thing, Hannah."
"We ourselves are poor things in the sight of the Lord, mother. If
Margaret would once come to see that she might be different."
Margaret, above, could stand it no longer. "It's so mean to be listening
here," she said to herself; "and though Hannah was horrid last night she
is rather better this morning, and she's fond of mother. Oh, I'm so glad
that she loves her." Then she raised her voice and called out,
"Good-morning, mother. I can hear all you say. Let us have a happy
Sunday, Hannah. I won't look at Mr. Garratt; I will be thoroughly
disagreeable to him if that will please you." At which Hannah answered,
not without a trace of amiability and with the flicker of a smile:
"You had better come down to your breakfast; for my part, I never know
why we are so late on Sunday mornings." As she spoke, Towsey tinkled a
bell to show that the simple meal was ready.
When the breakfast was over and the things were put away as usual, there
was the getting ready in best clothes, and the starting of Hannah and
Mrs. Vincent across the fields for church. Mr. Garratt was not coming
till mid-day, and for the first time Hannah took an interest in
Margaret's movements.
"I suppose you are going to the wood as usual?" she asked.
"I'm going there with a book," Margaret answered.
Then, with anxiety in her voice, Hannah said: "I wish you'd take a book
that would do you some good."
"It can't do me any harm." Margaret was delighted at finding Hannah a
little softer than usual. "I'm going to take _Paradise Lost_--it's a
poem."
"It sounds very appropriate," Hannah said, solemnly.
Margaret blinked her eyes in astonishment, and wondered if Hannah were
making a joke, and on the Sabbath, too! Perhaps, as most people are
influenced by worldly matters, protest to the contrary as they will,
Hannah was somewhat soothed in her secret mind at yesterday's
revelations concerning the Vincent family. To be sure, the Australian
brother had gone away, according to Mrs. Lakeman, because he made an
unlucky marriage. And Gerald Vincent had lived quietly for twenty years
at Woodside Farm: perhaps he, too, considered his marriage unlucky, and
in his heart looked down on her and her mother; but even that would not
undo the fact of the relationship, or prevent the step-daughter of Lord
Eastleigh from being counted a more important person than hitherto when
she went to Petersfield. There were moments when Hannah had visions of
herself as an aristocrat in an open carriage driving through a park, or
going to court in a train and feathers; she had often heard that people
wore trains and feathers when they went to court. Nonsense and vanity
she called it, but the momentary vision of herself trailing along and
the white plumes nodding from her head was pleasant all the same.
"Well, we'll see when he comes back," she thought, as she walked across
the fields with her mother. "If he isn't going to call himself Lord
anything, and is going to live on here all the same, I may as well marry
Mr. Garratt and be done with it--that is, if he behaves himself
properly. He's getting a good business round him at Guildford, and we'll
hardly rank as tradespeople when they know who I am. Mother," she said,
aloud, "you'll not be staying on at the farm if what this Mrs. Lakeman
said is true, and father comes back with a title?"
"Nothing will ever take me away from it," Mrs. Vincent answered; "and
father will be just the same when he comes back, whether his brother be
living or dead. I'm sorry you know anything about it, Hannah, for it
won't make any difference one way or another."